Not the Choice of Lúthien by polutropos

Epilogue

In which Arwen chats with her grandmother about the events of Chapter 1. 

“One of your father’s wards, is it?” An attendant glided over silently to refill Galadriel’s cup, but she waved him off.

“Yes, Aragorn son of Arathorn, as he’s only just learned. Such an innocent and love-struck thing, I pity him.” Arwen smiled, sipping her tea. The fresh-faced Dúnadan was handsome, and she had to commend his courage. She was used to receiving the kind of looks he gave her–glances people of all races passing through Imladris thought she didn’t notice–but no mortal man had ever ventured to speak to her of his affection before. Perhaps learning of his ancestry emboldened him.

“Heir of Isildur or not,” Galadriel said, “it is terribly presumptuous of him. And he called you Tinúviel?” She scoffed.

“He did indeed,” Arwen replied, setting down her tea and waving the attendant back over for more.

“I am sorry, granddaughter, that you must always live in the shadow of Lúthien. You are your own woman, you know that?”

“Yes, of course I do. I cannot blame the young man. There was a time I myself could not separate my identity from that of my foremother.”

Galadriel sighed. “Our people are rather fixated on bringing old legends back to life, are we not? Always living in the past.”

“You know…” Arwen looked down and felt a flush come over her cheeks, “I have never told anyone this–” she stopped, questioning whether she wanted to confess this particular thing to her own grandmother, of all people.

“Told anyone what?” Galadriel’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. For all her age and wisdom, she always took Arwen up on the opportunity to indulge in a little gossip between women.

“Well, when Daeron first came to Imladris–”

“You mean ‘Lindir’?” Galadriel’s mocking smile quickly transformed, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping, as a realisation dawned on her. “Oh- oh. He didn’t..? I don’t believe it, he’s incorrigible!” 

“No, no– he did nothing. He was very respectful, but I–”

“Arwen! You?” Galadriel tipped her head back and laughed heartily, for several seconds longer than Arwen thought necessary, before finishing, “Now that is very amusing.”

“Yes.” Arwen blushed deeper. “He rejected me, of course. Thank the Valar for that.”

“Rejected you? The audacity,” Galadriel huffed. “I will have to speak to him about that.” 

“Please do not,” Arwen begged. “I would be mortified if anyone else ever found out.”

“Oh, but your grandfather would so love to know! You would deprive me of entertaining my husband with this tale for at least the next hundred years?” Arwen pursed her lips and glared at her, and Galadriel leaned over to gently squeeze her arm. “Do not worry, dear. I would not do that, it will be our secret. We all make mistakes when we are young, and get foolish ideas. You know, when my brother Finrod was about the age you were then, in Tirion..." [read more]