Who Gave You That Jewel?
"Kiss me," Aragorn whispers, and she can scarcely hear his voice over the legions of Uruk-Hai that will try to take the fortress. Were it not for her Elvish ears, she would not have heard him, and she knows that he speaks on faith that she can. The rain has begun to fall, arrows are nocked and swords are drawn. Aragorn is at her side, and she at his, and side-by-side shall they face the night.
She does not look at him, does not give him a sideways glance, but her left hand goes to his right, and both their hands are soaked now, and cold in the night air.
Arwen knows that by the morning, their hands will ache, that they will be warm with the blood that pounds within them and the blood that soaks them from without.
"Kiss me," Aragorn whispers again.
"Not till morning, my love," Arwen answers. She strokes his hand once, and feels it flex and tighten. Arwen takes her hand off of his as he draws his sword, and her own right hand moves for her blade.
"Till morning, then," says Aragorn.
For one moment, Arwen wishes that she had kissed him. The rain is cold, and his lips would be warm.
But the thought of his kiss will keep her quick, and the thought of her kiss will keep him strong. She knows this, and she knows as well that she may never see the dawn, but that is just as good -- to die with the sword of her father in her hand, a sword that sings of blood and life, a sword that must see blood again if it is to save life.
Tears are streaming down their cheeks, but neither knows it. After all, the rain is heavy, and neither can bear to see the other's face, for they shall have to share a kiss, and if given that kiss, for what then shall they be fighting?
Fighting Caradhras -- that is one task that the Fellowship cannot bear. Arwen knows this, although she does not speak of it to the rest of them. But she and Boromir share grim looks when they can look up from their work (for there is far more to be done now: the hobbits must be kept in mind, she, unaffected by the cold and blessed with Elvish eyesight, must scout ahead, and Aragorn and Boromir must prepare for dangers from behind), and both of them know what the rest of the Company does not wish to admit. Caradhras will best them.
But they say nothing at nights, and none of the rest of the Nine thinks it odd when the three of them, Arwen and her Men (so she playfully called them in the sunnier parts of their journey), draw close to each other.
The Men both tried to sleep on either side of Arwen, apparently out of some instinct to protect her, but she scorned such a notion. "I do not feel the cold," she said reasonably. "I ought to sleep with my back to the wind, at least then you two will have some protection from it."
Boromir seemed ready to argue, but Aragorn, weary (though his eyes managed to offer both his lovers some hint of their rare mirth), shook his head. "As you wish, Lady," the Ranger said solemnly, and both of them quite nearly thought his solemn tone genuine, as Arwen settled down, untroubled by the winds.
Winds, winds, winds that clawed at her dress and her hair, which she barely bothered to tie back before she left Imladris. Winds that screamed at her, begged with her and whispered of the seas.
She reaches Lorien days ahead of the Fellowship, for one lone Elf, even the daughter of Elrond, is not worth the attentions of the evils that plague Middle-earth. Elves have always ridden across the lands, untroubled by the evils that they consider themselves above.
Her father was not pleased when she told him that she rode for her mother's kin, but he also knew that she would be safe, that she could ride, and that the evils of the world would not risk provoking the wrath of creatures who considered themselves above the wars of Middle-earth.
He hoped, too, she thinks, that Galadriel might reason with Arwen, might speak with her, impart some council that Elrond cannot find in his books, some wisdom that he cannot find in his heart.
So she rode to Lorien, and reached the golden wood, and spoke with the Lady, who vowed to say nothing of Arwen's plans to her father.
When Aragorn and the Company arrived at last, Arwen was waiting there for him. In the forest of Lorien, before Galadriel, a Queen among Arwen's people, and before Boromir, the heir of the Steward of Gondor, and before the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring, Arwen Undomiel and Aragorn son of Arathorn were wedded.
Galadriel did not smile, but she kissed her granddaughter's forehead in blessing. Boromir knelt before the two of them, the woman and man who would be his King and Queen, and they had him rise and stand beside them.
She was not to leave Lorien with the Fellowship, not yet. For there were yet words to be spoken with Galadriel, councils to be taken from the Elven Witch, and there was still her father, who would doubtless hear of Arwen's choice soon enough. She kissed Aragorn when he departed, and embraced Boromir as a friend. As the Company departed, she knew she would not remain with her people for much longer.
For just a short time, though, she would yet stay.
"Stay with me, Arwen," Aragorn whispers when they halt at the top of the hill. His voice reaches her through the fog that, in her mind, has descended, that enfolds them like unhallowed breath -- and cold breath indeed hangs around their company as they are followed, although there are no true clouds descended that surround them. He gently strokes Asfaloth as Arwen dismounts. Her sword, that was her father's and passed to her when she became a Ranger, is at her side as ever. Their company spreads out, seeking some sense of the strange place they have stopped.
"This place is unnatural," murmurs Arwen in answer. She and Aragorn converse in Elvish, and although many of their numbers (to say nothing of Arwen's brothers) speak the tongue, it is also understood among the Rangers that when Aragorn and Arwen share councils in their native language, what they may say is only for their ears. "There is evil here, the evil of broken promises, the evil of fear and doubt."
"But it is our only hope," Aragorn replies, and she cannot tell what he is thinking, but she can tell that he is unhappy.
She smiles at him then, gently, and kisses his cheek. "I know that," she says. "I did not mean to cause you further grief, my love."
Her brother's silver horn rings out then, loud and clear, and shivers in the air, and she thinks that she hears other tones answering.
The fog that she imagines must not be imagined, then, for it grows thicker with the wind that blows from the mountains. Aragorn looks about, and squeezes her hand, and cries out at last, in a voice that she has only heard him use in battles: "Oathbreakers, why have ye come?"
And a voice is heard out of the night that answers him, as if from far away: "To fulfill our oath and have peace."
Then Aragorn says "The hour is come at last. Now I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and ye shall come after me. And when all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled, and ye shall have peace and depart forever. For I am Elessar, Isildur's heir of Gondor."
He needs not even look at her then; her hand has left her sword and gone for the banner that she made during their time at Imladris, and she holds it aloft as he takes her hand and kisses it, once, briefly.
Briefly, she casts her eyes back to the shore. The sound of the gulls is a scream to her, a scream of pain and a scream of grief.
Aragorn stands there, at the edge of the dock, next to the hobbit Samwise Gamgee. She cannot bear to meet their eyes, and in her hand she takes that of Frodo Baggins. Her father's hand is on her shoulder, but she casts it off. The tears roll down her cheeks, and she knows that they meet the sea, salt to salt.
She would never have been able to leave if she had kissed him there, touched him, held him, and so she had not even shared with her beloved one final kiss.