(no subject)
Arwen fic, as promised. Much love to redautumn for the beta thingy.
Title: Perfection
Rating: PG
Notes: A character study. Sort of dark- contains Arwen/Aragorn, Aragorn/Boromir as well as suggested Arwen/Aragorn/Boromir. Slightly odd. Feedback is highly encouraged and is appreciated. :D
Her husband’s people think her perfect. But what do the distant subjects know about their queen? They do not see that she is angry, troubled. Of course she does not let them see.
To them she is perfect: flawless beauty, endless wisdom, courage of heart and strength of character. They do not see her rage, when she destroys, burning the tapestry she is completing, smashing the crystal bowl from her brothers, a reminder of her life before.
Her husband tries, but he does not understand. He tries to soothe her with his love, ease the hurt in her heart. He sees her rage and it terrifies him, she who could be an elf-queen of terrible power. Did not the blood of the Maiar run in her veins?
Her husband has always known this. And yet he loved her. She did not, could not, hate him when he sought comfort in the embrace of the strong steward’s son. Valiant man, Lord of Gondor, eldest son of Denethor Steward. No, she would not begrudge her love what comfort he took. Had there been more time, she may have requested he lure the handsome man to their bed. They would have enjoyed each other’s company, she was sure.
But now he was dead. Mortal and human, life snuffed out so quickly. He was little more than an infant.
It was not the loss of a potential bedmate that shook her. It was the reminder of how close death could be. It was the first time she knew someone who had died.
The second time was an old woman, lying in the houses of healing. She spent some time there, using what she knew to help, knowing her presence was soothing. One bright and terrible morning, she found one of the old women being cared for was dead. She knew it would happen, the inevitable. It was not until she went again the next morning to the houses, not realizing until she saw the empty bed that the woman was gone, lost forever.
It was that very day she became fascinated with destruction. It gave her a sick rush of pleasure, something dangerously akin to lust, when she saw the fibers of the tapestry burn and disintegrate, the crystal shatter into pieces infinitesimal. Her husband thought it would not last, that she would grow accustomed to death, to nothingness and the void.
And his people thought her perfect.
Title: Perfection
Rating: PG
Notes: A character study. Sort of dark- contains Arwen/Aragorn, Aragorn/Boromir as well as suggested Arwen/Aragorn/Boromir. Slightly odd. Feedback is highly encouraged and is appreciated. :D
Her husband’s people think her perfect. But what do the distant subjects know about their queen? They do not see that she is angry, troubled. Of course she does not let them see.
To them she is perfect: flawless beauty, endless wisdom, courage of heart and strength of character. They do not see her rage, when she destroys, burning the tapestry she is completing, smashing the crystal bowl from her brothers, a reminder of her life before.
Her husband tries, but he does not understand. He tries to soothe her with his love, ease the hurt in her heart. He sees her rage and it terrifies him, she who could be an elf-queen of terrible power. Did not the blood of the Maiar run in her veins?
Her husband has always known this. And yet he loved her. She did not, could not, hate him when he sought comfort in the embrace of the strong steward’s son. Valiant man, Lord of Gondor, eldest son of Denethor Steward. No, she would not begrudge her love what comfort he took. Had there been more time, she may have requested he lure the handsome man to their bed. They would have enjoyed each other’s company, she was sure.
But now he was dead. Mortal and human, life snuffed out so quickly. He was little more than an infant.
It was not the loss of a potential bedmate that shook her. It was the reminder of how close death could be. It was the first time she knew someone who had died.
The second time was an old woman, lying in the houses of healing. She spent some time there, using what she knew to help, knowing her presence was soothing. One bright and terrible morning, she found one of the old women being cared for was dead. She knew it would happen, the inevitable. It was not until she went again the next morning to the houses, not realizing until she saw the empty bed that the woman was gone, lost forever.
It was that very day she became fascinated with destruction. It gave her a sick rush of pleasure, something dangerously akin to lust, when she saw the fibers of the tapestry burn and disintegrate, the crystal shatter into pieces infinitesimal. Her husband thought it would not last, that she would grow accustomed to death, to nothingness and the void.
And his people thought her perfect.