Post by Admin on Jan 8, 2021 2:07:56 GMT
Author: Erulisse (one L)
Ranking: 2nd place
Summary: On a stormy afternoon when Arwen finds herself unexpectedly alone she has an encounter with a long lost love.
Characters/Pairing: Arwen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Tolkien built the sand box; I only play with the bucket and shovel that he left for me. No money, profit or non, is made from the publication of this story.
The sky was glowering, clouds menacing and the back-of-the-mouth tang of upcoming lightning assailed her. Arwen walked through the private chambers of the King's household in the Citadel, looking through the window slits as she passed them, watching the housemaids closing the shutters against the oncoming rainstorm. Her son was staying with Faramir and Éowyn in their city house, playing with their own young son and she had been enjoying her rare holiday from motherhood. Aragorn was in Rohan on a diplomatic mission but since she was pregnant again she had begged off from attending him on the journey. She was alone.
How rare. I have not truly been alone since I first wed Aragorn, she thought as she turned in a slow pirouette in the center of their large common room. A fire had been lit in the hearth and it cheered her to see the bright flames. From behind her she felt a brush of air as if a light caress, and smelled the light scent of lilac and wood rose tickle her nose.
“Mother?” she called aloud.
What am I thinking? How could it possibly be! She has been long oversea and I will never set eyes on her again. Arwen pressed her hands around her swollen belly feeling her unborn child turn lazily, searching for a more comfortable position within her womb. She turned toward the hallway door and again the tendril of floral scent came to her. This time she felt as if it was beckoning her to follow.
Throughout her long life to the uttermost day she never understood why she followed that trail of scent.
She walked through the doorway and began tracking the flowery odor through the hallways and up the staircases of the Citadel of Minas Tirith. After a long journey through unfamiliar halls she stopped and looked around. She was high in the warrens of rooms that made up the labyrinthine dwelling– higher than she had explored before. Up here the rooms were unoccupied and in need of thorough cleaning. Many of them had been relegated for use as storerooms for broken or out of style furnishings. The narrow window slits were angled to allow optimum protection and strike range for archers in warfare or during a siege. There were no shutters to pull closed against the driving rain which had now started to fall in windblown sheets. Once more the scent of lilac and wood rose assailed her nostrils and she turned to continue following it as she had been doing for the previous hour.
She walked by empty, discarded armor – breastplates and grieves blooming with the dark auburn of rust. More open windows displayed threadbare tapestries hanging over walls or piled into corners. She pushed through fine spider webs and sneezed several times from the dust she raised as she walked by.
She continued climbing higher and higher until, at last, she paused. She was standing in front of an iron-banded wooden door at the end of a long hallway. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. It moved easily despite the squeaking hinges and bloom of rust on the iron. She strode out and stopped as she looked around her.
“Valar!” she muttered under her breath as her location became clear to her. She was standing in a sheltered section of the crenellated defensive wall that crowned the Citadel. A guard post was ahead of her, almost lost in the streaming waters issuing from the clouds above. Behind the small guard tower was the sheer cliff of the mountain that formed the backbone of the White City.*
Lightning split the sky illuminating the walkway and its desolation. Overlying the acrid scent of the bolt was the lilac and wood rose scent. “Mother?” she whispered aloud. Both hope and fear quickly moved across her facial features before they were once more brought into stern compliance and an emotionless visage.
I remember when you were a small child and would come running to me for comfort on days such as this, a familiar voice said in her mind.
“Mother!” Arwen gasped. “Oh mother, I have missed you so very much.” The tears that gathered in her eyes fought with the rain sheeting down from the skies.
I have little time, my dear. By the grace of Lord Manwë my fea has been allowed to see you today.
A soft glow grew in the corner near the door, resolving itself into the translucent form of a beautiful elf female with long, flowing, silver locks of hair.
My beloved daughter, I am so very proud of you. You wed the one who was destined for you. Through your union you will reunite the divided people of Middle-earth. Your children will make both of you proud.
The storm's intensity was lessening and the form was beginning to fade away. “Mother, I love you so very much,” Arwen called out. “Only for my one true love would I have forsaken my life with you.”
I know that, my dearest. I love you too. Be happy, my beloved daughter. At the end of all we may be able to embrace one another again. I give you my blessing.
The figure faded away just as a beam of sunlight broke through the angry clouds. The wind picked up and began shredding the clouds. The great storm had finally ended.
Arwen sent a prayer of thanks to Lord Manwë for the unexpected and welcome gift. Through her tears of joy Arwen once again felt her child move within her. She smiled as she reminded herself that her mother's life still continued in Middle-earth through her grandchildren. Arwen knew that she would cherish each child she bore but that this one, the one whose heart now beat in tandem with her own, had been specially blessed by both the Valar and her own mother. With a last look at the sunlight now overtaking the storm, she smiled broadly and re-entered the world that she had chosen. Her future suddenly looked brighter and she looked forward to telling Aragorn about this extraordinary blessing.
Ranking: 2nd place
Summary: On a stormy afternoon when Arwen finds herself unexpectedly alone she has an encounter with a long lost love.
Characters/Pairing: Arwen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Tolkien built the sand box; I only play with the bucket and shovel that he left for me. No money, profit or non, is made from the publication of this story.
The sky was glowering, clouds menacing and the back-of-the-mouth tang of upcoming lightning assailed her. Arwen walked through the private chambers of the King's household in the Citadel, looking through the window slits as she passed them, watching the housemaids closing the shutters against the oncoming rainstorm. Her son was staying with Faramir and Éowyn in their city house, playing with their own young son and she had been enjoying her rare holiday from motherhood. Aragorn was in Rohan on a diplomatic mission but since she was pregnant again she had begged off from attending him on the journey. She was alone.
How rare. I have not truly been alone since I first wed Aragorn, she thought as she turned in a slow pirouette in the center of their large common room. A fire had been lit in the hearth and it cheered her to see the bright flames. From behind her she felt a brush of air as if a light caress, and smelled the light scent of lilac and wood rose tickle her nose.
“Mother?” she called aloud.
What am I thinking? How could it possibly be! She has been long oversea and I will never set eyes on her again. Arwen pressed her hands around her swollen belly feeling her unborn child turn lazily, searching for a more comfortable position within her womb. She turned toward the hallway door and again the tendril of floral scent came to her. This time she felt as if it was beckoning her to follow.
Throughout her long life to the uttermost day she never understood why she followed that trail of scent.
She walked through the doorway and began tracking the flowery odor through the hallways and up the staircases of the Citadel of Minas Tirith. After a long journey through unfamiliar halls she stopped and looked around. She was high in the warrens of rooms that made up the labyrinthine dwelling– higher than she had explored before. Up here the rooms were unoccupied and in need of thorough cleaning. Many of them had been relegated for use as storerooms for broken or out of style furnishings. The narrow window slits were angled to allow optimum protection and strike range for archers in warfare or during a siege. There were no shutters to pull closed against the driving rain which had now started to fall in windblown sheets. Once more the scent of lilac and wood rose assailed her nostrils and she turned to continue following it as she had been doing for the previous hour.
She walked by empty, discarded armor – breastplates and grieves blooming with the dark auburn of rust. More open windows displayed threadbare tapestries hanging over walls or piled into corners. She pushed through fine spider webs and sneezed several times from the dust she raised as she walked by.
She continued climbing higher and higher until, at last, she paused. She was standing in front of an iron-banded wooden door at the end of a long hallway. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. It moved easily despite the squeaking hinges and bloom of rust on the iron. She strode out and stopped as she looked around her.
“Valar!” she muttered under her breath as her location became clear to her. She was standing in a sheltered section of the crenellated defensive wall that crowned the Citadel. A guard post was ahead of her, almost lost in the streaming waters issuing from the clouds above. Behind the small guard tower was the sheer cliff of the mountain that formed the backbone of the White City.*
Lightning split the sky illuminating the walkway and its desolation. Overlying the acrid scent of the bolt was the lilac and wood rose scent. “Mother?” she whispered aloud. Both hope and fear quickly moved across her facial features before they were once more brought into stern compliance and an emotionless visage.
I remember when you were a small child and would come running to me for comfort on days such as this, a familiar voice said in her mind.
“Mother!” Arwen gasped. “Oh mother, I have missed you so very much.” The tears that gathered in her eyes fought with the rain sheeting down from the skies.
I have little time, my dear. By the grace of Lord Manwë my fea has been allowed to see you today.
A soft glow grew in the corner near the door, resolving itself into the translucent form of a beautiful elf female with long, flowing, silver locks of hair.
My beloved daughter, I am so very proud of you. You wed the one who was destined for you. Through your union you will reunite the divided people of Middle-earth. Your children will make both of you proud.
The storm's intensity was lessening and the form was beginning to fade away. “Mother, I love you so very much,” Arwen called out. “Only for my one true love would I have forsaken my life with you.”
I know that, my dearest. I love you too. Be happy, my beloved daughter. At the end of all we may be able to embrace one another again. I give you my blessing.
The figure faded away just as a beam of sunlight broke through the angry clouds. The wind picked up and began shredding the clouds. The great storm had finally ended.
Arwen sent a prayer of thanks to Lord Manwë for the unexpected and welcome gift. Through her tears of joy Arwen once again felt her child move within her. She smiled as she reminded herself that her mother's life still continued in Middle-earth through her grandchildren. Arwen knew that she would cherish each child she bore but that this one, the one whose heart now beat in tandem with her own, had been specially blessed by both the Valar and her own mother. With a last look at the sunlight now overtaking the storm, she smiled broadly and re-entered the world that she had chosen. Her future suddenly looked brighter and she looked forward to telling Aragorn about this extraordinary blessing.