Disclaimer: I don't own these Characters. I just play in their world.
"This damned tunic is so tight about the neck I'm more likely to choke to death than be married!"
Aragorn pulled at the neckline of his wine colored tunic, the heavy velvet refusing to loosen its hold around his neck. He stretched for the hundredth time in five minutes, the dark metal of his armor glinting sharply in the fading light of the afternoon. The crown of Condor, majestic in its heavy wrought silver and gold, rested upon his brow, regal and imposing and powerful.
Elrond smiled softly as he watched his foster son pace about the small room, positioned high above the royal courtyard below so that the occupants within might peer out the closest window and view below the growing attendance of the first royal wedding in Gondor in a very long time. The Elf lord silently followed the King's every movement with a studied eye. He grinned privately as he recognized the nerves and giddy excitement in the younger man's steps and gestures. It was a dance, he remembered with a pang of bittersweet recollection, which he himself had executed on the day of his own wedding to his beloved Celebrian.
"Is it time yet? How much longer must a man wait?!" Aragorn glanced feverishly at the elegant time keep upon his desk. His eyes narrowing, he picked the small wooden box up and fingered its swaying pendulum. "Perhaps this time piece is slow…."
"Estel, please! Drink some wine. Your fretting is pushing the rest of us beyond the brink of sanity." Elrond moved across the room and placed his cool hand upon Aragorn's broad shoulder. He motioned to his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, and immediately they set about pouring goblets of wine.
Aragorn smiled tightly. "A king does not fret; he merely ponders." He smiled a small smile of thanks as he accepted the silver chalice of wine, and downed the contents in one fell swoop before pouring himself another glass.
"By the Valar, I said 'drink some wine', not 'imbibe the entire decanter'." Elrond shook his head. "My son, I think you are far too nervous for a man about to be wed. You're going about this as if you were about to lay your head upon a chopping block."
Elrohir laughed. "Ada, is there a difference?" His twin joined the mirth and added his own chuckle to the blend as he clapped his brother on the back. Aragorn favored them with a sarcastic smirk and Elrond shook his head at his sons.
A knock on the door broke the playful mood and all heads turned to see Legolas and Faramir push threw the heavy wooden doors and enter the room. The blond elf smiled at his friend and the Steward dipped into a well-practiced bow with assured ease, acknowledging the Lord of Rivendell and his dark-haired children.
"Your Majesty, it is time for you to greet your guests and begin the ceremony." He motioned towards the door. Aragorn squared his shoulders and turned to Elrond.
"My Lord, I trust that you are set to check upon the lady before we begin?"
"I thought to do so, yes. I shall do that now, I think." He smiled sadly. "It would be wise to calm any wedding nerves she might be having. If she is anything like her mother, she will need a glass of wine herself." He retreated from the room, his two sons following and joking as they went. Aragorn watched their departure from the room and turned to his friends. He exhaled heavily before reaching for Anduril, which rested against the dark wood of his desk. He belted the sword around his waist, and looked to Legolas and Faramir for assurance.
"Well, do I look like a husband?"
Both sets of eyes immediately rose to set upon his crown, and the two exchanged amused glances. Faramir smiled as he nodded. "As much as one can, when one is King, I suppose." The three laughed.
"I will leave you now, and take my place with the Mirkwood delegation, if your Majesty will permit me." Legolas inclined his head to Aragorn, and the mortal nodded his head in acquiescence. With typical elvish illusiveness, he was gone before Faramir and Aragorn could farewell his departure. The two men stood mute, content in their silence, until Aragorn looked his Steward straight in the eye with a tense, almost angry seriousness the younger man knew no man should possess on the day he took a wife.
"You have seen to it, then?"
"To the best of my ability, Aragorn."
Aragorn shook his head as he paced back to the window, staring vacantly below at the assembled guests and guards. "I'll have no tricks or ill words against her. Not on this day." He turned back to address his friend. "I will not see her happiness spoiled over petty businesses and agendas. She is my chosen Queen. They must accept that." His grey eyes grew dark and feral, cloudy in his intent. Faramir noticed the immediate transition, and was thankful that he was not the focus of such obvious power and might and barely retrained will.
Arwen stepped lightly down the long cobbled pathway, the hem of her long gown trailing behind her as she walked. She appeared calm and cool, her head held high as befitting a lady of the last homely house, her pace slow and measured. She sparkled in her luminosity, and those who gazed upon her recognized her unparalleled beauty. Her chest rose in even breaths, her pale skin gleaming against the tightly laced bodice of her white wedding attire. To all she appeared collected, refined, but inside, her pulse beat widely in her veins and she feared her heart beat so ferociously all could hear the tremulous sound. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced nervously about her as she moved, taking in the smiling rosy faces of some and the stony faced facades of others.
Sheer iron will forced her to ignore heated glares and apathetic glances. She focused her sight on the man standing before her. She smiled as she took in his tailored regal appearance, so different from his ranger attire of perpetual sweat and musk and leather, and yet still he managed to snuff the very air from her lungs . He shone like a beacon, and she felt all her anxieties melt away under his loving gaze. Her blue eyes sparked a brilliant fire, and without words she joined him at his side, her hands reaching out delicately to weave her fingers with his own.
To the guests gathered for the historic joining, it was a thing of wonder. For some, it was a testament to the sheer determination and endurance of true love. Family and Friends of the lovers smiled gratefully, if not a little mournfully, for the culmination of this tragically sweet affair; but for one person in particular, it was a travesty to the sanctity of Gondor's throne.
At the far end of the mass, a small, thin dark haired woman with hard hazel eyes stood with her handsome but aging husband and her smiling daughter. The Lady Cilrinn huffed quietly as the King promised eternal love and devotion to the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven. The older woman sneered throughout the ceremony, careful to remain silent for fear of the sure retribution she would incur for her malcontent. She tossed a carefully masked glance of interest in her family's general direction.
Her husband Belredd wore a wide grin, the skin around his green eyes crinkled with merriment. Her daughter Belrinn clapped with the throng, excited to be a part of such an important event, her thin pink lips curved into an innocent smile. Celrinn cruelly marveled at her young daughter's apparent lack of loss; 'but than again', she thought with a touch of cynical humor, 'she has her father's ambition.' As the cheering continued and grew in volume, she tossed a bitter glance once more at the lovely elf Queen as she was swept into the King's arms for a passionate kiss to seal their union.
Lady Celrinn's family had been intertwined with the Stewards of Gondor for centuries. When word had spread throughout Gondor of an heir for the long abandoned throne, exciting tremors of anticipation had coursed through the veins of the fiercely proud Celrinn. She could barely contain herself as she filled her daughter's ear with stories of past queens and the importance of such a role, eager to inspire in her daughter a sense of destiny, a desire to perhaps ensnare this new monarch when he finally showed up and attain a position of prestige and wealth for her already renowned family.
Aragorn's appearance in Gondor had prompted all the pomp and circumstance Celrinn had imagined, especially following the defeat of Sauron and his forces at the hands of this Northman, this Dunadan king with the handsome face and crystalline eyes. In the weeks it took to establish a court for the former ranger, she had involved herself vigorously to get Lord Elessar's attention. She had dragged her daughter, barely into her first year of womanhood, along with her in attempts to catch the king's weary eye. The appearance of Arwen Undomiel at the king's coronation one month following his arrival in Minas Tirith had seriously thwarted her plans, and with the announcement of their wedding, Lady Celrinn had gone into a period of self-involved mourning so strong her husband had felt it better to just leave her be 'til after the wedding.
It did not take long for her sense of rejection to boil over into a pervading sense of hate for the lithe and lovely elf. At the betrothal feast, she had painstakingly spread rumors concerning the future queen. She did her best to portray the Evenstar as a manipulative vixen bent upon squiring the throne of men away from Isildur's heir. It had worked for a time, and several nobles believed the salacious gossip, much to her delight. Some errant fool had even criticized the elf outright, naming her a whore before the entire crowd. Celrinn would never have been so bold, as she preferred to do all her dirty work in a discreet manner more becoming of a lady, but still, she was pleased.
It bothered her to no end that her daughter had not recognized the great prize she had lost to the lady of Rivendell. When she had brought the matter up with the girl on the night of the feast, Belrinn's face had held no sense of regret nor any sign of sadness. Instead she wore a dreamy expression and spoke of the endearing love her King expressed for the beautiful maiden with the pointed ears. Ever one to indulge his daughter, her husband Belredd had filled her head with the notion of her own one true love as he spun the thin maid about the stone floors of their home in a courtly dance. Celrinn had rubbed her temples as she ignored the paternal display of affection. When Belrinn had retired for the evening and husband and wife lay together in bed, Belredd had held his wife in arms designed to bring out the softer side in his chosen. In resigned tones she spoke of their daughter's future, and her desire to see her well matched.
Belredd smiled and kissed the top of his wife's hair, and she rested her head upon his chest and listened to his heart beat and the steady sound of his soft snores reverberate beyond his ribs. When she was sure of his slumber, she had moved gently from the bed and moved to stand before the window. She stared at the white palace above in the highest level of the citadel and felt a new wave of anger surge through her at the thought of Arwen Undomiel sleeping in that elegant fortress. For two days her husband had pleaded with her to attend the wedding, and it was only out of her love for her husband that she agreed on the morning of.
Now here she stood, surrounded by those no longer under the allusions and net of gossip she had so carefully woven days before. She watched as one after another, nobles, elves, and even four small hobbits tossed blossom petals into the air over the heads of the passing newlyweds. Her husband wrapped a strong arm about her, and she reluctantly clapped with the others.