Chapter Text
Arwen didn't see the crown placed on Aragorn's head. Too many bodies separated her from the steps where he knelt. She could picture him, though, in her mind's eye.
Gandalf the White held the crown aloft, and it was enough for her that her Aragorn, her Elessar, reclaim what his ancestors had lost generations before he was born.
And then it was done. The crowd atop Minas Tirith cheered their King.
King Elessar sang of his devotion to his people and his voice warmed her, as it always did, when he sang. It was never as often as Arwen would have liked. His burdens were too heavy: the Ranger, the Dúnedain, the reluctant hero of Middle Earth forced to live in the shadows while evil overtook their world.
Everything in her wanted to toss the White Tree banner she held aside and run into his arms. A strange pain in her chest made it hard to draw a proper breath. She wasn't entirely accustomed to the vulnerabilities of this mortal flesh she wore, yet. And as her father was forever reminding her during the journey here, her strength wasn't fully recovered from her brush with death.
He was so close now, passing with a nod or a small smile each of the people he'd fought beside, shed blood with.
And then he stopped before the delegation of Elves. Legolas stepped forward to greet him, as Prince of Mirkwood and chosen representative of all Elvendom in Middle Earth and as one of Aragorn's dearest friends.
After they exchanged words, his blonde head incline slightly in her direction, giving her and her father away as the Elves around her parted to allow the banner she held to be seen for the first time.
King Elessar's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her father. Did Aragorn truly believe Elrond would miss his Coronation day? He'd raise Estel as if he were one of his sons. Never once did a milestone in the Man's life go unnoticed by her father.
Slowly, Arwen drew the White Tree banner away to reveal herself to him. He paled slightly when their eyes met, as if he were seeing a ghost and not really her in the flesh before him.
When Arwen hesitated, a warm hand gripped her shoulder and her father whispered reassuring words... go to him.
The mortal heart in her chest pounded like war drums.
They'd decided to surprise Aragorn. So, Arwen kept herself in seclusion since arriving in Minas Tirith, so as not to spoil the surprise. That didn't mean she'd not heard of the shieldmaiden of Rohan and how she'd sought to win Aragorn's favor before all of Rohan.
What if Arwen had come too late? What if those whispered rumors were fact and her Estel, her hope, had given his heart to someone else when he'd thought her lost to him? And why shouldn't he? Arwen was no royal Princess, only the daughter of a half-Elven Lord, her father hadn't wanted a King's diadem for himself or his children. The other woman was the niece of Rohan's King and now heir to his thrown. Who better to take as Queen?
Standing before him, her head bowed humbly, Arwen couldn't bring herself to search his eyes and see what? Pity? Regret? Or worse... nothing at all.
Gentle fingers lifted her chin, made her gather her failed courage and look into the face she'd forsaken all eternity for. Even if he'd given his heart to another in her absence, Arwen could not have made another choice, so devout was her bond with him. And yet, before he left with the Fellowship he'd tried to tell her it was naught but a dream and she was mistaken in her love for him.
The newly crowned King took the banner from her trembling hand. His eyes mirrored her terrified expression back to her, and then his lips claimed hers.
The joyous roar of approval from the crowd echoed perfectly the roar of her own blood in her ears as they kissed.
Her lover. Her life. Alive. Whole. Arwen couldn't help but touch him in wonder, as he did the same with her. Then she laughed, relief and joy washing away the fears, as Aragorn lifted her off her feet and spun her. She clung to him, unable to let go.
His fingers continued to caress her cheek as if he thought she might turn to mist and disappear in the next heartbeat. Arwen wouldn't. Not now that they were here at last after such a long, perilous struggle to be together. With his hand in hers, Arwen felt as if she could do anything at all.
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As the Coronation feast dragged on, Aragorn found it harder and harder to keep his pleasant, interested expression in place. Arwen had been at his side throughout the day, and now she looked frail, tired. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to bed. Not for pleasure, neither of them was up for intimacy tonight, but so he could hold her.
Aragorn glanced at Lord Elrond, seated on Arwen's right at the long table, and there was a tightness around his eyes, not weariness but concern. He'd hovered at his daughter's shoulder most of the day with his sons at his back like an honor guard. There hadn't been time to speak to him beyond thanking him for coming and for bringing Arwen to Minas Tirith.
Not having her here on this day, her soft hand in his, Aragorn didn't want to dwell on how hollow he was without her, but it just wouldn't have been a day worth remembering.
"I thank you all for being here this day," King Elessar addressed the table and all who supped with him. "You have traveled far and deserve a proper night's rest. I bid you goodnight."
"The hour grows late," Arwen agreed quietly. She took his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles.
When he returned the gesture, lips lingering against her skin for more than a few seconds, her brother cleared his throat loudly. He sent an annoyed scowl in the direction of her brothers. "You'll still be here in the morning, won't you? I'm not going to wake to find you were just a dream?"
Arwen's answering smile warmed his heart. "I'm here in the flesh, my King. And I have no plans to go anywhere without you."
"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. We have spent too much time apart." Aragorn stood, and helped Arwen to her feet. She swayed, just a little and her father's hands braced her arms as the new King watched her with alarm.
The look Elrond sent his way wasn't warm, if anything, there was a warning in it. "We will take our leave of you, now, King Elessar. There is much I would like to discuss with you on the morrow." Make time for me, the Elf-lord implied.
Aragorn nodded, "Of course. I will see you at your convenience, Lord Elrond." Elrond and Arwen left, but her brothers lingered, so he asked them, "Is Arwen unwell?"
"She is mortal, King. Her strength waxes and wanes." The normally friendly Elladan he'd thought of as a brother was gone, and there was a coldness Aragorn didn't understand. "She chose you over life immortal and now she pays a price."
Aragorn realized what he was saying and winced. "Lord Elrond told me she was dying..." Terror filled his heart with ice. Was she still dying? Had she only come here to see him one last time before the end?
"Arwen is strong, yet, she will live," her other brother, Elrohir, offered. "But she is not completely healed and travel is taxing on her strength."
Elladan scowled at them both. "What taxed her strength this day was worry you'd forsaken her for dead King's niece while she lay dying for love of you." His words were naught but a whisper, and wouldn't carry to the others in the hall who might gossip.
"No. Never." All the good food and wine turned to lead in his stomach at the thought, Arwen had seemed unsure when she'd come to him at the Coronation... "Not even when I thought her lost to me to the Undying Lands. There was never anyone else from the moment I laid eyes on her. How can she not know this?"
"Perhaps, your majesty, you need to tell her more plainly."
Aragorn spun on his heel, to go do just that, but Legolas' hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Not tonight, my friend."
"Elladan, our foster brother loves Arwen..." Elrohir put himself between them, as Legolas had. "My brother is still adjusting to Arwen being mortal, as are we all. You may find the pain of losing her someday makes our tempers hot."
Legolas smiled, playing peacemaker and helping to take the conversation back to civility, "Yours aren't the only hot tempers in Minas Tirith of late. Twice I had to physically block our would be King from saddling his horse to ride for Imladris and Arwen. He was like a bear with a broken tooth."
"How could I be expected to listen to reports on restocking the larders when Arwen could be dead or dying?" Aragorn's voice rose enough in pitch and volume to attract the eyes of everyone still lingering in the Great Hall.
Elladan laid a grudging hand on his shoulder, "Peace, brother. I have no right to fault you for Arwen's choice, as much as I would like to. My sister knows her mind. And her heart."
"I want to hold her," he whispered, more like a lost child than a King.
Elladan sighed, nodding his head. "I suggest you marry her. And do it quickly. Until then, we are going to dog your every moment with her and keep you from her bed."
"You should be worried about our father," Elrohir added. "If you do not marry Arwen soon, I would suggest Legolas and the dwarf stand guard over you while you sleep."