“All right, all right. Let’s try something simpler then. The simplest I can think of. Let your feet move only ever-so-slightly and gently revolve. I think even you can manage that.” Haldir looked rather as if he were enjoying this despite his sardonic tone and original reticence.
To his relief, Aragorn found that, indeed, he could. Spinning in a slow circle, he could just imagine Arwen’s delicate, shapely fingers interlaced with his. Her dark eyes that he could melt in staring into his own until the world fell away and nothing mattered: not his kingship, not the dark and twisting road unraveling ahead for both of them, or even his two dastardly left feet. Making her his wife would make him complete in a way he had never dreamed, never missed until he met her.
However, this train of thought must have given him a slightly dreamy look because the next thing he heard was a too-loudly-vocalized-to-be-sincere ‘ahem’ from the doorway.
He stiffened, mortified, recognizing the voice.
They had acquired an audience.
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Snatching the opening, Aragorn with a twinge of nervousness offered his hand and Arwen, smiling, took it. She all but floated into his arms. All his anxiety evaporated as she tucked her head against his shoulder. Ever mindful, he kept his hand planted squarely on her ribs, his other gently cradling her long, white fingers in a caress. This was much easier than he’d thought it would be. As they revolved slowly through the swirling couples, the human grinned at his erstwhile dancing partner, utmost contentment suffusing his face. Over Arwen’s raven hair he mouthed hannon le.
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Oh, I just wanted to remember them.
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