Mistletoe is back!

Disclamier: it's all Tolkien's, except Riare who is mine!

Dedication: to Ria and Claire because they are two of the coolest friends I've made from fanfiction, so much so they get a character named after them! ;)
(and Ria-LaLa I miss you so much! But I'll be seeing you in a month! wahoo!)

Beta: Tori-a-saurus, my bestest dinosaur buddy! ;)

And so, without much further ado, here goes...

Chapter 7

Riare hurried along the corridors of the palace, hoping today she would finally find her way to the royal chambers without getting lost. She had not been there long, going into servantry as soon as she turned fifteen, and that morning the Mistress had recruited her on special request of the King, to ready the Queen for the Mid-Winter Ball.

It was an honour most servants could only dream of, and that was one of the things that made her so anxious. She presumed she had been chosen because of her skills styling hair (she had eight younger sisters on which to practise), but she knew if she did something wrong she would never again get the oppurtunity she so desperately wanted, which was to be one of the Queen's personal maids.

The young girl shook her head slightly as she neared the monarchs' quarters. She was fantasising again, and it did nothing for her nervousness. Whilst mentally berating herself she realised she had walked straight past their bed chamber, and backtracked as slowly as she could without attracting attention from the guard outside the room. Unsure what she should do now she was so close, she just stood and watched her feet, half expecting the door to open infront of her.

The guard cleared his throat and she looked at him, noticing how young he was. "New, are you?" He asked, and she nodded. Smiling, he tapped three times on the dark panelled door. "They don't mind you walking in," he told her quietly, "But my advice is to knock. When I first came here I didn't bother, and it scarred me for life."

As the young man shivered at the memory they heard the king shout, "Come in," which was closely followed by the queen's voice and some uncatchable undertones. Riare thanked the guard for the advice and, taking a deep breath, opened the door...

She immediately wished she hadn't.

The king and queen were entwined in each other's arms, so much so that Riare didn't know where he ended and she began. Even though she knew it was rude, she couldn't help but stare. The kiss they were sharing went on for so long without either of them breathing that she thought they must have forgotten how. When the king finally pulled back, it was only to meet the queen's lips again in another lingering kiss, which visibly weakened her in his arms.

Eventually the royal couple seemed to notice Riare's presence, and she quickly averted her eyes - if she was caught watching such a tender moment between them, she knew she would be dismissed immediately from the palace. She bowed low to the floor, cheeks beginning to burn. She had never been this close to royalty before, let alone to style the queen's hair - her sisters would be so jealous!

The king smiled, causing her to blush even harder. "Meleth, this is Riare," - he knew her name! - "She's going to make you beautiful for me. Not that you need it," he added, as he spun his smiling wife in his arms and ushered her - by means of a hit on the backside - across to her dressing table. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Riare alone with the queen. Not sure what she should do, she just stood by the door like a timid child. But when the dark haired Elf smiled at her, she couldn't help but smile back. She had hear rumours of her beauty, but not one of them came close to doing it justice.

"Don't look so afraid," the queen said softly, beckoning her over. "I won't bite." She came to stand behind the queen as she sat on a stool infront of the dresser, and immediately the intoxicating fragrance of her damp hair flooded Riare's senses.

Arwen watched the young girl through the mirror, smiling at her shyness. When she realised the queen was watching her, she dropped her gaze, blushing again. "Are you going to start then?" Arwen said it lightly, intended as a joke, but Riare was too nervous to realise, and instead thought the queen was angry with her. Arwen, seeing her mistake, turned round and took the girl's shaking hand. "I was only joking," she said quietly. "Don't look so worried. I don't know what they say about me, but I'm not the ogre I'm obviously made out to be."

Immediately Riare began to speak. "I- your majesty, I didn't mean to offend you. They don't say anything nasty about you, nothing at all. They speak of your beauty and wisdom but never anything bad-" She cut off, realising she had been speaking too quickly. Her mother always warned her about that.

The queen laughed gently, and it seemed to ease all Riare's anxieties. She turned back in her seat and sat patiently, waiting for Riare to begin. She hesitantly reached out to touch the queen's long dark hair, and as soon as she did, she couldn't let go. It was like a wave of silk and melted across her fingers, so soft and sleek it was almost unreal. She picked up the comb and ran it slowly through the wavy locks, wincing all the time incase she found a knot and hurt the queen. But there were no knots at all.

"How- ?" She began and then realised she was being rude. It was one of the first rules of servantry: never speak unless you're spoken to. "I'm sorry, your majesty."

Arwen laughed softly. "What for? If you have something to say, by all means go ahead and say it."

Riare took a deep breath. "It's just- your hair, it is so beautiful. How do you get it so perfect?"

Arwen laughed again. "Elven trait," she said with a smile so enchanting it seemed to light up the whole room.

Riare found herself smiling too. She was growing more confident by the second, brushing the queen's hair in long strokes, experimenting with different styles before letting the tresses fall back again. The Elven queen was so warm and friendly, Riare thought she could quite easily confess her soul to her right then.

Arwen noticed her expression. "Did you want to ask me something?" She laughed as Riare blushed. "It's alright, say whatever you want."

"Oh, I couldn't. I don't want to offend you."

"You know, it takes a lot to offend an Elf. I think my husband has only ever managed it once, when he made a particularly harsh comment on the size of my posterior in one of my new dresses."

Riare couldn't help it. Giggles burst from her mouth in great waves, shaking through her body, bringing tears to her eyes. A few minutes ago she would have died rather than let them out, but the queen herself was laughing, and it was so contagious. Suddenly there was a voice that made Riare scream and leap backwards.

"What's all the laughter about?"

The king was stood in the doorway, and for the first time Riare noticed he was naked from the waist up. He looked to his wife who was shaking with silent giggles, to the terrified servant who looked to be shaking with fear, though at what he didn't know.

Arwen quickly took a hold of herself and stood, reaching for Riare's hand. The girl bowed to the king. "I'm sorry, your highness. Please, have mercy upon me." Aragorn raised his eyebrows and looked to his wife.

"Mercy for what?" He asked, still very confused. "What have you done?"

Riare looked up slowly. Instead of the angry face she had expected, the king looked calm and a little perplexed. "I- I was laughing inappropriately with the queen."

Aragorn's lips curved into a kind smile. "Is there a law against laughing?"

The servant shook her head. "No, your highness, but- "

"Then I don't see what the problem is." He turned to his wife. "Melethrai, where's my shirt, the red one with the white tree on the pocket? Must be smart and correctly dressed for the court nobles," he muttered sarcastically, and Arwen laughed.

"It's in the wardrobe, where it's always been."

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips as he passed. "I love you, did you know that?"

"Funnily enough," she replied, "I did."

They seemed completely unaware of Riare's presence in the room, or else they surely wouldn't have kissed so passionately infront of her. The king's arms went about the queen's waist as he slid his tongue straight into her mouth, earning himself a soft moan from her. Then he was gone back into the bathroom with his shirt, a wink and a smile.

Arwen sat back down on the stool as her knees gave way beneath her. Her cheeks were slightly pink and her lips were tingling with his sweet taste, her head spinning with his kiss. Riare slowly walked over to her and began brushing her hair again, unsure of whether or not the queen had actually noticed her yet. Before she could stop them, the words were out of her mouth.

"What's it like?"

The queen looked at her via the mirror. "What?" Riare shook her head, embarrassed by her foolishness. "Now you've got me curious." Arwen said truthfully. "Come on, tell me."

The girl averted her gaze, instead searching her pockets for the clips that were on the table. "It's - I just wondered, that's all... What's it like when the king, um, you know... eats you like that?"

Arwen couldn't help it - she had to laugh. Riare felt her cheeks burning again. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I should never have asked."

Arwen shook her head. "Of course you should, for what do we learn without curiosity?" She sat back as Riare began plaiting tiny braids into her hair, fixing them with silver beads and ornate flower clips. "So he eats me, does he? Is that what it looks like?" She smiled as a tingling sensation overcame her skin just at the thought of his kisses. "It feels- how does it feel? Like summer days in flower-thatched meadows; cosy nights infront of the fire when there's a storm outside; like silk, and butterflies, and fire in the very depths of your soul." She shrugged, still smiling. "Something like that."

She realised Riare's hands had stopped moving, and looked at her in the mirror. The young servant was staring at her, open-mouthed, with something Arwen recognised as awe in her expression. She also noted how pretty she was, with dark eyes and hair, and a soft heart-shaped face.

"Never been kissed?" She laughed kindly, and Riare jumped slightly and shook her head. Immediately she began to work on the queen's hair again, undoing the braids with embarrassed haste and brushing them through, now decided on what style she was going to do. Arwen thought it best not to say anything else, should the timid girl turn and bolt for the door.

A few moments later her husband, ever the wonderful ice-braker, came back into the room and over to the window by the two women. Snow had begun to fall in large drifts, and the Pelennor Fields were already a blanket of white against the setting sun. Aragorn watched the horizon for a short time, until he felt his wife take his hand. Turning to her, he sat on the edge of the dresser and smiled, before he remembered something.

"Arwen," he said suddenly, startling Riare who looked at him briefly and then straight back at her hands. He raised his eyebrows and received a look from his wife which read, 'Don't worry about it'. He didn't, instead saying, "Meleth we left the food outside..."

She shrugged and smiled at him, a mischievous look in her eye. "We did, didn't we?"

Aragorn picked up one of the flower clips next to him and rolled it between his fingers, frowning slightly. "What are you thinking?" His voice held a warning that made her laugh gently.

"I'm thinking about the way in which it came to be left there..."

Riare had been watching the king and queen out of the corner of her eye, but the strange thing was that she hadn't felt in the least bit uncomfortable - until now. She may never have been kissed before, but she wasn't blind to the tenderness in their gaze, and knew that this was a moment they would want to share alone.

Laying the hairbrush on the table she said, "I just need to get some... flowers, to finish it off." And then she was gone.

Arwen watched the young girl leave, before turning back to her husband. "I think we scared her off," Aragorn said quietly, a smile in his eyes. She couldn't help but grin, even though she felt for Riare. She obviously felt awkward around them, but Arwen hoped she would become used to it when she asked her to accept the position of Personal Maid to the Queen - her skill styling hair really was exceptional, and the Elf knew she would enjoy spending time in her company.

Aragorn traced the low neckline of his wife's nightgown with his finger, brushing his thumb across her breast, drawing her attention back to him. She smiled cheekily, her blue eyes alight with mirth as she gently took his hand from it's wandering route and, kissing the knuckles gently, admonished him. "Now now melethron," she said softly, "There's plenty of time for that later... after the ball. And don't go scaring Riare, I like her a lot. In fact, I might ask her to be one of my maids."

"Me, scaring her?" He said in mock insult. "Is there anything else I can do for you, your majesty?"

"You could... oh, I don't know... kiss me... until I melt..." She trailed off, leaning into him as she closed her eyes, pleading for him in that desperately civilised way that guaranteed to get her whatever she wanted.

Aragorn smiled and pressed his lips to her cheekbone, mindful of her tactic and how it broke him every time, before moving ever so slowly to her beautiful, rosebud mouth. Instead of tilting his head, they kissed nose to nose so he was drawing her up against him, lifting her from the stool and rising to stand himself, parting her lips in that delicious and intimate way that was so simple and yet so indescribeably, utterly perfect.

It was truly a magical kiss, the sort thought by many to only be seen on stage, or described at the end of a romantic fairytale, where the two lovers had defeated every evil of the age and, finally and dramatically, after years of separation and pain, were able to be together, forever and anon.

And although Aragorn and Arwen knew they had had their defining kiss at his Coronation six months previously, neither of them could help but feel that every kiss they shared was just as special and meaningful, every touch sparking fire and flame, every sight and sound and smell engraved in their hearts.

It was a few minutes before they broke apart, eyes shining brightly with the knowledge that nothing in Arda at the moment was more overwhelmingly beautiful and pure than what they had right there between them.

A soft sigh slipped past Arwen's lips as she leaned her head against her husband's chest. "I melted," she whispered as he wrapped her tightly in his arms, sliding his hand down the curve of her back, pressing lightly on her sensitive skin through the thin shift she wore.

"So did I," he replied quietly, lifting her chin to meet her sapphire eyes. "I melted a long long time ago, once upon a time in the magical glades of Imladris, where, as chance would have it, I stumbled upon Lúthien herself. And the rest, as they say, is history..."

Arwen's smile widened and she hit her husband on the shoulder. "You could have charmed Smaug down from The Lonely Mountain," she said, shaking her head as, nevertheless, she felt the blush rising in her cheeks.

Aragorn grinned in return and gently set her back on the stool. "Before Riare gets back," he called over his shoulder as he delved into the back of the wardrobe, "I have another present for you." He returned quickly carrying a box, which he presented to his wife with an elaborate bow.

"What's this?" She asked, feeling her heart beat faster with anticipation, and the dawning realisation that nothing could surprise her when it came to her husband. She lifted the lid and drew out the silky fabric of a slip - another material she had seen before earlier that day. "Oh Estel..." Standing, she let the box fall unnoticed to the floor as she held the garment before her and tried to take in its beauty.

The material was pale blue in colour, so finely cut and shaped that she could almost feel it fitting perfectly on her body. Silver thread was woven through, creating a shimmering, translucent effect. Its beautiful simplicity was truly outstanding.

Holding it to her chest, she reached up to kiss the wonderful bringer of this gift. "I believe," he said, smiling, "that the tailor's wife approached you today in the market, purely by coincidence of course."

Arwen laughed and returned to admiring the underslip, as her husband went across the room to retrive the dress which had been neglected in favour of more pressing engagements earlier. They moved to sit together on the bed, as she looked at the other garment properly for the first time.

The corset was deep blue, embroidered with tiny pearls and sapphires in very Elven patterns. The skirt was also the same blue, with an underlayer of silver, in the sort of style that disguised the lighter colour when one was standing, and allowed it to break through when one walked or danced. The sleeves of the gown were long and trailed silver and pearls down to the floor.

"You know," she said softly as she traced the rich material with her fingers, "I was so in love with these fabrics that I was going to go out tomorrow to order dresses." Her gaze met her husband's and he reached out to touch her cheek. "Hanon lle."

Aragorn took her hand and picked up the two items of clothing. "The proof of the presents," he said with a wink as he lead her across the room, "Is in me seeing how breathtaking you look wearing them."

Arwen wasn't even given time to blush as she was taken quickly into the first of three adjoining rooms from their bedchamber, which were at present empty, but would eventually become nurseries for their children, the next generation of the house of Telcontar.

She knew it was a bit too soon to be thinking of such things when they had only been married for six months, but sometimes when she let her mind wander it would come to rest upon children - more specifically her and Estel's. She thought about when and where they were all conceived (and if she managed to get any further), their names, appearances and personalities. She guessed it was a natural thing that all women did, but she would die rather than admit these fantasies to her husband.

Suddenly she was dragged back to the present by that very person's hands sliding underneath her nightdress, roaming the curves of her body as he removed it over her head. Managing to regain at least some of her senses she assisted him in doing so, making sure he didn't mess up her hair.

"Why are we in here?" She asked as he treated her to a knee-weakening smile, not ashamed to draw his dark gaze so blatantly down her beautiful nakedness, lingering on the places that were always the first to burn with longing.

"So Riare doesn't walk in on anything... uncomfortable."

Arwen tried desperately to ignore the lust in his voice and the sensations he was beginning to inflict upon her, but it was so difficult when she couldn't keep her own eyes off his obvious distress, and her mind off the particular fantasy in which their first child was conceived in that very nursery.

As he moved towards her she forced herself to take a step backwards. "She'll be here any second," Arwen all but gasped, her eyes locked with her husband's, pleading with him to end his torture before things got even further out of hand.

Aragorn sighed and closed his eyes, realising she was right. "I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get a grip on himself. "You'd better get dressed yourself," he muttered without looking at her, before walking back into their bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Arwen stood, motionless, until the resonating echo of his footsteps had died away and she was left in silence. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back against the wall, letting the cool stone ease the raging heat of her bare skin. Her heart was pounding in her ears, beating guilt and self-hatred through her veins. She loathed herself for hurting her husband like that, for letting him push her so far without resistance, for not being able to control herself. If she felt this awful after a minor moment of awkwardness, she dreaded to think about how it would be after they had their first argument.

Shaking, she reached for the slip which was hung over the sole piece of furniture in the room, a spindly wooden chair which had seen better days, probably in the second age when it had been made.

I'm thinking about the history of a chair, she told herself silently as she pulled the material over her head, when my husband is waiting for me just the other side of that door.

Hardly bothering to notice how perfectly cut the material was, she pulled it on and reached for the dress, which she stepped into, drawing the sleeves on but not even attempting to tie the lacing - there was one person who would be waiting to do that.

The Queen of Gondor took a second to calm her racing heart. She smoothed down the front of the dress -a nervous habit she had unknowingly grown into whilst waiting to enter the Great Hall for ceremonies, or any occasion in which she and her husband would be the focus of everyone's attention - before realising she had nothing to be nervous about. The calm in the final moments leading up to the Last Battle; delivering a speech to a thousand-strong crowd - these were the things one should be anxious about, not simply opening the door to the man you loved. Fear of such an act might even be regarded as cowardice, and Arwen Undómiel had learnt long ago that to live life to the full you had to abandon all rational thoughts and anxieties, and just open your mind to the world.

Which is how she came to step so boldly through the door and straight into Aragorn's arms.

He had been stood by the window, looking out across his snow-covered kingdom, trying to clear his mind. When he heard her enter the room, he had turned to find her all-but running towards him, and as they embraced they both breathed easily once again.

After a few moments of clinging to each other in sheer desperation and relief, Arwen moved back slightly to meet his gaze. "Estel I'm sorry, I- "

She was cut off as he pressed a finger to her lips. "Let us never speak of it again." There it was, the light she feared she may have quenched was back in his eyes, and everything was alright.

Smiling, she let out a shaky breath and reached up to kiss him lightly. As he brushed his tongue across hers, she was reminded suddenly of how beautiful such a small gesture could make her feel, and noticed properly for the first time how incredibly comfortable the slip and dress were to wear.

It wasn't long before her husband was admiring her outfit, and as he wrapped his arms around her after fastening the lacing, she felt safe and secure in his love, emotionally as well as physically.

And however much they wanted that feeling to last forever, they were wary that Riare was bound to reappear any second, and if she caught them in yet another embrace she might run from the palace immediately.

Sure enough, as Aragorn resumed his place by the window and Arwen sat back on the stool, the young girl entered with a small bunch of flowers in her hand, her dark hair twined with snow. She looked shocked and relieved not to have walked in on anything, and even smiled at the King, though this brought a blush to her already cold-bitten cheeks.

Five minutes later and they were ready to go. Riare had tied Arwen's hair back with silver clips, letting loose strands fall down across her shoulders. The flowers - tiny blue forget-me-nots - were weaved through the clips, creating a magnificent contrast to her ebony waves. The ball was a formal event therefore they had to wear their crowns, at least for the first address.

The mithril circlet, a more simple accompaniment to her husband's winged crown, completed her look to perfection, and Aragorn struggled to find enough breath to even think of any words to describe his Elven Princess. Instead he simply lifted her to her feet, took her hand and kissed it, his eyes never leaving hers, all emotions carried in his deep blue gaze.

Arwen grinned and put a pale hand to his chest, though her smile merged slightly with confusion as he reached into the dresser drawer and took out a small silver phial.

"Yet another gift," he said with a wink as he poured a tiny amount of perfume onto her wrist. She looked almost warily from it to him and back again, before the rich fragrance began to diffuse into the air and she couldn't resist pressing it to her neck and chest. The scent was also something she had come across that afternoon, and although she had loved it then, she didn't think it had smelt half as wonderful as it did now, intoxicating her senses with elanor and niphredil, taking her back all those years to Cerin Amroth.

Aragorn nuzzled his nose against the side of her neck, breathing deeply and remembering. They could have stayed like that all night had it not been for the knock on the door after which four guards appeared, the Royal Escort to theball.

"Are you ready, meleth-nîn?" He whispered, smiling simply because this beautiful, breath-taking Elf infront of him was ardently, passionately, incredibly, unbelievably, undeniably his. And oh how he loved her.

"I am, my Lord," she replied shyly, not quite immune to the intensity of his gaze. Her hands began to tremble both with pre-occasion nerves and the sheer power and immenseness of emotion. It was times like these, when she was so deeply in love, that a faint blush came permanently to her cheeks, and she had never looked so alive.

To be continued...

Hasn't it been a while? I am SO excited about this, I wrote the first part of this chapter about 6 months ago, and now it's up! yay!

There is one more chapter to come (and possibly and epilogue, we'll see!) which I wrote about a year ago for a different story, but I'm going to intertwine with this.

Random thing: the other day my boyfriend Tom read Truth Or Dare and now won't stop taking the piss...it's so embarrassing! His new nickname for me is Honey... !

Anyways, HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed, I know I keep promising them individually but tonight I'm so tired and I'm sure you'd rather I posted this today than wrote individually and posted tomorrow. I love you all!