Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled
setsuled

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Hooray for Children!

Never underestimate the rejuvenating powers of the spaghetti and orange juice combo.

Here's some sloppy Lord of the Rings (movie version) fan-fiction;

. . .

The beauty of Minas Tirith and its dark clad citizenry had not failed to please Arwen each morning in the first two years after Sauron's defeat and her wedding to Aragorn, king in a new era of Men. Simply observing the city's beauty from her balcony was an urgent undertaking each morning. She had never thought it was because she need prove to herself the wisdom in her youthful decision; to never see the White Shores, to not journey west with her father and her people. To never see them again. To see instead this city. To wake up to it, each morning.

This city, whose white walls reflected unfiltered, implacable sunlight. Fiercely, irritatingly beating her eyes with a bright, strange blankness.

"You're up." Aragorn, behind her, "I didn't hear you. The servants have prepared breakfast for us both. I suggest we eat now, as I have several meetings this morning."

His voice was perfunctory, distracted. Instead of his warm arms around her, his greeting was only followed by the sound of shuffling papers--the pile left on the table from last night. But it may as well have been the same pile for years.

Aragorn is not a bad man, Arwen said to herself. In fact, he's a great man, as kings go. Probably the best king Middle Earth as seen . . .

"I can't stay with you," she said.

The papers stopped and a silence, sour with surprised calculation, filled the room.

"I know this past year our relationship has been . . . distant," he began slowly, "but . . . Arwen . . ."

"I haven't gotten pregnant."

There was a pause, and she let him try to guess the precise purpose the naked statement here served.

"I--know. I'm sorry--I know you wanted a child. The doctors say . . . some women--"

Arwen silenced him by turning around, catching his breath with her motion, and he stood there with his mouth working, fishlike. She wanted to inject words into him surgically, to quickly and finally kill this thing so that she could start moving on.

So she said, "My father had convinced me to take the ship west shortly before the war ended. But I had a vision that turned my step back to you--a vision of our unborn child, Aragorn.

"My father had shown me that, though I love you, I also love him, and my people. It did seem foolish for me to abandon them all forever, for you, whose lifetime would be short compared to the aeons of solitude I was to live following your death."

Her voice had softened as she spoke, as she realised that she did not really want to hurt Aragorn, for whom she did yet feel some love. But all her bitterness returned as she said, "But I saw a damned vision. A damned vision, sent by Sauron for all I know, of a child--our child. I stayed because I saw life. And now I find there is nothing but the inevitable death my father foresaw.

"I see it whenever I look at you. I hate it, and I don't want to see it anymore.

"I can't go to the White Shores, but I can not keep looking at you."

"Hold on!" It was the first time she'd heard Aragorn angry in years and it startled her, "You only stayed with me because you wanted a baby?!"

"Of course! Did you really expect me to abandon my whole family just for you?"

He shook his head, "I never wanted you to. I told you to take the ship."

"Yes, well, you were right. And I should have listened."

"It seems my counsel was wiser than I knew--evidently your love was not so strong as you then imagined."

"That of the ignorant flames of youth is the oldest tale in the tomes, Aragorn." She realised they were shouting now, and she paused to catch her breath and command her tone to cool before she finally said, "I'm going. Now. Farewell."

"Yes, I think you'd better."


And they lived happily ever after!
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