The Line Of The Peredhel for Silmsmutweek 2025 by LadySternchen  

Day Two- Summer

“Catch me, then!”

Very dimly, through the veils left by the wine and celebration and general exhilaration following Sauron’s defeat and his wedding, Aragorn wonders whether he has been somehow transported back to his childhood, and is racing his foster brothers through the woods surrounding Rivendell, rather than… no. No, he will not think that thought further, and recall that his newly wedded bride is not only his cousin several times removed (briefly, he wonders whether Eärendil and Elwing ever played chase on the beaches of long-lost Beleriand. Surely they would never have thought that on a summer’s day in the far distant future, their descendants would also chase each other, joining the long sundered lines of their twin sons?), but his foster sister also. But she was never there, during the years of his childhood, not like Elladan and Elrohir, who tend to forget that they are grown-up, dignified Elf-lords, rather than mischievous children, whenever they are together.

“And you are different… how?”

Aragorn startles, almost tripping over a root. He is not yet used to that particular part of their marriage bond, that Arwen can now talk to him in his head. Until they were wed, Aragorn thought that only Elves can talk like this, but apparently, it is not so. Only whether it is the fact that he is married to an Elf, or because he himself is of Elven heritage, he has no idea.

She is not entirely wrong, either, his queen. Playing chase on the first evening they have off on their tour around their newly founded kingdom is… well probably not very kingly. But who in the name of Ulmo’s shell-covered balls cares?

“Aahhhh!”

For a split second, Aragorn notes that his scream sounds like that of a little girl. Then he hits the ground hard, his midriff folding painfully over a fallen tree.

“Estel!”

Arwen is back with him in the blink of an eye, and kneels beside him as he turns onto his back, still winded. It hurts, but he finds he does not care much. Not when Arwen’s face is swimming above him.

“I’m drunk, I think.”

“Clearly,” she states dryly, picking a twig out of his hair. “But you outdo yourself today, husband. For not even the drunkest of drunken rangers would ever have made such noise, nor tripped over their own feet.”

“Ah, but then I am no more ranger… ouch!”

A sharp pain shoots through his body as he chuckles, reminding him of his injury. This has the potential of becoming very embarrassing.

“Let me check,” Arwen offers, her voice gentler now without the note of jesting.

He allows her to nestle his tunic open and push up the linen shirt he is wearing underneath. Her fingers are pleasantly cool, and Aragorn closes his eyes to her touch, savouring the moment.

“You are lucky,” Arwen states, just as Aragorn feels himself dozing off on the sun-warmed forest floor.

“Nothing bad, then?”

He’s sorry, almost. Lying here and being tended to by his wife sounds quite nice.

“Of course it’s nothing bad. You would have had to be distinctly unlucky to sustain any substantial injury while tripping. No, you are lucky because the bruise will not show, unless you feel the urge to undress to take part in some sporting event or others.”

“Mmmm, sporting event of what sort?” he asks with a blatantly suggestive grin.

“Ai Valar, you really are drunk. You should hear yourself talking. I suppose, though,” she mused, moving her hand slowly over his bared torso down to his belt “…that I am already halfway there undressing you? Would the High King Elessar be partial to the next round of our competition?”

“Only if my Queen will let me have my win this time,” he chuckles, pushing himself up to kiss Arwen tenderly.

She responds with enthusiasm, and the moment is all at once, Arwen is all at once. The woman he loves with every last strand of his heart, his revered Queen, wiser and more beautiful than any other being within their realm, and his comrade in crime. His musings and surroundings fade to nothingness as he rids her of the first layer of her gown and  kisses her neck, breathes in her scent, feels his body respond to her soft ministrations. Life surely cannot get any better.