Okay here's the deal.
1. All of the characters mentioned are NOT MINE. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkein, his estate and who ever else has bought the right to his works. They do not belong to me.
2. I am not making any money on this.
3. This is my first fanfic, so beware of the following:
a. It might not be that good.
b. I might not be formatted well
c. I don't have a Beta reader, so there are probably grammatical errors I missed.
d. I am not the expert that other people are on Tolkein, so I probably have some
details wrong. Blame it on the AU.
Alone in her room, she sat listlessly gazing out her window. Below her window, she suspected that her betrothed was still enjoying the last of the revelry of the celebration of their wedding the next day. She had left that party much earlier in the evening. Claiming that she wanted only to be her finest for tomorrow, she gracefully took her leave from the small banquet table and journeyed to her room.
Her room. It felt strange that she would no longer be able to call it hers alone after tomorrow's events. It would be forever THEIR room. Not hers. The emotion that thought brought was not the strange giddiness she had fancied as a child. Instead it was the feeling that she had when her first horse died. She had cried for weeks after that stallion died, convinced that nothing could ever fix what happened. It was that same feeling only hundreds of times worse.
A dry laugh escaped her lips at the comparison. The white colt that had replaced her iron gray stallion had been acceptable, even pleasing, but it had never displaced her first. A sarcastic smile slowly covered her face at the comparison. But, NO! She swore she would not think of such things. Swore she would not think of him.
In an effort to turn her thoughts she allowed her gaze to drift away to the trees beyond the dwindling festivities below. In the moonlight, she could see the palest hint of moonlight reflecting off of white and silver canopy where her wedding would be held. it was simple and complex at the same time. The poles and fastenings made of fine elvish silver. The cloth of the finest spun silk. When close to it, a viewer would swear it the finest ever constructed. But, it appear insignificant from her window view. Dwarfed and outdone in splendor by the magnificent trees of Lothlorien.
She smiled as she thought of the comparison with her beloved. When next to him, one could forget ever seeing anything finer. Yet many considered him dwarfed by the beauty of the elves that dwelled in the golden woods. His form rough and hewn where theirs were delicate and fine. His features overcome with the hardships of his life, while their youth was unaffected by the twists of their paths…
She groaned and rose from her window seat. She strode across her room to cast herself onto her bed. She had thought coming to her room would bring peace, but it only plunged her deeper into the thoughts that she had been trying to avoid ever since her engagement. Thoughts of gloom and despair, helplessness and hopelessness. Thoughts that after tomorrow, she would be forever locked into a meaningless life. Thoughts that were brought on by the fact that her lover and her husband would never be the same.
Her eyes closed as she fought the despair welling up inside of her. Always she had managed to push away these thoughts, until tonight. There was always something to distract her, a fact she was certain those around her had ensured. Since her engagement there were thousands of tasks to do. All of which seemed to need her personal attention.
Grinding her teeth together, she forced herself to think over the situation. After all, it would not do for one of such high birth to enter into such a long term commitment with out contemplating all of its facets.
Her troubles did not truly start at her engagement, they started some time earlier. They started when she fell into the deepest of loves in the very glade that her wedding was to be held. She had fallen the instant she saw him dressed in the finest of eleven clothing. His raven hair had shown in the moonlight and his grey eyes had been alight with an inner fire as he gazed at her graceful form move closer to him. He had looked so different from the weary traveler that had arrived in Lothlorien earlier in the day. Gone was the pure warrior and in its place was something vulnerable, something needy.
It was, of course, not the first time she had met him, but it was the first time she had looked past the bluntness of form that spoke of his human blood. She had realized in that moment that the fair headed elves she spent her time around were missing something great. For while he held their respect, he was still not totally accepted as an equal by them.
After that night they had become inseparable, if not in body then in spirit. They talked personally when possible and smuggled letters when his life was torn from hers. They had pledged their love to each other. He had told her passionately of how he fell in love the instant he laid eyes on her. How he had burned with desire for her, and how he lived with the torture that she would never be his.
Then her father broke the news that her marriage had been arranged with the newest King of Mirkwood. At first she was in shock. She had always been friends with the golden haired elf, but she never imagined he would ask for her hand. He was, after all, a friend of her beloved. They had fought together in the battle that had killed the new King's father rendering him heir to the throne. The new ruler had been in shock and she had comforted him, never expecting he would seek her hand.
She begged and pleaded with her father to deny his request, but he remained adamant. Though it would not be as fine or important of a place as her current home, he would protect her well. Better than the man she had been consorting with behind his back. Through her tears she gasped. He knew. Her beloved's name caused her to rally all her words of persuasion. She spoke of freedom, loyalty, and most importantly of love. But, her father would not listen. She was his little girl and he in his superior years knew what was best. He had no intention of allowing her the opportunity of hardship that life with her gray eyed champion would bring her. With softening eyes he told her that her lover had already been informed that she was happily engaged to the ruler of Mirkwood. Unconsolable, she pushed her father away as she sank into a puddle of tear on the intricate floor of her father's study.
She wrote hundreds of letters to her other half, trying to explain. No reply was ever issued save one. That one was written by his aid simply telling her that his Lord was to busy with matters of his important house to be bothered with a continued correspondence. Whatever her father had told him, it must have been good enough to keep him away. She did not believe that had quit loving her, and that thought carried its own punishment. For she could accept her own pain, but to cause him pain was worse.
She had never conceived of his love ending until he arrived for the wedding. At first she thought him there to rescue her. Her heart pounding fast she had raced to great him, her step lighter than they had been in many months. When she had reached him, she won the coldest and most formal greeting she had ever received from anyone, let alone him. She had worn her best diplomatic face and pretended not to notice. She had succeeded. She succeeded through his extremely friendly manner toward his old friend and her betrothed. She maintained through his hearty wedding toast. She had even maintained through his private conversation with her father that produced two slightly tipsy men from a bottle of his finest wine. But, when he started to flirt with the beautiful fair haired elven goddess sitting across from her. Well, that was when she fled to her room.
She fought back a sob as she relived the day's events. She was truly alone now. There would be no rescue. There was no-one that would save her from this nightmare. For despite the fact that he had forgotten her, she would never let him leave her heart.
She forced herself to accept this for there would be new pain in the morning. Not that she would be married to a man she did not love, for that was starting to look like a fairly minor problem. He was at least her friend, and she could not have the one she wanted anyway. The pain came in knowing that after tomorrow she would have to share not only her bed, but her mind with him. If her mind was entwined with his, then she would not have anything more than the occasional fond remembrance of her beloved.
She would not subject her husband to the yearning her heart produced. Her sense of duty was too strong. She decided then what she would do. She would get married and pretend the rest of her life never happened. There was no way to be truly happy, so she might as well put herself in a position where she could not remember his voice or his eyes. It would be cruel to torture one man with the memory of another. She did not define herself as cruel.
That decided, she pulled herself up and readied for bed. She suddenly felt tired. She pulled out an old nightgown from her nearly empty closet. Most of her clothes were already packed for her wedding trip, the rest she shoved into a traveling bag on her floor. That done, she only had one last act to accomplish as a free woman. Go to sleep.
Sleep and dream of gray eyes and raven hair. Of his voice while he told stories, tales and songs. Of his hands as they traced through her hair. Of his mouth as he gently caressed her lips. Of the proud warrior who had ridden into battle. And of the weeping eyes as he spoke of his fallen family. She would have her last dream of Elrond, Lord of Imladris of what he and the daughter of the Golden Lady could have been.