The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [81]
Gods, how beautiful she was! No human language has words to describe her beauty, while Elves need no words. Actually, it was not her beauty as such, but her absolute star-like unattainability that was the leash which was used to guide him all these years, ever since he first got to the Enchanted Forest and met – by pure coincidence, of course – Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of Imladris, the daughter of Ruler Elrond himself. No one can find out now why the Elves picked him rather than any of the other innumerable Dúnedain princes (strictly speaking, almost every Dúnadan thinks himself a prince, tracing his lineage if not from Isildur, then for sure at least from Eärendur). Be that as it may, the Firstborn chose well: Aragorn performed his task with excellence.
Now he was looking at her with a feeling he had never had before: desperation. Any further struggle is useless; how long can he chase a mirage? Yes, time to sum up, and there's no reason to lie to oneself. So: an obscure chief of northern rangers had won the greatest of all wars in the history of Middle Earth, ascended the throne of the Reunited Kingdom, and became the first among Western sovereigns – but none of that had brought him an inch closer to possessing this woman.
"What else do you want from me, Arwen?" He knew he was saying the wrong thing in the wrong way, but could do nothing about it. "I crushed Mordor and laid the crown of Gondor and Arnor at your feet; if that's not enough, I will spread our borders beyond the Rune Sea and the mountains of Vendotenia. I will conquer Harad and the other countries of the Far East and make you Queen of the world – just give the word!"
"Don't you want all that yourself?"
"Not any more. Now I want only you… You know, it seems to me that I was closer to you back then, in Rivendell…"
"Please understand," her face once again assumed an expression of weary compassion, like a teacher who has to explain a grammar rule to a dim student for the tenth time, "I may not belong to any man; don't torture yourself for nothing. Recall the story of Prince Valacar and Princess Vidumavi; your own chronicles say: 'For the high men of Gondor already looked askance at the Northmen among them; and it was a thing unheard of before that the heir to the crown, or any son of the King, should wed one of lesser and alien race.' No wonder it sparked a civil war. Whereas compared with the nobility of my heritage there's no difference even between Isildur and some black chieftain from Far Harad. But even that is not much compared to the real obstacle – our age difference. To me, you're not even a boy, but a baby. Would you take a three-year-old to wife, even if she looked like an adult?"
"So that's how it is…"
"Of course, and you're even behaving like a spoiled child. Bored with the royal power in just a few days, you now want a new toy – Arwen, the Evenstar of Imladris! Think about it – you want to trade even love for a handful of candy: the crowns of Men's kingdoms. After all those years of dealing with Elves, have you not understood that none of us wants power as such? Believe me, I see no difference between the crown of Gondor and this cup – both are just gem-studded pieces of silver."
"Yes, looks like I'm just a baby. And you've tricked me, back then in Lórien, just like a baby."
"You have tricked yourself," she objected calmly. "Please remember how it happened."
In a moment a silvery fog covered the walls of the palace hall, blurry silhouettes of Lórien mallorns showed through, and he heard again Elrond's soft voice right next to him: "Perhaps my daughter will revive the rule of Men in Middle Earth, but no matter how much I love you, I will tell you this: Arwen Undomiel will not change the course of her fate for a small man. Only the king of Gondor and Arnor can become her husband…" The voice of the Ruler faded away, and Aragorn again saw Arwen before him – she had restored the hall to its former appearance with a casual wave of her