Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play in their world.
I watch Arwen as she walks through the palace halls, content to acquaint herself with my advisors and the servants, speaking to them as though each were her equal in status. She is noble by birth, an high Elven princess born to a house of prestige and honor, but she will soon be a Queen, and her grace and caring will ensure her the respect of our subjects. The ways she mingled with all manner of people during the wedding of my steward and the white lady of Rohan only reinforced my belief that only she could rule by my side with matched ability.
As I stand under the morning sunshine watching the courtyard below the balcony, I smile as she sits under the white tree of Gondor, hand playing in the water of the fountain. She is speaking with her handmaid Uruviel, placed in her charge by her grandmother Galadriel. The blond elf maid stands over Arwen's shoulders, running her elegant hands through my love's hair, pulling it back into a thick dark braid, and suddenly I would love to be in her stead, playing with Arwen's curls rather then waiting upon an impending meeting with my councilors. Their voices are low, slightly accented and lilting, and the sound reminds me of a song my mother would sing to me as a child in Rivendell.
Memories of my childhood distract my musing, and I find myself remembering the way my mother would gracefully glide through Elrond's halls, quietly grieving for my fallen father. She always carried a book about in the pocket of her skirts, though in thinking about it I find I can no longer remember the name of this book. I do recall from her stories that my father had given it to her and an inscription lined it's first page, my father's scrawl pledging his undying love for my mother. Before my mother died of her grief, she gave the book to Arwen, believing the daughter of her trusted friend would protect the memento. As I was a small child then, I did not recognize the ache in Arwen's eyes at receiving such a gift. I also never asked Arwen about the book, because I had assumed that Elrond's daughter knew of the importance of this book to my mother, and had buried the item with my mother's body beneath the willow tress of Rivendell. We still have not spoken of those days, for I know Arwen understands my sadness and reluctance to part with the few memories I reserve of my mother for my own use.
Thinking of the love my father and mother shared only furthers to remind me of the intense passion I have harbored for Arwen since I encountered her in Lorien. Despite being reared in Rivendell by Elrond, I was preoccupied by life's everyday mysteries, and eager to go out into the world and prove my worth. Until the year I turned twenty, I hardly thought of Arwen at all. I did not see her often, as she was usually away in Lothlorien with her mother's kin. When I would see her, I would think her beautiful, and like men are prone to do, found myself occasionally incorporating her into the fantasies all young men indulge in when discovering themselves. But she was never more then a pleasing pastime until I saw her in the golden woods, twirling and singing.
I was struck at the change in my perceptions of her. It was as though she had suddenly become a goddess, and I was eager to worship at her feet. For a time, I was nothing more then an annoyance to her. I followed her around and sought her out, trying to gain knowledge of her likes, dislikes, dreams, and loves. I wanted to make her see me as I saw her; intriguing, genuine, and pleasing. I'm sure my onslaught caused her more consternation then interest, but eventually I won her over, much to my delight. We spent days and nights speaking beneath clouds and stars, walking through midnight forests, and embracing in secluded glades. We promised ourselves to each other, and though there have been countless hardships and trials standing in our way, here we now stand, one day away from our wedding and the rest of our life together.
"Your Majesty?"
Turning to look over my shoulder, I see a young page, no older then thirteen, kneeling before me. I grimace at the sight. I doubt I shall ever be used to such sights of reverance. I raise my hands in a gesture for the boy to stand.
"Please stand, my boy. What news do you bring me this day?"
The boy shifts uncomfortably, and I wonder what such message he could be baring to garner such hesitation. He clears his throat and speaks haltingly. "A message from the Lady Arwen. She wishes you adhere to the customs of her people and leave her be until the 'morrow. She wishes you to know it is considered ill bearing for you to lay eyes upon her the day before her father presents her hand to you."
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, and in response, I turn and walk to the railing of the balcony, gazing down at the retreating backside of my love. The page remains behind me, awaiting on my answer. Amused, I raise the level of my voice, loud enough for her to hear as she leaves the quiet of the courtyard.
"You may tell Lady Arwen that as King, I may look upon that which pleases me most, regardless of desire or tradition."
I watch as Arwen smiles over her shoulder, and Uruviel glares up at my crudeness.
"Sir?"
"That is all, Page. You are dismissed. Go and enjoy the company of your friends for the remainder of the night. I have no need for your services anymore this day." The boy bows slightly, and with a smile, bounds with childish enthusiasm from my presence.
Sighing contentedly, I return my gaze to the courtyard, and enjoy the warmth of the summer sun upon my back. Tomorrow this green shall be made ready for the wedding of a King, but for now all is quiet and serene. I clasp my hands behind my back and head back towards the cool stone halls of the palace, mindful to avoid my future Queen and her throng of protective attendants, at least until midnight.
I watch Arwen as she walks through the palace halls, content to acquaint herself with my advisors and the servants, speaking to them as though each were her equal in status. She is noble by birth, an high Elven princess born to a house of prestige and honor, but she will soon be a Queen, and her grace and caring will ensure her the respect of our subjects. The ways she mingled with all manner of people during the wedding of my steward and the white lady of Rohan only reinforced my belief that only she could rule by my side with matched ability.
As I stand under the morning sunshine watching the courtyard below the balcony, I smile as she sits under the white tree of Gondor, hand playing in the water of the fountain. She is speaking with her handmaid Uruviel, placed in her charge by her grandmother Galadriel. The blond elf maid stands over Arwen's shoulders, running her elegant hands through my love's hair, pulling it back into a thick dark braid, and suddenly I would love to be in her stead, playing with Arwen's curls rather then waiting upon an impending meeting with my councilors. Their voices are low, slightly accented and lilting, and the sound reminds me of a song my mother would sing to me as a child in Rivendell.
Memories of my childhood distract my musing, and I find myself remembering the way my mother would gracefully glide through Elrond's halls, quietly grieving for my fallen father. She always carried a book about in the pocket of her skirts, though in thinking about it I find I can no longer remember the name of this book. I do recall from her stories that my father had given it to her and an inscription lined it's first page, my father's scrawl pledging his undying love for my mother. Before my mother died of her grief, she gave the book to Arwen, believing the daughter of her trusted friend would protect the memento. As I was a small child then, I did not recognize the ache in Arwen's eyes at receiving such a gift. I also never asked Arwen about the book, because I had assumed that Elrond's daughter knew of the importance of this book to my mother, and had buried the item with my mother's body beneath the willow tress of Rivendell. We still have not spoken of those days, for I know Arwen understands my sadness and reluctance to part with the few memories I reserve of my mother for my own use.
Thinking of the love my father and mother shared only furthers to remind me of the intense passion I have harbored for Arwen since I encountered her in Lorien. Despite being reared in Rivendell by Elrond, I was preoccupied by life's everyday mysteries, and eager to go out into the world and prove my worth. Until the year I turned twenty, I hardly thought of Arwen at all. I did not see her often, as she was usually away in Lothlorien with her mother's kin. When I would see her, I would think her beautiful, and like men are prone to do, found myself occasionally incorporating her into the fantasies all young men indulge in when discovering themselves. But she was never more then a pleasing pastime until I saw her in the golden woods, twirling and singing.
I was struck at the change in my perceptions of her. It was as though she had suddenly become a goddess, and I was eager to worship at her feet. For a time, I was nothing more then an annoyance to her. I followed her around and sought her out, trying to gain knowledge of her likes, dislikes, dreams, and loves. I wanted to make her see me as I saw her; intriguing, genuine, and pleasing. I'm sure my onslaught caused her more consternation then interest, but eventually I won her over, much to my delight. We spent days and nights speaking beneath clouds and stars, walking through midnight forests, and embracing in secluded glades. We promised ourselves to each other, and though there have been countless hardships and trials standing in our way, here we now stand, one day away from our wedding and the rest of our life together.
"Your Majesty?"
Turning to look over my shoulder, I see a young page, no older then thirteen, kneeling before me. I grimace at the sight. I doubt I shall ever be used to such sights of reverance. I raise my hands in a gesture for the boy to stand.
"Please stand, my boy. What news do you bring me this day?"
The boy shifts uncomfortably, and I wonder what such message he could be baring to garner such hesitation. He clears his throat and speaks haltingly. "A message from the Lady Arwen. She wishes you adhere to the customs of her people and leave her be until the 'morrow. She wishes you to know it is considered ill bearing for you to lay eyes upon her the day before her father presents her hand to you."
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, and in response, I turn and walk to the railing of the balcony, gazing down at the retreating backside of my love. The page remains behind me, awaiting on my answer. Amused, I raise the level of my voice, loud enough for her to hear as she leaves the quiet of the courtyard.
"You may tell Lady Arwen that as King, I may look upon that which pleases me most, regardless of desire or tradition."
I watch as Arwen smiles over her shoulder, and Uruviel glares up at my crudeness.
"Sir?"
"That is all, Page. You are dismissed. Go and enjoy the company of your friends for the remainder of the night. I have no need for your services anymore this day." The boy bows slightly, and with a smile, bounds with childish enthusiasm from my presence.
Sighing contentedly, I return my gaze to the courtyard, and enjoy the warmth of the summer sun upon my back. Tomorrow this green shall be made ready for the wedding of a King, but for now all is quiet and serene. I clasp my hands behind my back and head back towards the cool stone halls of the palace, mindful to avoid my future Queen and her throng of protective attendants, at least until midnight.