Linda's Lord of the Rings Fanfiction
The friendship of Aragorn and Faramir
Star of Hope
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Star of Hope Rated PG13 The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story. "I saw a star that was falling, I wish'd the wish of my soul." - Traditional Irish song. “You wished to see me, my lady?” I shuffled my feet nervously. Master Elrond was never other than courteous towards me, but I still felt like a timid little girl in his presence. “It is my son’s third birthday tomorrow. I should like some small celebration to mark the occasion for him.” “Ah, yes, Lady Gilraen, the tradition of Men to mark the day of birth, since the day of begetting is so rarely recalled amongst my brother’s kindred.” I lowered my eyes, hoping Master Elrond would not see the light of memory in my eyes that his wordskindled. Oh, but I did know the day of Aragorn’s begetting, that special night is still as clear in my memory as if it were yesterday. These memories are too precious and private to ever speak of to Master Elrond, kindly though he is. Maybe, one day I will tell my son that he was begotten upon an auspicious day. Maybe… It was a rare gathering for the Dúnedain. As many who were able came from the scattered villages amidst the ruins of the old capital, Annuminas, where they made camp and prepared to celebrate Loëndë. The celebrations began on the shortest night of the year, a night feared by the servants of darkness. My parents were amongst those present. I gladly greeted them, having not laid eyes on my mother and father since my wedding day. “Are you happy in your marriage to Arathorn?” my mother enquired of me later that night, taking me aside, her keen gaze scanning my still slender form. I could sense her disappointment that I was not yet with child. “He is kindly and treats me always with respect,” I answered. Truth to tell, I still hardly knew my husband. He had been away most of the time even before the Lord Arador's death. Since he had become Chieftain earlier that year, Arathorn had even less time for home and hearth. As Lord of the Dúnedain, he was needed to care for our people and lead the fight against the minions of Shadow. I tried to be a good wife and ease his cares when he was at home. I had not opposed my mother's wish for the marriage; and I was content enough, honoured to be wed to so worthy a lord. “Have you grown to love your husband?” my mother persisted. I could only say. “He is a good man. ”I had never lied to my mother. It was useless, for Ivorwen’s gift of farsight always enabled her to see into my mind. My mother frowned but said no more on the matter, instead encouraging me to try the wine, a gift from Elrond of Rivendell. The sun sets on even the longest day. We sat watching it sink below the hills while we told tales of old Númenor and sang of the great deeds of the Sea Kings and the Faithful. “Will you walk with me, my lady?” Arathorn appeared beside me as if out of nowhere, my cloak in his hand. He draped the soft woollen mantle around my shoulders. Arathorn slowed his pace to match mine, and took my hand as he led me along the shore of Lake Nenuial. The moon had risen and cast a silvery glow across the rippling waters. “To think that these ruins were once a great and prosperous city,” my husband sighed, his voice full of sorrow. “Alas, for our people!” “Maybe one day it will be rebuilt,” I said, wondering why I should voice such wild dreams. Tonight they appeared almost as a certainty to me. It was as if I could see a fair city, where now there lay only tumbled stones. “The young may have their dreams still,” Arathorn said sadly. I pressed his hand. We stood there for I know not how long, watching the bright path of the Star of Eärendil across the evening sky, the silence broken only the music of the waves gently lapping against the shore. Suddenly, a light flashed in the West. “Look!” said my husband, a smile easing the grim cast of his features; “a shooting star. You should make a wish, Gilraen.” I silently wished that I might give him the heir he longed for, the heir we all needed. We watched star after star streak across the sky under the sovereign eye of Gil-Estel. “Come,” Arathorn said at last, “it grows cold.” He let me back to our large and well-appointed tent, set a little aside from the others as befit the Chieftain and his lady. Arathorn took me in his arms and kissed me. I found myself responding with a newfound fervour; pulling at the fastenings on his cloak as he bore me down to our warm nest of hides and furs. That night I was not just a dutiful wife, but also a happy one. Perhaps it was the wine, or the stone remnants of our people's past glory surrounding us, that awakened my heart. I know not. I know only that I enjoyed the intimacies of marriage for the first time. My passion equalled his as I freely and joyously surrendered to my lord. “Never have I seen so many shooting stars as there were last night!” my mother remarked over breakfast the next morning. ”You look well, today, child. That Elvish wine must have suited you.” Alas, my joy would be short-lived. Arathorn had to ride away again ere nightfall when a report arrived of Orcs gathering in the East. When he returned a few weeks later, I had news for him. “I carry our child, my lord,” I said. My husband's weary face lightened. I will never forget the joy that lit his deepgrey eyes as he smiled and tenderly embraced me. Arathorn was at my side more often during the following months. I grew large with his child and spent my days dreaming of filling our home with the laughter of many sons and daughters. Soon after the turn of the year, my mother arrived to care for me. We expected the child in mid-March, but our Aragorn was eager to enter the world and arrived as soon as February took its leave. The moment I first held my son was the happiest I have ever known. “You are smiling, Lady Gilraen. Do you find our customs amusing?” Master Elrond’s words interrupted my memories. “Indeed not, lord, but my son is a child of Man, not an Elf.” “Your son is the Hope of Men, my lady,” Elrond said gravely. "He will learn of his lineage when the time is ripe. I shall ask the cooks to prepare special treats in celebration for his birthday on the morrow; and we will have gifts and games. Our Estel cannot yet know his true name, but he shall know that he is loved.” I smiled my thanks. For now, my Aragorn must remain hidden, but in the fullness of time he will blaze forth, as a star of hope for our people. Until then, I can only wait and hope. |
The Slave of the Ring
The chararacters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been,nor will be made from this story.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
Jeder giere nach seinem Gut,
doch keiner genieße mit Nutzen sein!
Ohne Wucher hüt' ihn sein Herr;
doch den Würger zieh' er ihm zu!
Dem Tode verfallen, feßle den Feigen die Furcht:
solang er lebt, sterb' er lechzend dahin,
des Ringes Herr als des Ringes Knecht:
All shall lust to possess it, but none shall delight in its use! Without gain, its lord shall guard it; it will draw his executioner to him! Destined to die, let fear fetter the coward; so long as he lives he shall pine for death, the Lord of the Ring as the slave of the Ring ; - Wagner- Das Rheingold. Scene 4
Aragorn was obviously deeply distressed over Mithrandir’s, or the old meddler’s- as my father always called him – death, that he should neglect the needs of the Halflings. He stopped only when Legolas called attention to their plight.
We saw then that Frodo and Sam were injured. Blood trickled down the face of Samwise, while Frodo's breathing was somewhat laboured, his face unusually pale. It surprised me the Ring-bearer yet lived. Maybe my eyes had deceived me in the darkness of Moria and the spear had but caught in his clothing.
Full of apologies, Aragorn lifted Frodo in his arms. He demanded that I should bear Samwise. The son of Arathorn had immediately proclaimed himself leader when Mithrandir fell. I knew someone had to take command, yet I wondered why had they not turned to me, the Captain General of Gondor?
This wayworn vagabond claims to be the heir to the throne of our Realm. He seems to forget that Pelendur rejected Arvedui’s claim in the days of our longfathers. My father will dismiss Aragorn’s with equal certainty, I deem. I can scarce believe that a Chieftain of a furtive House should dare to order me about as if I were already one of his underlings! I am a Lord of Gondor, and heir to its Steward, not some lowly forester!
I let it pass for the time being, for Aragorn's knowledge of this region is far greater than mine.
Still carrying Frodo, Aragorn led the way into a dell surrounded by pine trees. It was, I must admit, a good place to rest; sheltered, secluded, watered by the clear stream that we had followed for a few leagues.
I almost expected him to order me next to fetch firewood or water. But Aragorn assigned that task to Legolas and the younger Hobbits, while he set about tending Frodo and Sam’s hurts.
I lay back against a tree and closed my eyes for a moment. I was weary, and I found it agreeable to listen to the peaceful sound of the running stream, which nearly drowned out the sounds of the young Hobbits’ chatter and Aragorn’s fussing over the small gardener.
I opened my eyes again, surprised, when Frodo started to protest the removal of his clothing for Aragorn to examine his wounds. Strange behavior indeed for a Halfling. Only yesterday, Pippin had been telling me about running naked on the grass with Merry and Sam at the bidding of someone called Tom Bombadil. He had laughed unashamed, whilst telling the story, as had the others. It had been the only light moment in a fearsome tale of wraiths and long dead kings.
Hobbits were not like the men of Gondor with their modesty and inhibitions. Yet, Frodo appeared as uncomfortable as my little brother would be at the prospect of removing his shirt.
Rather to my surprise, given his grief for Mithrandir, Aragorn laughed aloud. "Look, my friends!" he called. "Here's a pretty hobbit-skin to wrap an elven-princeling in! If it were known that hobbits had such hides, all the hunters of Middle-earth would be riding to the Shire."
I rose to my feet and walked over for a closer look. My father’s would be successor was holding aloft a shining silver corslet, which shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. When shaken, it tinkled like the bells we use to decorate our horses’ bridles when we celebrate a victory over the Enemy. Such occasions have grown few of late.
Gimli was enraptured by the sight of the shining garment. “It is a mithril-coat. Mithril! I have never seen or heard tell of one so fair," he exclaimed in amazement. Little wonder that Frodo had been so loth to reveal the corslet, for Dwarfs are renowned for their lust for Mithril. Gimli’s eyes were full of admiration, but gave no hint of coveting the precious metal for himself.
Aragorn then gently removed the soft leather shirt that Frodo wore under the mail. We all clustered round him, curious to see how well the Mithril coat had protected him from the Orc spear.
I barely noticed the bruises which covered his chest and side; for now I could plainly what Frodo carried - the Ring!
I had wanted so much to look at it again; ever since that one glimpse I had been granted at Rivendell. It was a beautiful thing; yet I could not say why, for it appeared but a plain gold circlet. The rings I wore were finer by far; but the simple band of gold drew my eyes and held them. This bauble had adorned the finger of our Enemy Himself! And it was no mere bauble, but a mighty weapon. It seemed to me the greatest thing ever wrought upon Arda since the dawning of the sun. And they planned to cast it in the fire!
If Aragorn were to come to Minas Tirith, with such a weapon to use against the Enemy, even my father would welcome him gladly. A sword reforged was not token enough to grant Isildur’s heir the winged crown. However, the Ring was a different matter entirely! All of Gondor would welcome him.
I smiled to myself as I thought of Faramir. My brother was forever dreaming of the return of the King, when the White Tree would blossom again. He is such a dreamer, my little brother, for how could a dead tree come back to life? He had sorely wanted this errand, but our father appeared relieved when I begged it instead. The Steward feared that the Elves' enchantments might sway Faramir's fanciful heart, and wisely trusted my steadier judgement instead.
Now Aragorn appeared oblivious to the precious heirloom, seeming to focus his attentions entirely on Frodo’s bruised ribs. The man was a fool! Here was the Ring, within his grasp and he refused to claim it! Frodo himself had said the prize belonged to Aragorn before the whole council. And this would be Gondor's King?
Aragorn reached out his hand. I prayed that his sight of the Ring would bring him to his senses. He could use it to save all of us. But no, he merely patted Frodo’s shoulder and moved away from him.
He then called for water and his eyes suddenly met mine. In that moment, I feared that Aragorn could see into my soul; for his gaze hardened and became stern and cold. I never could quite fathom the man; he could be gentle and kindly one moment, unyielding as granite the next. He looked so like my father, then, with the same disconcerting way of seeing into the hearts of men. I shivered, despite the now merrily blazing fire and my thick cloak.
“Help the others prepare food!” Aragorn said abruptly. “We must leave here before sunset.”
Again he was ordering me, as if I were already one of his subjects! He cast some leaves in the water Legolas brought. Athelas, he called them.
Our would be king then knelt in front of Frodo to bathe his wounds, thereby blocking my view of the Ring.
The sweet scent of athelas filled the dell and the others were refreshed by it. Not me. My heart remained heavy, swelling with longing for the Ring. From that day forward, the Ring haunted my thoughts, even as we crossed the Nimrodel and journeyed through the Golden Wood, even as the fey gaze of its Mistress speared my eyes and mind.
And here, in the heart of this Elvish stronghold, the Ring haunts me still.
The One
The One Linda Hoyland
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The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has,nor will be made from this story. Co- written with Raksha the Demon The One Soon after Elrond told me of my true name and lineage, I beheld the man for the first time. He appeared one night; in what could not have been a mere dream, but was rather the foresight of the Dúnedain. I had seen neither the man nor the place before.
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Temptation
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. With thanks to Raksha "Want some company, traveller?" The man, who was elsewhere called Thorongil, looked up from his drink to meet the girl's eyes. She was pretty for a tavern pleasure-woman, still young with clear skin and lustrous black hair, which reminded him of Arwen's. Arwen! How he ached for her presence. "Does she not please you?" The innkeeper's voice interrupted his reverie. The girl's eyes widened with fear. Thorongil knew she would be punished if he rejected her. "She pleases me." He tossed the man a coin. The girl led him by the hand towards the stalls at the back. The cries of pleasure from behind the curtains left no doubt as to the nature of the customers' gratification. "Come!" She slowly started to unfasten her robe, revealing shapely curves beneath it. Swiftly, Thorongil averted his eyes. He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. "I must go now," he told his companion. "I thought you wanted pleasure?" What man does not? Thorongil thought. But one alone can satisfy me. "There is no need for shyness." She sat down beside him. Suddenly, she was kissing him, her full sensuous mouth pressing against his own. Her hands fumbled with Thorongil's robe. Her silken tresses fell across his face. They smelt of jasmine. He was a man. She was a woman and a fair one. Thorongil hastily rose to his feet. "My friends await me," he lied. "I will tell your master you pleased me greatly." "I do not understand." "I cannot give myself to you. I must prove worthy of my heart's desire." He stumbled out into the street; eager to put this place and its unsavoury temptations behind him. The sooner he could leave Umbar the better. If he could not be joined with Arwen, he would remain forever alone.
A/N. This is very AU and not to be taken seriously
It is based on this photo from a Tolkien calender
For Juno Magic and Silverwerecat The people cheered when the King arrived and the Steward presented the White Rod. The King disdainfully accepted it, dismissed Faramir and marched through the City; still glaring. Éomer of Rohan’s army followed at his heels, ready to crush any dissent. The people turned away and returned to their houses. “Let’s made a nice cup of tea,” suggested one Goodwife, putting on the kettle. Her husband scowled, as he tasted it. “The milk is sour!” The City was in turmoil. Not a drop of fresh milk was to be had anywhere! The King’s gaze had turned all the milk sour! 000 Word of meow summoned the cats of Minas Tirith together. The leader, a large ginger tom, spoke. “We must take action,” he mewed. ”There is no milk left in Minas Tirith that is fit to drink since this new King arrived. The old Stewards never brought such misfortune upon us!” “I know what to do,” said an old tabby, veteran of many battles. “We shall chase him, scratch him, and spray upon his fine clothing until he mends his ways.” The cats agreed and made there way to the King’s apartments. Aragorn raged, threw water upon the cats and even drew his sword, but they were too quick for him. Everywhere he turned, there were cats, waiting to trip him up, scratch him and spoil his fine clothes. Unable to take any more, he called for their leader. ”What do you want?” he demanded of the ginger tom. “We cats demand that you cease acting like a spoiled tyrant who turns our milk sour,” mewed the cat. “We also demand you recall Steward Faramir for he was always kind to us cats.” Aragorn bowed his head in shame as he saw his errors at last. None but a cat had dared challenge the King. “I shall be a good King in future,” he promised. “The Steward shall take his place at my right hand. As for you, Master Tom, I would ask you to remain here at my side to teach me humility.” The cat purred his agreement and commanded the other cats to depart. From that day forward, Aragorn became a good and wise King, loved by both people and cats. Never again was the milk sour unless it was left out in the sun. The Citizens of Minas Tirith all lived happily ever after as did the cats!
The leader of the cats.
A Day at the Spa My friend Raksha and I were discussing the modern trend of the "metrosexual" male,who is obsessed with beauty products.I remarked that Aragorn and Faramir would not have the same appeal to us if they thought of nothing but looking beautiful. Aragorn :And I have a wrinkle! Both men burst into tears. |
Flash of Foresight
Flash of Foresight
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
With grateful thanks to Raksha.
“You may see them now, my lord.” Denethor impatiently pushed past the waiting woman to see his wife and new son. He was vaguely disappointed. He already had the heir he needed. A daughter would have been nice; a child he need have no fear of being called upon to sacrifice in Gondor’s endless struggles against the Dark Lord.
Finduilas sat propped in the vast bed, clutching a small bundle, her face almost as white as the sheets. She looked exhausted. Denethor felt a stab of fear. The Healers had warned him she was not strong.
She smiled. “We have a fine boy, my lord. Another jewel for us to cherish. Would you like to hold him?”
Rather reluctantly Denethor took the babe from his wife and studied the tiny creature. Its face looked as wrinkled as an old man’s and was framed by a fuzz of black hair. Altogether, it was small and not too fair to look upon, though Finduilas seemed to think otherwise. Boromir had been a beautiful baby. Almost immediately, the infant began to howl.
With sudden foresight Denethor knew this child was destined to somehow supplant his brother.
Shuddering, he returned him to his mother.
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
Dedicated to Raksha
The New Arrival
Boromir cautiously approached the bed. His mother was sitting up, gazing adoringly at a shawl wrapped bundle.
“Come, meet your new brother,” said Finduilas. ”Is Faramir not fair?”
“He is very small,” Boromir replied, studying the red, wrinkled face without enthusiasm. “I thought you said I was to have a new playmate?”
“You will have to wait for him to grow,” Finduilas explained.
“I’d rather have a puppy. Puppies are more fun than babies!” Boromir scowled.
Faramir suddenly opened his eyes and looked at his brother, stretching out small chubby arms.
Boromir tentatively extended a finger, which the baby grasped.
“He is strong!” The older boy was impressed.
“He will grown into a big strapping boy, just like you,” said Finduilas smiling. I will need you to help me look after him until then.”
“Yes, mama,” Boromir replied obediently.
Finduilas‘s heart swelled with pride at the sight of her sons together. Her two precious little jewels. How she loved them!
“Promise me you will protect your brother?” She tried to disguise the sudden shiver down her spine.
“I promise.”
“Good boy, now go and play while mama rests.”
“I think I like having a brother!” Boromir skipped away smiling.
A/N The first mention of Faramir's existence as himself was May 6, 1944 in Tolkien's letter to his son Christopher.
Behold the King
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been nor will be made from this ficlet.
But when Aragorn arose all that beheld him gazed in silence, for it seemed to them that he was revealed to them now for the first time. Tall as the sea-kings of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light was about him. And then Faramir cried:
‘Behold the King!’ - The Return of the King - J. R.R Tolkien
With thanks to Raksha.
Behold the King
The young Steward approaches with the crown, I am taking his place, yet he offers it willingly; his eyes filled with devotion.
I speak the words of my forefather, bringing together past and present.
I take it from him, but do not crown myself. I call rather for Frodo and Gandalf. Today, all are hailing me, but without them there would be no crown to offer. Gondor would lie in ruins under the Dark Lord’s dominion, while I would be dead, or worst enslaved by him.
For many long years have I longed for today. My dreams, though will only be fulfilled if Arwen is beside me as my wife and Queen. Dark will be my days if I am doomed to rule alone.
I scan the sea of faces. So many are here and yet so many are not. Would that my mother had lived to see this day! If only Halbarad were here and Théoden King. Their blood bought my triumph dearly.
I kneel before the Wizard in humility. Gandalf places the crown upon my head and speaks a blessing. The crown weighs heavily upon me, reminding me of the many burdens I now bear.
New strength courses through my veins. I feel the burden of my long years of wandering lifted. Today, I am reborn as Elessar, Envinyatar. I show my true face at last, the heir of Elendil, the rightful King in whom the blood of Númenór runs true.
Faramir, his face alight with joy cries aloud, ”Behold the King!” Shouts of acclamation fill the air as trumpets sound.
The sea of smiling faces gladdens my heart. They are my people now. I will protect them as a loving father protects his children.
May the Valar grant me wisdom to rule them with justice and compassion!
The Silver Crown
For long centuries, the Silver Crown had lain in the darkness, waiting for the rightful King to come for it. The old Kings had guarded the crown well throughout the long years of my sires’ Stewardship. The ancient helm shone like a sliver of Ithil, as if Eärnur Last-King had laid it aside but yesterday.
I took up the crown that my longfather Mardil left here for safekeeping. My own father would have known little joy in this task. Would that he had chosen life and hope, however faint, instead of the fire! He might have come to love the King as I do.
The Crown of the Sea-Kings was indeed a great prize. But greater by far was he who would soon claim it to wear as he renewed Gondor. Long had I yearned for the day that was to come on the morrow.
I bore the crown, quickly, anxious to leave the dead in peace. There had been too much death of late. I quickened my steps when I passed the rubble of the House of Stewards.
The tree still stood dead and barren, but hope lived in the City!
Hope had found me at the very end of my strength. I was lost, nearly taken by Shadow. When I first beheld him, I knew that Elendil’s heir, the King I longed for, had come. He restored me. What other hands could hold such healing power? I knew then that I was safe and so too was Gondor.
His hands also recalled Éowyn, the fair Shieldmaiden, from death, to my joy. I pledged her my heart, and she will become my bride.
Now, before the gates of our longfathers’ city, the King smiles and thanks me.
I can only offer him the crown. He gave me life anew.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Dedicated to Julia
O sink hernieder,
Nacht der Liebe,
gib Vergessen,
dass ich lebe;
nimm mich auf
in deinen Schoss,
löse von
der Welt mich los!
O sink down us
Night of love,
Let me now forget
I live;
Take me up
In thy lap.
Release me
from the world ! – Tristan und Isolde - Wagner
Oh thou, my fair evening star,
how gladly have I always greeted thee;
O du, mein holder Abendstern,
wohl grüsst'ich immer dich so gern:- Tannhäuser- Wagner
Aragorn believed his bride deserved better than to be taken like some sacrifice upon a marriage bed, haunted by the ghosts of long dead stewards and their wives, while servants listened and gossiped behind the closed doors.
Arwen was a child of stars, not of stone. Aragorn cared only for her happiness. How he wished that they could spend their honeymoon in Rivendell or Lothlórien where his bride felt truly at home.
Arwen had been overwhelmed to see Minas Tirith the day before, regarding its elaborate architecture with a mixture of curiosity, alarm and revulsion. Only her joy at seeing her beloved had sustained her throughout the wedding ceremonies and the long drawn out Gondorian rituals of escorting the bride to her marriage bed.
When, though, the doors had finally closed behind the newly weds, leaving them alone in a vast stone walled chamber, an overwrought Arwen had collapsed sobbing into her new husband’s arms. This was not how she had dreamed of spending her wedding night through the long years of their waiting. Aragorn had tried to comfort and reassure her. In truth, he was almost as fearful as his bride. At last they exchanged a chaste goodnight kiss and slept fitfully.
Galadriel had provided wise counsel the next morning, after beholding the new bride’s less than radiant demeanour. She had suggested the secluded gardens would make a suitably romantic setting to relax the nervous newly weds.
Hand in hand they now tiptoed through the corridors, silent of step and unnoticed by the sentries as they stepped out into the gardens.
Arwen’s steps lightened as she gazed up at the bright stars overhead.
Shedding the cloaks they wore over their night attire, they spread their blankets in a secluded spot under a vast tree, then kneeling, called upon Elbereth to witness and bless their union.
A breeze blew away what wisps of cloud veiled the sky. The stars seemed to smile upon them while the moon bathed them in a gentle glow. The balmy night air smelled of honeysuckle and a nightingale sang sweetly in the branches overhead.
Aragorn trembled with a mixture of fear and longing. How could he ever be worthy of the Evenstar? How could he ever please her; he a man beset by mortal frailties and imperfections? He kissed his bride; at first tentatively, then with ever increasing ardour at her eager response. Her perfume intoxicated him, while her unbound hair gleamed like silk in the soft glow of the moonlight.
Still he hesitated, despite the eagerness of his longing. “Are you certain?” he asked her almost shyly. “You will be giving me so much!”
“I offer myself to you freely, my Estel!” Arwen replied. “No other has touched my heart through long centuries. I would accept the Gift of Men. I would be ever at your side and bear your children. I would be wholly yours, both body and soul!” She nestled closer, pressing her body against his, revelling in the touch of his strong arms, both tender and ardent. Never before had she been so close to a man nor felt such fire in her veins. Eagerly she melted into his embrace, listening to his whispered sweet words of love, as he sought to reassure her.
Never did they think they could know such rapture, a union of both body and soul that no words would be adequate to describe. No longer apart and alone, but one with each other, man and wife.
At last they slept, snug under the blankets, entwined still in each other’s arms.
Aragorn awoke first, mindful that they must return ere daybreak to their rooms. Fondly he gazed upon his sleeping bride’s face. She looked so young, yet was older than the mightiest oak in the garden. He could scarce grasp that one so wondrous fair was now his wife! He had waited so long for this, forsaking all others, even when his love had seemed destined to remain forever unrequited. This night had been the most fearful and most beautiful he had ever known.
Arwen slowly opened her eyes. He hardly dared meet her gaze. Had he disappointed her in any way?
Radiantly, she smiled at him. “I love you, Estel,” she whispered. ”I am so happy to be your wife!”
“I am so proud to be your husband!” Aragorn replied, helping her to her feet and kissing her tenderly. She shook the leaves from her nightgown and donned her cloak.
The first pink streaks of dawn were visible as they made their way back inside. The walls took on a glow in the soft light. Arwen smiled. “The city looks far fairer now!” she exclaimed. “I shall learn to be happy here with you at my side, beloved, watching your White Tree blossom each season!”
“My Steward had a vision, which I shared, of us by the Tree surrounded by our children and our children’s children,” Aragorn confided.
“Such a glorious vision gladdens my heart! We will build a happy home together, you and I,” said Arwen, “It will be as fair as the Elven cities of old!”
“If only I were not taking you from your people and your home!” Aragorn lamented.
“My home is where you are, for you hold my heart,” Arwen replied fervently.
Hand in hand they watched the sun rise.
A/N Written to celebrate Aragorn and Arwen’s Midsummer marriage.
Waters of Life
Waters of Life
By the waters of Life we sat together,
Hand in hand, in the golden days
Of the beautiful early summer weather,
When skies were purple and breath was praise – Thomas Noel 1799-1861
A gift for Julia
This is where, I found the stream, my lady, just up here,” Faramir explained.
Aragorn smiled at the Steward and took his wife’s hand, helping her up the steep slope. He had long desired to show her the hidden lake, Faramir’s discovery of which had restored both King and Steward in body and soul.
Today was the anniversary of the King and Queen ‘s marriage and together with their Steward; they were taking a rare break from their duties and exploring the slopes of Mount Mindolluin. Arwen had finally decided that now Eldarion was fully weaned, he was old enough to be left for a full day in the care of his nurse.
Arwen gazed upon the stream in delight. Its clear waters sparkled like diamonds in the June sunlight. “It reminds me of fair Nimrodel!” she said. Kneeling beside it, she cupped her hands and drank deeply.” Never before have I tasted water so sweet outside of the Elven realms!” she exclaimed in delight. “It would further gladden my heart to see the lake from whence this stream flows.”
“I will lead you up the mountain to it, beloved,” said Aragorn, smiling at his wife’s obvious delight.
“I will await you here,” Faramir announced.
“You are welcome to join us, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn. “We do not plan to go swimming, so you need not worry about respecting the Queen’s privacy.”
Although Arwen could swim, she did not especially enjoy it, unlike the two men. The King was secretly relieved. He feared disrobing here to go swimming in the lake with his beautiful wife might arouse feelings, which would be far better suited for their bedchamber than for this hallowed place.
“I would rather stay here and admire the view,” said Faramir.” I am not especially partial to climbing mountains.”
Aragorn smiled at him gratefully, acknowledging his tact. He had wanted Faramir to come with them, feeling it was only fitting that the Steward should show Arwen the stream he had discovered. Yet he yearned to be alone with his wife when he showed her this special place.
“We will return soon, farewell for a while.” Patting his friend on the shoulder, Aragorn took his leave of the Steward and offered his wife his arm to escort her up the mountainside.
Arwen’s Elven grace made her surer of foot than her husband. Soon it was she who guided and aided him as they toiled up the steepest part of the path.
Aragorn became slightly apprehensive as they rounded the final bend. Was the lake truly as beautiful as he recalled? Sometimes, it seemed almost like a dream, the short time he had spent there with Faramir and experienced the nearness and the blessings of the One.
“Let me go first now.” He tightly gripped Arwen’s hand. Together they emerged onto the plateau.
His fears were groundless. If anything, the mountain lake was even fairer than when he had first beheld it. The clear blue sky reflected in the peaceful waters, while an air of wondrous tranquillity pervaded the atmosphere. The scent of fair blossoms perfumed the air while graceful butterflies danced amidst the flowers. Even the birds sang more sweetly here. Graceful swans glided across the lake’s surface while the breeze rippled the flowers and grasses that grew along the verdant shores.
“Estel!” Arwen’s beautiful eyes sparkled with sheer joy. “This place is wondrous fair! See, here is the niphredil you told me of!” She knelt on the grass and tenderly caressed the fair white blossoms. For a moment her eyes filled with tears at the memories of the parents who had taught her to love these blooms and the grandmother in whose now deserted realm they grew so freely.
“Arwen!” Aragorn knelt beside her and tenderly stroked her hair. “I did not realize that such sights would make you homesick. Maybe I should not have brought you here. Forgive me!”
“There is no need, Estel. Home is where you are at my side,” she assured him fervently. “And how can this not be my home since the flowers that bloomed for my foremother rise up to greet me! I will not swim, but I would taste the water.” Thus saying, she pulled off her shoes and stockings and waded into the shallows, lifting the hem of her gown free of the water. She laughed joyfully as the waves rippled over her bare feet.
Aragorn hastily shed his own footwear and rolled up his breeches to his knees. He joined her. Hand in hand, they encircled the lake. The birdsong grew ever more rapturous.
“The birds offer me sweet music!” she exclaimed, “I must dance!”
Aragorn sat on the bank and watched her, enthralled. Her graceful form seemed almost to float above the grass. Her beauty and charm had not dimmed since that long ago day when he had first glimpsed her amongst the birches at Rivendell. In his eyes, marriage and motherhood had enhanced her loveliness even more.
Her voice soared in an ancient lay, more rapturous than the nightingale.
No longer content merely to watch, Aragorn joined her, though he felt clumsy by comparison. Her soft cheek caressed his and memories flooded back of the time they had spent together in Lothlórien. Her song was filled with an ecstasy he had not heard since those long vanished days of bliss when they had trodden barefoot on Cerin Amroth.
Wearied at last, they sank together on the bank and Aragorn took her tenderly in his arms and kissed her. "Vanimelda, how I love you!” he exclaimed.
“I love you more with each day that passes, Estel!” she told him, returning his kiss. How she delighted to feel his strong arms around her!
They knew not for how long they tarried there, savouring each other’s nearness and exchanging tender caresses.
Suddenly, the breeze ceased and the birds fell silent. It were as if all nature held her breath in eager anticipation.
Arwen grasped her husband’s hand tightly, sensing they were no longer alone, but in the highest Presence of all. The One was there, and they were a part of something so immense that no words could ever describe it. They were blessed by that Presence, telling them they were, and ever would be, the Children of Eru, granted an especial grace throughout eternity.
Arwen sensed yet another blessing; new life was stirring within her.
King and Queen rose to their feet and reverently bowed their heads.
Hand in hand they descended the mountainside to rejoin Faramir, the light still shining in their eyes.
A/N This is a sequel to “A Time to Reap”, especially chapters 9 and 10 set in an unspecified future date
In my End is my Beginning
In my end is my beginning. - Mary Queen of Scots.
With grateful thanks to Raksha
The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
I wept until I had no tears left. I could hardly grasp that you had left me, dearest and best of friends.
My head knew it was your time to leave the circles of the world, to seek your destiny beyond them, while my heart would have pleaded for you to stay, selfish, though that would have been.
You were a hundred and twenty years old, older than any Steward of Gondor since the old White Tree had withered and died. Always wise, you gladly accepted the Gift of Men when those years became a burden.
No longer could I heal you and renew your strength; for time devours all Men. I knew you were eager to seek your Éowyn and those others you loved and had gone before: Boromir, your mother, your old comrades, even your father whom you had long ago forgiven.
In late autumn, as the leaves were falling, you lay upon your bed and summoned me to witness your surrender of the White Rod to Elboron, your eldest son.
Your children and their children’s children all came to bid you farewell. They wept. You told them they should be happy for you that you chose to gladly receive Eru’s Gift.
You then asked all to leave save your eldest daughter and me. You loved all your children dearly, but she, your firstborn had always held a special place in your heart and mine too. Arwen and I were so happy the day she wed Eldarion and our families were joined by marriage.
“Be strong,” you told us; “and do not yet seek to follow me. Live for the love we bore one another for so long. I die content, my only regret in leaving those whom I love. “
We promised, that you might depart in peace. We each bestowed a final kiss of blessing upon you, then held your hands as you breathed your last. The years seemed to fall from you in death. We knew you had found what you were seeking.
Then Arwen and Eldarion came in. She held me close. Eldarion tried to comfort his wife. She, the little girl I once knew, was now an old woman. A lifespan, thrice that of lesser Men, can be a doubtful blessing, when you see those far younger than you grow old and fade.
Arwen led me forth from the room. She understood the depth of my loss like no other. Faramir had made our marriage possible by hailing me as his King and relinquishing his claim to rule Gondor. He was ever at my side to advise me how to be the King I wanted to be. I came to look upon him as my eldest son. We were kindred souls, alike in so many ways.
Our friendship began when I saved Faramir’s life. Love sprang between us, a bond of both friendship and fealty when he had first opened his eyes and looked upon me. It were as if he were reborn as my chosen son. His own father had sought his death while I renewed his life. He repaid the debt many times over. My soul felt torn asunder at his passing.
Arwen led me to our chambers and clasped me in her arms while I wept. She sang a lament of her people, which gradually soothed me into sleep.
I saw you then, Faramir, strong and hale, untouched by the passing years. Éowyn was at your side and you looked to be in bliss. You embraced me and told me how happy you were and to rejoice for you. ”I will never be far from you and will see you again, dear friend,” you told me. “Be of good cheer and greet the new heir of our family with love and joy.” Éowyn then led Faramir away into a fair garden and I awoke.
My heart was still heavy with loss, yet I was somewhat comforted by what I had seen.
A knock came at the door and Eldarion entered, his countenance a mixture both of joy and sorrow. “I am a grandsire,” he announced. “Elthalion’s wife has born him a fair son, a little early, but both are well. We shall name him Elfaron.”
“A fitting name for the heir to great Houses,” said Arwen. “Faramir’s name shall never be forgotten.”
I manage to smile. In this darkest hour we have been granted new hope.