Pairings: extremely implicit Elrond/ Arwen.
Summary: Elrond questions the nature of his relationship with Arwen.
A/N: The Arwen here is of book verse. Liv Tyler's portrayal of her was kinda... odd.
Elrond rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing in his head as he walked down the empty corridors of Imladris to his own private chambers. What was it about this place that was making him so jittery? This was his home, wasn't it? He had spent a lifetime walking the cool stone halls... he had always felt comfortable and at peace here... why the change now?
Elrond paused... always? But... he could have sworn he remembered something... something else... another home... a different home... somewhere far away...
"Aiya, Peredhil," he chided himself. "You have much more important things to think about at the moment." Like the Mirkwood party. He could not even remember who they consisted of, curse it. Why was his memory slipping like this? Perhaps he had been overworking himself, too many days cooped up in his library and too little spent outside.
He hadn't walked through the surrounding forests in quite awhile now... his responsibilities kept him so busy... too busy... to busy for his family. When was it that he last spent time with his daughter? She was almost a woman now, and yet it seemed it was only yesterday that Arwen was just a babe in his arms. Elrond sighed. Soon she would grow up and fall in love, as all young women are wont to do, and he would be forced to let her go. One day his little girl would grow old and marry. How it would pain him to give her hand to another! He wished she would remain a child forever.
On impulse, Elrond changed his course and headed down another passage. He came to a stop in front of some heavy red drapes, and gently pushing them aside, stepped through a doorway into his daughter's room.
"Ada!" Arwen jumped to her feet and blushed guiltily as she saw her father enter. "I... I wasn't expecting you."
"I can see that," Elrond smiled. His daughter was dressed simply in a revealing white inner dress that left most of her arms and upper chest bare. She must have been seated at her dressing table, grooming herself and brushing her long dark tresses when he had interrupted her. As it was, her hair hung freely around her shoulders, beautifully contrasted against her snow white skin. Elrond thought that she looked like an angel.
"Come, my light," he crooned to his child, holding out his hand for the hairbrush she held as he sat down on the side of her bed. Obediently, she handed him the brush and settled down before him.
With nimble fingers, Elrond brushed and braided her hair according to the style of their House, and then placed her tiara delicately on her head, pinning it in place before turning her around to inspect his handiwork. Arwen dropped her eyes modestly and smiled.
"There you go," Elrond crooned. "All done." At his words, Arwen nodded and smiled sweetly before rising to fetch her evening dresses. When she hovered uncertainly in front of her wardrobe, he chuckled. "How about this one?" he suggested, drawing out a pale green garment. "You look just like your mother in this one."
Arwen blushed and turned away. "I heard we have guests from Mirkwood," she said softly. "Am I to meet them then, at the dinner table? Am I to be introduced to them?"
"Nothing would give me greater joy, my light," he said as he planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "But whether you would grace the table with your presence is entirely up to you," he said, knowing how reluctant she sometimes was to dine before strange guests.
And not for the first time, Elrond wondered about the relationship he had with his daughter. Something told him that he was too fond of her for her own good... but then again, why shouldn't he love her? She was his daughter, his own flesh and blood. He had watched her grow from infancy, cared for her as a tangible product of the love he had shared with his wife... as a person borne of Celebrian's own body. Surely it was normal for a father to love his daughter this way? ... And yet... what if his regard for her was more than that of paternal affection?
His headache had just gotten worse.