Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess

Author's Note:

This is a LegoRomance (slow-burn)

I believe Aragorn and Arwen were wed on June 21st, 3019 TA, but I adjusted the timeline slightly to better align with the story's flow.

Act II

Belonging

Chapter 125: The wedlock of Elessar & Undómie

White City, 3019 TA, July 21th

It was a midsummer wedding, the kind that legends would tell for generations. Minas Tirith, resplendent under the golden hues of the late afternoon sun, stood as a symbol of hope and renewal. The topmost level of the city, where the ceremony would take place, had been transformed into a scene of breathtaking beauty.

The aisle stretched like a path to paradise, covered in white leaves glistening with dew, their faint fragrance mingling with the jasmine-scented candles hanging delicately from branches along the way. Flowers of every hue, their origins from the finest gardens of Rivendell and Lothlórien, adorned every corner. Elven maidens flitted gracefully, ensuring each detail was perfect, their melodic voices adding to the atmosphere of magic.

Long tables waited below for the feast, draped in pristine white cloth and laden with a bounty of meats, fruits, and wine from the farthest reaches of Gondor's alliances. Laughter and chatter filled the air as guests from every realm of Middle-earth gathered to witness the union of a king and his elven queen.

Arwen stood in her chamber, gazing at her reflection. Her gown, a masterpiece of elven craftsmanship, shimmered as though woven from starlight, its pale silver threads catching the sunlight. Her dark hair was adorned with a delicate circlet of mithril and small diamonds, framing her ethereal face.

She held her bouquet, a stunning arrangement of rare elven blooms: mint green jade vines, deep violet nightshade, and pale blue morning stars. The flowers whispered of her heritage, beauty, and the choice she had made—a mortal life with the man she loved.

Her fingers tightened around the bouquet as she took a deep breath. Though she had spent weeks planning every detail of this day, the moment felt daunting now that it was so near. Her calm façade was beginning to crack, and her heart raced with a mixture of joy and trepidation.

"It's just nerves," she whispered to herself, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

In another chamber, Aragorn stood before a tall mirror, adjusting the silver clasp of his royal cloak. His tunic of deep blue, embroidered with the tree of Gondor in silver thread, fit perfectly, a testament to the skill of the craftsmen who had labored over it. His crown, though not yet placed on his head, rested on a nearby table, a reminder of the weight of his responsibilities.

He glanced over his shoulder at Legolas and Gimli, who had joined him for a quiet moment before the ceremony.

"You look every bit the king," Gimli said with a gruff smile, his own formal attire neatly arranged, though his beard still bore its usual unruly charm.

"Indeed," Legolas added, his voice calm but sincere. "Today, Aragorn, you do not simply marry. You unite realms, heal wounds, and usher in a new age of peace."

Aragorn turned to them, his lips curving into a faint smile. "If I'm being honest," he said, his tone warm but laced with nerves. "I'm more concerned with not tripping over my cloak on the way down the aisle."

Gimli barked a laugh. "Tripping would be the least of your worries. Wait until you see Arwen's face if you arrive late."

In the adjoining chamber, Arwen was not alone. Éowyn and Xena had joined her, both dressed elegantly for the occasion. Éowyn wore a gown of soft green, her golden hair braided with silver threads, while Xena's deep sapphire dress matched the hues of the evening sky.

"I heard Aragorn was celebrating a bit too much last night," Xena teased, leaning against the doorway.

Arwen rolled her eyes, her lips twitching into a small smile. "Celebrating is an understatement. He and the twins managed to turn his study into a tavern."

Éowyn laughed, shaking her head. "Men. Leave them alone for one night, and they forget there's a wedding the next day."

"It's a good thing we have our own ways of passing the time," Xena added, smirking as she pulled a small flask from her belt.

Arwen raised an eyebrow but didn't protest as Éowyn leaned over to pour a small amount into their glasses.

"To Arwen," Éowyn said, raising her glass. "May this be the start of a life as beautiful as the evening sky."

Arwen smiled, her tension easing as she raised her glass in return. "To friendship," she said softly.

The music began as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, bathing the city in golden light. Arwen stood at the entrance to the ceremony, her heart calm now as her father, Elrond, appeared to escort her down the aisle.

"It is time," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

Arwen nodded, taking his arm. She stepped forward, her breath catching as the scene unfolded before her: the aisle of white leaves, the glowing candles, and Aragorn standing at the end, his eyes fixed solely on her.

As she walked, each step felt like a promise—a promise to love, to endure, to hope.

At the altar, Aragorn waited, his breath catching as she approached. His nerves vanished the moment their eyes met, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude and awe.

"You are stunning," he whispered when she reached him, his voice filled with wonder.

"And you, my king," she replied, her voice steady but laced with love.

They turned together to face the gathered crowd, ready to begin the ceremony that would bind not only their lives but the realms of Middle-earth in peace and unity.

Gandalf stood at the center of the aperture on the summit of Minas Tirith, his robes flowing softly in the summer breeze. His expression was serene but held a depth of emotion that only those who had lived through the trials of the past could understand. He raised his hand, and the gathered guests rose as one, their attention fixed on the aisle adorned with white rose petals that glistened in the waning sunlight.

Arwen appeared at the edge of the walkway, her gown shimmering like the first light of dawn. The intricate embroidery of silver and blue seemed alive as it caught the soft glow of the sunset. Her steps were steady but filled with meaning, each one bringing her closer to the man who had captured her heart across the ages.

Lord Elrond stood waiting for her at the aisle's beginning. As she reached him, he offered his arm, his face a mixture of paternal pride and quiet sorrow. He was giving away not just his daughter but a piece of himself. The aisle stretched before them, seeming both infinite and fleeting.

As Arwen made her way forward, the guests watched her with awe. Faramir and Éowyn, seated side by side, exchanged smiles, their own recent union lending them an understanding of the moment's significance. Éomer, King of Rohan, sat nearby, his golden hair catching the light as he observed his sister and her husband with pride. Gimli leaned toward Legolas, who sat beside him, his silver tunic and circlet lending him an ethereal air.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Elrond paused, turning to face his daughter. His hand rested lightly on her arm as he gazed into her eyes. "I am proud of you, iell nîn (my daughter)," he said softly, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. "And though I part with you now, my heart goes with you."

Arwen's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she nodded, her voice a whisper. "Thank you, Ada."

Elrond then turned to Aragorn, his gaze measuring but warm. With deliberate care, he placed Arwen's hand into Aragorn's. "Cherish her," he said simply, the weight of his words heavier than any elaborate blessing could convey.

Aragorn bowed his head respectfully. "Always," he replied firmly.

Elrond patted Aragorn on the shoulder, a silent farewell, before stepping aside. As he walked back to his seat, the gravity of the moment was not lost on anyone present.

Gandalf's voice rang out clearly, breaking the silence that had settled over the crowd. "Dearly beloved," he began, his tone both commanding and kind, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of King Elessar of Gondor and Lady Arwen Undómiel, a bond that transcends the boundaries of mortality and time. This union is a symbol of hope, of love's triumph over darkness, and of the dawn of a new age."

His words carried the weight of the history they had all lived through, and the crowd listened with rapt attention. As he continued, the golden light of the setting sun bathed the couple, casting them in a divine glow.

When it came time for the vows, Aragorn took Arwen's hands in his, his voice steady despite the emotions surging within him. "Arwen, you are my light in the darkness, my strength in weakness, and my reason to hope. I vow to honor you, to cherish you, and to stand by your side for all the days of my life."

Arwen's tears fell freely now, not from sadness but from the overwhelming depth of her joy. When it was her turn, she spoke with a voice clear and filled with love. "Estel, you are my heart, my home, my destiny. I choose you now and forever, to share your burdens and your triumphs, to walk with you through the ages of this world."

Gimli stepped forward, a small but proud smile on his face as he presented the rings on a silver tray. Gandalf took them, blessing each before handing one to Aragorn and the other to Arwen. With gentle reverence, they exchanged rings, each slipping the delicate bands onto the other's finger.

Gandalf then spoke, his voice firm but filled with warmth. "If anyone here has cause to object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."

The silence that followed was absolute, save for the rustling of the wind.

"Then, by the authority granted to me," Gandalf continued, a rare smile gracing his face, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Aragorn stepped forward, lifting Arwen's veil, and leaned in. The kiss started tenderly but grew deeper, a testament to their love and the trials they had overcome. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the sound echoing through the city.

Hand in hand, Aragorn and Arwen descended the aisle, their faces radiant with joy. The guests followed, spilling into the grand dining area where long tables were laden with a feast fit for royalty. Wine flowed freely, laughter echoed, and music filled the air as minstrels played lively tunes.

Legolas and Gimli found themselves at the center of a small crowd, Gimli already recounting tales of their travels. Xena and Éowyn joined in, both adding their own quips and laughter. Children darted between tables, giggling as they chased each other, and dancers twirled under the lantern-lit sky.

At the head table, Aragorn and Arwen sat side by side, their hands intertwined as they watched their friends and allies celebrate. For a moment, the world felt perfect, a rare harmony settled over them, and they knew they were finally at peace. The wedding of Aragorn and Arwen was not just a union of love but a symbol of renewal for all of Middle-earth—a new beginning for everyone who had fought for the light.

As the evening stretched on, the laughter and music only grew louder. Merry and Pippin, with their boundless energy and penchant for mischief, leapt onto one of the long tables, clinking mugs of ale as they broke into lively Shire melodies. Their cheerful voices carried across the crowd, encouraging others to clap along in rhythm.

"Come now, Legolas!" Merry called, pointing toward the elf with his mug. "Surely, you've some hidden talent for singing?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. "Elves sing of love and valor, Merry I fear your songs would leave me quite unprepared."

"Love and valor!" Pippin echoed, nearly spilling his drink. "We've plenty of that in the Shire—though ours involve a bit more food and a lot less tragedy."

Everyone laughed as Merry and Pippin launched into another raucous tune, dancing with exaggerated steps that sent the table creaking beneath their weight.

At one of the quieter corners of the celebration, Frodo and Sam sat with Gandalf, their faces alight with wonder as they discussed tales of old. Gandalf, his pipe in hand, shared stories of ancient days, his voice weaving a thread of history that left the hobbits spellbound.

"I still can't believe we're here to see this," Sam said, shaking his head as he looked at Frodo. "After everything, Mr. Frodo… it's like a dream, isn't it?"

Frodo smiled softly, his eyes distant. "It is, Sam. A good dream. And one I hope never ends."

Across the hall, Aragorn and Legolas stood near the edge of the gathering, the flickering light of lanterns casting shadows over their faces.

"I still cannot believe all you endured with Alakar," Aragorn said, his voice low as he handed Legolas a goblet of wine.

Legolas nodded, his expression grave. "It tested more than my strength. It tested my spirit." He hesitated before continuing. "Xena… she saved me in ways I cannot even put into words. It is a debt I will carry forever."

Aragorn placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding. "Then it is a bond forged in the fire of trial, one that will guide you both forward."

Éowyn and Faramir swayed together on the dance floor, their faces aglow as they moved effortlessly in rhythm with the music. Nearby, Xena stood leaning against a pillar, watching the newlyweds with a small, contented smile.

"Care for a dance?" Legolas's voice came from behind her.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know elves were so fond of dancing."

"We're not," he admitted, holding out his hand. "But I thought you might enjoy it."

Xena chuckled, taking his hand. "Alright, mushroom prince. Let's see if you can keep up."

As they moved across the dance floor, Legolas's graceful steps matched hers effortlessly, their bond evident in the way they moved as one. For a moment, the trials they had faced faded into the background, replaced by the simple joy of being together.

As dawn broke over Minas Tirith, the festivities began to wind down. Guests bid their goodbyes, their laughter quieter now as the exhaustion of the night set in. Aragorn and Arwen, radiant even after hours of celebration, made their way toward the royal chambers hand in hand.

Legolas and Xena watched from a distance as the newlyweds disappeared into their room, the heavy doors closing behind them.

"I suppose they'll have a few quiet days," Xena mused.

Legolas nodded, his expression contemplative. "They deserve it."

The White City grew quiet as the last of the guests departed or retired to their chambers. The wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, a celebration of love and unity, would be remembered for generations. It was a night not just of joy but of hope—a promise of the peace they had all fought so hard to achieve.

Legolas turned to Xena, his voice soft. "Come. We should rest as well. There's more to do in the days ahead."

She smiled, taking his hand. "Lead the way, mushroom prince."

And together, they walked back to their chamber, leaving behind the echoes of a night that had marked the dawn of a new era.

((Upcoming Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Six))

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