Aragorn POV
iWhen I saw you at the Council of Elrond, I could tell you were different from the other Elves. You had more grace, if such a thing is possible, and more beauty.
When it was decided you were to join the fellowship I was worried - would I be able to fulfil my duty to the ring-bearer with you always present?
I needn't have worried. You were always so caring, yet rational. You knew when a level-headed attitude was needed, but also understood that sometimes emotion should be allowed to reign. Seeing this in you, I knew that this quest was no place for my wayward emotions.
I resolved to be strong, and serve the cause of the destruction of the ring. I felt sure I would get over my silly infatuation with you in time. How could it be more than physical . . . ? I hardly knew you!
But as the days went on, and Frodo and Sam took their own course, I began to feel as if there was more to what I was feeling than mere infatuation.
All the girls I had ever loved were nothing compared to you. It confused me, to remember Arwen's soft kiss only as a signifier as to how . . . other . . . elves might kiss. It was so strange, so unknown. I had always thought of myself as the manly protector, I mean I was a KING for goodness' sake . . .
But when the future began to look more and more bleak, as darker and darker clouds began to gather above the shadowed land of Mordor, I did not feel like a masculine protector any more. I wanted to fall into your arms and let you comfort me. I try so hard to be aloof, as if none of the incessant death and suffering gets to me . . . but it does!
It hurts me every day, to see people I have cared about suffering and dying for so little.
You were the only one who seemed to understand. You would always talk to me when I seemed depressed, in the soft, soothing tones of Quenya. You invariably knew when I needed you.
Some kind of elvish intuition I guess.
And, I admit it; I let my stupid infatuation grow out of all proportion. I mean, I am so very openly heterosexual. Masculine, dominant, ready to fight for what I believe in . . .
In fact, you might almost say I was a macho stereotype - but hey, I'm proud of it.
Why, then, this feeling like if I didn't have you around I might go crazy?
This feeling like, when I am on the verge of tears, your voice is the only voice that can soothe me?
Why, then, this love? When you thought I had died, falling from that cliff, I wonder how you felt?
I spent many a sleepless night imagining that you cared. Hoping that you might have felt a sense of loss, or longing . . .
But it is pointless. Futile.
When I saw you as I 'came back from the dead', I imagined, for a moment, a glint of elation in your eyes . . .
But I know it was just that - my imagination.
As we gripped each other's shoulders in a suitably manly greeting, I longed to fall into your arms and weep at all the tragedy I have seen. Had you looked, I'm sure you would have seen longing in my eyes. You would have seen the sense of safety I have with you, perhaps you would have seen the . . . love . . . I hold for you. But you didn't.
You never look into my eyes any more.
It makes me paranoid, it makes me think you might know how I feel about you. If you ever did, I would be mortified.
I practically ran away from you, with some mumbled excuse about preparing for battle. I was not going to let you see how much you affect me, emotionally.
I tried so hard, at the battle of Helm's Deep, to put you out of my mind. Ten thousand orcs should be enough to instil forgetfulness in the most rememberful of men. But every time I turned around, you were there. As if you were taunting me by your beauty and graceful presence.
I was not going to let you put me off - I had to be manly and aggressive, it's just what is expected of me.
I am, after all, the rightful King of Gondor.
Rampantly heterosexual.
iWhen I saw you at the Council of Elrond, I could tell you were different from the other Elves. You had more grace, if such a thing is possible, and more beauty.
When it was decided you were to join the fellowship I was worried - would I be able to fulfil my duty to the ring-bearer with you always present?
I needn't have worried. You were always so caring, yet rational. You knew when a level-headed attitude was needed, but also understood that sometimes emotion should be allowed to reign. Seeing this in you, I knew that this quest was no place for my wayward emotions.
I resolved to be strong, and serve the cause of the destruction of the ring. I felt sure I would get over my silly infatuation with you in time. How could it be more than physical . . . ? I hardly knew you!
But as the days went on, and Frodo and Sam took their own course, I began to feel as if there was more to what I was feeling than mere infatuation.
All the girls I had ever loved were nothing compared to you. It confused me, to remember Arwen's soft kiss only as a signifier as to how . . . other . . . elves might kiss. It was so strange, so unknown. I had always thought of myself as the manly protector, I mean I was a KING for goodness' sake . . .
But when the future began to look more and more bleak, as darker and darker clouds began to gather above the shadowed land of Mordor, I did not feel like a masculine protector any more. I wanted to fall into your arms and let you comfort me. I try so hard to be aloof, as if none of the incessant death and suffering gets to me . . . but it does!
It hurts me every day, to see people I have cared about suffering and dying for so little.
You were the only one who seemed to understand. You would always talk to me when I seemed depressed, in the soft, soothing tones of Quenya. You invariably knew when I needed you.
Some kind of elvish intuition I guess.
And, I admit it; I let my stupid infatuation grow out of all proportion. I mean, I am so very openly heterosexual. Masculine, dominant, ready to fight for what I believe in . . .
In fact, you might almost say I was a macho stereotype - but hey, I'm proud of it.
Why, then, this feeling like if I didn't have you around I might go crazy?
This feeling like, when I am on the verge of tears, your voice is the only voice that can soothe me?
Why, then, this love? When you thought I had died, falling from that cliff, I wonder how you felt?
I spent many a sleepless night imagining that you cared. Hoping that you might have felt a sense of loss, or longing . . .
But it is pointless. Futile.
When I saw you as I 'came back from the dead', I imagined, for a moment, a glint of elation in your eyes . . .
But I know it was just that - my imagination.
As we gripped each other's shoulders in a suitably manly greeting, I longed to fall into your arms and weep at all the tragedy I have seen. Had you looked, I'm sure you would have seen longing in my eyes. You would have seen the sense of safety I have with you, perhaps you would have seen the . . . love . . . I hold for you. But you didn't.
You never look into my eyes any more.
It makes me paranoid, it makes me think you might know how I feel about you. If you ever did, I would be mortified.
I practically ran away from you, with some mumbled excuse about preparing for battle. I was not going to let you see how much you affect me, emotionally.
I tried so hard, at the battle of Helm's Deep, to put you out of my mind. Ten thousand orcs should be enough to instil forgetfulness in the most rememberful of men. But every time I turned around, you were there. As if you were taunting me by your beauty and graceful presence.
I was not going to let you put me off - I had to be manly and aggressive, it's just what is expected of me.
I am, after all, the rightful King of Gondor.
Rampantly heterosexual.