~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Galadriel appeared detached and pensive as she observed the images playing out on the water's silvery surface. The warm sun penetrated the covering of various garden trees, but cheerful sunlight could not change the somber events she witnessed in her mirror. As her deep blue eyes closed, the water went blank before revealing a reflection of pale blue sky.
The Lady of the Wood told the first elf maid she encountered to send word to Lord Celeborn that preparation to receive the Lady Arwen. She would be arriving next morning. Normally, Galadriel would have supervised such events herself, but right now she had other things to ponder.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Emerald cloak and dark brown hair whirled about in the chilly autumn breeze. Arwen pushed her horse to the limit, urging it on ever faster. Physically, she was sailing through the wind. Her slender elf body was liberated, floating on air. But her mind yet seemed caged up back in Gondor with all else that did not cease to trouble her heart.
Just crawling over the blur of the horizon, the woods of Lórien lingered, beckoning . . .
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~ ~Old Habits Die Hard~ ~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
. . . . . .
A depressing, slightly smutty (still in the works) fanfiction about lost loves, ignored wisdom, and an incredibly pent-up Steward of Gondor.
. . . . . .
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Written By The Norse Goddess
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
A starry night's sky set the tone two days after Arwen's arrival. Galadriel opened the elegantly carved chamber door to reveal a serene room furnished with the ornate furniture so common to high elves. Arwen stood gazing out the large window, pondering the beauty of Lothlorien.
"Your heart is troubled much, young daughter."
Galadriel's low, flowing voice soothed Arwen's soul more than all the beauty of Lórien. She closed her eyes and felt Galadriel searching her soul, reading her thoughts. The elder elf found nothing she was not already keenly aware of. Long had Galadriel viewed Arwen's troubles through her mirror.
"King Elesser's heart is naught but pure deed and kind intent," Arwen started. "But that heart now does not feel such complete love for me, I doubt now it ever did . . ."
Arwen turned to face her grandmother. A tear ran down her pale cheek.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~Part One~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Involving a sleepy king, a restless shieldmaiden, and a some sharp, metal objects!!
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Pale blue eyes blinked slowly open to meet the dim morning light. Aragorn resisted the urge to burrow into the bed sheets and escape the bite of chilly autumn air. Rays of sun played on the floor as he hauled his sleep ridden body out of bed and trudged across the room to the water basin. Aragorn splashed the icy water on his face. He had always been a late sleeper by nature, despite his years of experience with the unusual sleeping habits a ranger's life demanded.
This was a day for swordplay, decided the sleepy King as he turned to the window. The light of dawn displayed the beginnings of a clear, fair day for battle training. Aragorn glanced at his famous sword lying on a table, shrouded in cloth. Yes, today he longed for the thrill of war, the excitement of . . . of adventure . . . Ah, he remembered his days as a ranger fondly - almost wistfully. Being a king wasn't so bad as he's imagined it to be. But his heart was beginning to long for previous pastimes. Ah well - he sighed - perhaps the clash of swords would complete his longing.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Éowyn had watched the ebony night sky fade into a watery blue fall morning. She had been awake for hours taking in the sunrise and listening to Faramir's quiet breathing. With each passing day, the longing in her heart was slowly growing stronger, regardless of her efforts to prevent it. She had been a fool to believe she could leave behind all that her life had been. She regretted that the secure confines of marriage had failed to change her nature from slayer to healer.
Her eagerness to heal and be the patient mother and wife that men so valued had soon faded into frustration at her lack of domestic talent. She had not the patience to heal or sew, she lacked the initiative to organize a household, she didn't even have the voice for singing. And yet, her lack of activity seemed to bother no one. Éowyn could be restless, but she would not be ignore. The shining glory of war, the triumph of battle - these were the things that made Éowyn truly fulfilled, truly happy.
Alas, she could not remember the last time she had felt that true happiness. She had thought that when her shadow had passed on the tower, before her marriage she had felt such bliss - but it had been a lie. The last time she had felt bliss had been in Rohan when - no, it had been in battle with - with Aragorn . . .
Ah, she had to stop thinking about him!! It simply was not, had never been remotely possible for her affections toward Aragorn to be anything more than a sweet daydream . . . a daydream that had once consumed her life. Éowyn would not let that happen again . . . it had passed.
She gracefully slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Faramir, and reached for her various articles of clothing. Fortunately, the dress she chose laced up the front, and there was no need to call in one of her handmaidens to help. She needed to see the sky, to smell the air. She needed to remember what happiness felt like. She needed to forget Aragorn. But forgetting was not to be her fate as, at last, she eased the chamber door shut and started down the hall.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
The East courtyard was deathly silent and peacefully void of life. For generations, this particular area had been claimed by the men for swordplay and other such arts of war. Unlike the other courtyards, filled with flowers and charming stone walkways, this one was little more than dirt decorated with various footprints and sickly patches of grass. The battle gear hung on the West wall, dimly gleaming with the fading light of the full moon.
Aragorn didn't hear the light footsteps until it was too late. He was caught off his guard and felt exposed as his eyes caught the fleeting vision: Pure, white flowing garments framed in heavenly golden light seemed to float through the dark, indoors hallway, emerging outside. The dull light of morning stripped away the vision to reveal the pure loveliness of Éowyn. Aragorn was too stunned to move or speak. Éowyn stared for a moment before stepping behind him to face the rising sun.
The King was bothered by his moment of dumb surprise. The vision had faded, he couldn't afford to dwell on it, he must remain in the present. He turned to face Éowyn and found that she had taken a sword from it's shelf and was inspecting the blade. She took a few practice swings.
"Typical Éowyn," thought Aragorn.
Éowyn let the sword rest in her hand and took a few steps towards him. Aragorn felt an instinctive nervousness knowing he would have to fight the one person he had always feared would best him.
"You didn't come here just to watch the sun rise, did you?" Her words cut through the silence.
Aragorn was caught off his guard again, the sharp words seemed so unnatural coming from such a lovely creature. But then he glanced at her face and saw that although she was beautiful as ever, the expression her face held was frightening, even vicious. He remembered that expression exclusively from battle. It never ceased to pierce his heart with fear. That flame of fierce passion which would only fade when Éowyn had had her fight, or died trying.
Aragorn methodically walked towards a shelf and selected the sword that lay on it. It was one of the finer pieces kept for training those too young to have their own sword. He gazed at Éowyn and noted that the fearsome expression had not dwindled. With sword in hand, he felt much of his confidence return. Éowyn had not picked up a sword in months, perhaps he would have easy victory.
His lips tried to issue a general statement to acknowledge the beginning of the fight, but never got the chance. Éowyn whirled around, slicing the air, yet strangely, not the silence with her sword. Aragorn blocked the move at the last second, caught off guard only momentarily. Éowyn let out a loud, guttural gasp at the collision of weapons. Her furious eyes grew ever brighter. Their swordplay raged on for minutes upon minutes, yet it seemed miles of time slipped away.
Aragorn was deeply comfortable, feeling out each move instinctively. He felt certain he would win for at the rate things were currently going, he could keep this up until the moon came out. But just Aragorn would win, the tide turned. Éowyn inhaled quickly, deeply and closed her eyes for a split second. It was as if she were invoking some deep magic, conjuring up some secret power within her. And when her eyes opened, she fought with the deadly wrath of a woman gone mad.
Aragorn held out at first. "Surely she cannot keep this up, she will tire soon."
But Éowyn did not tire and Aragorn's confidence slowly turned to fear. He had not felt such fear even when fighting orcs! But he would never end such a fight. The indignity of cowardice made him cringe. He would fight until dead with exhaustion! Fortunately, he didn't need to. The icy steel of Éowyn's sword bit his neck ever so slightly. His sword thudded on the damp ground as his fingers fell, limp, at his side.
Two sorrowful hearts raced in the silence. Éowyn wore an expression of blank astonishment mingled with horror. The crystal tear that fell from her eye was the moment of truth.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
It had always seemed to Arwen that Galadriel's garden was perhaps the most unsettling place she had ever been. Beautiful, tranquil - yes. But one was more at ease being chased by nazgul then being asked to look into her mirror.
Galadriel stood opposite Arwen, the pair silently watching the image of Aragorn in the mirror. It seemed that the face staring back at them held within it youth, maturity, and old age. The regal King of Gondor, past present and future.
"You knew this would happen," the Lady said. "You knew it in your heart, even though you would not admit to it."
"I had hoped I could change what my heart foresaw." And Arwen's despair rang out in her voice.
Galadriel said nothing audible. But in Arwen's thoughts her voice echoed: " . . . things fade . . . your hope betrayed you . . . his love for you is dead . . ." And never had she felt such utter desperation, such icy chill in her heart.
Galadriel drew closer to Arwen, stepping around the stone pillar supporting the mirror. She lifted her slender hand and pressed it to Arwen's lower stomach, closing her eyes.
" . . . such sadness . . ."
"It is as I have seen," she said, opening her eyes and drawing back her hand. "You carry within you Elesser's only son. The line of Gondor will continue. "You however," she looked at Arwen, "will not."
Arwen's face paled and her eyes grew wide with shock. Her eyes strayed down to her stomach and she clasped her hands protectively over it. Galadriel observed her chest rise and fall with the ragged, unsteady breathing of a woman now condemned to die.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Galadriel appeared detached and pensive as she observed the images playing out on the water's silvery surface. The warm sun penetrated the covering of various garden trees, but cheerful sunlight could not change the somber events she witnessed in her mirror. As her deep blue eyes closed, the water went blank before revealing a reflection of pale blue sky.
The Lady of the Wood told the first elf maid she encountered to send word to Lord Celeborn that preparation to receive the Lady Arwen. She would be arriving next morning. Normally, Galadriel would have supervised such events herself, but right now she had other things to ponder.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Emerald cloak and dark brown hair whirled about in the chilly autumn breeze. Arwen pushed her horse to the limit, urging it on ever faster. Physically, she was sailing through the wind. Her slender elf body was liberated, floating on air. But her mind yet seemed caged up back in Gondor with all else that did not cease to trouble her heart.
Just crawling over the blur of the horizon, the woods of Lórien lingered, beckoning . . .
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~ ~Old Habits Die Hard~ ~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
. . . . . .
A depressing, slightly smutty (still in the works) fanfiction about lost loves, ignored wisdom, and an incredibly pent-up Steward of Gondor.
. . . . . .
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Written By The Norse Goddess
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
A starry night's sky set the tone two days after Arwen's arrival. Galadriel opened the elegantly carved chamber door to reveal a serene room furnished with the ornate furniture so common to high elves. Arwen stood gazing out the large window, pondering the beauty of Lothlorien.
"Your heart is troubled much, young daughter."
Galadriel's low, flowing voice soothed Arwen's soul more than all the beauty of Lórien. She closed her eyes and felt Galadriel searching her soul, reading her thoughts. The elder elf found nothing she was not already keenly aware of. Long had Galadriel viewed Arwen's troubles through her mirror.
"King Elesser's heart is naught but pure deed and kind intent," Arwen started. "But that heart now does not feel such complete love for me, I doubt now it ever did . . ."
Arwen turned to face her grandmother. A tear ran down her pale cheek.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
~Part One~
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Involving a sleepy king, a restless shieldmaiden, and a some sharp, metal objects!!
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Pale blue eyes blinked slowly open to meet the dim morning light. Aragorn resisted the urge to burrow into the bed sheets and escape the bite of chilly autumn air. Rays of sun played on the floor as he hauled his sleep ridden body out of bed and trudged across the room to the water basin. Aragorn splashed the icy water on his face. He had always been a late sleeper by nature, despite his years of experience with the unusual sleeping habits a ranger's life demanded.
This was a day for swordplay, decided the sleepy King as he turned to the window. The light of dawn displayed the beginnings of a clear, fair day for battle training. Aragorn glanced at his famous sword lying on a table, shrouded in cloth. Yes, today he longed for the thrill of war, the excitement of . . . of adventure . . . Ah, he remembered his days as a ranger fondly - almost wistfully. Being a king wasn't so bad as he's imagined it to be. But his heart was beginning to long for previous pastimes. Ah well - he sighed - perhaps the clash of swords would complete his longing.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Éowyn had watched the ebony night sky fade into a watery blue fall morning. She had been awake for hours taking in the sunrise and listening to Faramir's quiet breathing. With each passing day, the longing in her heart was slowly growing stronger, regardless of her efforts to prevent it. She had been a fool to believe she could leave behind all that her life had been. She regretted that the secure confines of marriage had failed to change her nature from slayer to healer.
Her eagerness to heal and be the patient mother and wife that men so valued had soon faded into frustration at her lack of domestic talent. She had not the patience to heal or sew, she lacked the initiative to organize a household, she didn't even have the voice for singing. And yet, her lack of activity seemed to bother no one. Éowyn could be restless, but she would not be ignore. The shining glory of war, the triumph of battle - these were the things that made Éowyn truly fulfilled, truly happy.
Alas, she could not remember the last time she had felt that true happiness. She had thought that when her shadow had passed on the tower, before her marriage she had felt such bliss - but it had been a lie. The last time she had felt bliss had been in Rohan when - no, it had been in battle with - with Aragorn . . .
Ah, she had to stop thinking about him!! It simply was not, had never been remotely possible for her affections toward Aragorn to be anything more than a sweet daydream . . . a daydream that had once consumed her life. Éowyn would not let that happen again . . . it had passed.
She gracefully slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Faramir, and reached for her various articles of clothing. Fortunately, the dress she chose laced up the front, and there was no need to call in one of her handmaidens to help. She needed to see the sky, to smell the air. She needed to remember what happiness felt like. She needed to forget Aragorn. But forgetting was not to be her fate as, at last, she eased the chamber door shut and started down the hall.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
The East courtyard was deathly silent and peacefully void of life. For generations, this particular area had been claimed by the men for swordplay and other such arts of war. Unlike the other courtyards, filled with flowers and charming stone walkways, this one was little more than dirt decorated with various footprints and sickly patches of grass. The battle gear hung on the West wall, dimly gleaming with the fading light of the full moon.
Aragorn didn't hear the light footsteps until it was too late. He was caught off his guard and felt exposed as his eyes caught the fleeting vision: Pure, white flowing garments framed in heavenly golden light seemed to float through the dark, indoors hallway, emerging outside. The dull light of morning stripped away the vision to reveal the pure loveliness of Éowyn. Aragorn was too stunned to move or speak. Éowyn stared for a moment before stepping behind him to face the rising sun.
The King was bothered by his moment of dumb surprise. The vision had faded, he couldn't afford to dwell on it, he must remain in the present. He turned to face Éowyn and found that she had taken a sword from it's shelf and was inspecting the blade. She took a few practice swings.
"Typical Éowyn," thought Aragorn.
Éowyn let the sword rest in her hand and took a few steps towards him. Aragorn felt an instinctive nervousness knowing he would have to fight the one person he had always feared would best him.
"You didn't come here just to watch the sun rise, did you?" Her words cut through the silence.
Aragorn was caught off his guard again, the sharp words seemed so unnatural coming from such a lovely creature. But then he glanced at her face and saw that although she was beautiful as ever, the expression her face held was frightening, even vicious. He remembered that expression exclusively from battle. It never ceased to pierce his heart with fear. That flame of fierce passion which would only fade when Éowyn had had her fight, or died trying.
Aragorn methodically walked towards a shelf and selected the sword that lay on it. It was one of the finer pieces kept for training those too young to have their own sword. He gazed at Éowyn and noted that the fearsome expression had not dwindled. With sword in hand, he felt much of his confidence return. Éowyn had not picked up a sword in months, perhaps he would have easy victory.
His lips tried to issue a general statement to acknowledge the beginning of the fight, but never got the chance. Éowyn whirled around, slicing the air, yet strangely, not the silence with her sword. Aragorn blocked the move at the last second, caught off guard only momentarily. Éowyn let out a loud, guttural gasp at the collision of weapons. Her furious eyes grew ever brighter. Their swordplay raged on for minutes upon minutes, yet it seemed miles of time slipped away.
Aragorn was deeply comfortable, feeling out each move instinctively. He felt certain he would win for at the rate things were currently going, he could keep this up until the moon came out. But just Aragorn would win, the tide turned. Éowyn inhaled quickly, deeply and closed her eyes for a split second. It was as if she were invoking some deep magic, conjuring up some secret power within her. And when her eyes opened, she fought with the deadly wrath of a woman gone mad.
Aragorn held out at first. "Surely she cannot keep this up, she will tire soon."
But Éowyn did not tire and Aragorn's confidence slowly turned to fear. He had not felt such fear even when fighting orcs! But he would never end such a fight. The indignity of cowardice made him cringe. He would fight until dead with exhaustion! Fortunately, he didn't need to. The icy steel of Éowyn's sword bit his neck ever so slightly. His sword thudded on the damp ground as his fingers fell, limp, at his side.
Two sorrowful hearts raced in the silence. Éowyn wore an expression of blank astonishment mingled with horror. The crystal tear that fell from her eye was the moment of truth.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
It had always seemed to Arwen that Galadriel's garden was perhaps the most unsettling place she had ever been. Beautiful, tranquil - yes. But one was more at ease being chased by nazgul then being asked to look into her mirror.
Galadriel stood opposite Arwen, the pair silently watching the image of Aragorn in the mirror. It seemed that the face staring back at them held within it youth, maturity, and old age. The regal King of Gondor, past present and future.
"You knew this would happen," the Lady said. "You knew it in your heart, even though you would not admit to it."
"I had hoped I could change what my heart foresaw." And Arwen's despair rang out in her voice.
Galadriel said nothing audible. But in Arwen's thoughts her voice echoed: " . . . things fade . . . your hope betrayed you . . . his love for you is dead . . ." And never had she felt such utter desperation, such icy chill in her heart.
Galadriel drew closer to Arwen, stepping around the stone pillar supporting the mirror. She lifted her slender hand and pressed it to Arwen's lower stomach, closing her eyes.
" . . . such sadness . . ."
"It is as I have seen," she said, opening her eyes and drawing back her hand. "You carry within you Elesser's only son. The line of Gondor will continue. "You however," she looked at Arwen, "will not."
Arwen's face paled and her eyes grew wide with shock. Her eyes strayed down to her stomach and she clasped her hands protectively over it. Galadriel observed her chest rise and fall with the ragged, unsteady breathing of a woman now condemned to die.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~