In spring, an Elf-maid's fancy can turn to all sorts of things


The day opened fair and warm for late Spring, driving Arwen to a favored place in Lórien: the Falls of Nimrodel. There had been a journey from Caras Galadhon; Arwen and other ladies well-guarded by her grandparents' best warriors. Aragorn son of Arathorn had come too, his powerful strides easily matching those of the Galadhrim. The Man's presence pleased Arwen; he had grown up well from the charming youth she had met not long ago in the groves of Imladris.

Arwen hastened down the path, parted the reeds, and wriggled her feet out of her shoes into the blissfully cool waters of the Silverlode. She moved with practiced stealth; so as not to disturb any woodland creatures that might have come to slake their thirst.

But it was not the usual woodland creature who had preceded Arwen to the stream. It was Aragorn. The Dúnedain chieftain stood tall, his feet in the Silverlode, arms lifted beneath Nimrodel's waterfall. Arwen inhaled softly, struck by the beauty not of the silvery waters, but of the man who bathed in them. He was almost as tall as her father and grandfather, and was built with long limbs and hands that looked as graceful as they were strong. And those muscles, rippling under the Man's soaked skin, were larger than those of Elves, yet not as coarse as those of other Edain. Little wonder that he moved so well; for his legs and feet were finely molded.

The son of Arathorn leaned his head back slightly, the better to drench his hair in the falling waters. Arwen found herself licking her lips and wondering how it would feel to run her fingers through that dark mane as Nimrodel's rivulets now combed the long strands.

He stretched his entire body, raising those sculpted shoulders with a mighty reach. Arwen could see the man's thigh muscles contract with the motion. What a wonder of hidden power, hitherto veiled under clothing and boots!

And then the Man turned; revealing the front of his form – Gracious Yavanna! Here was hidden power indeed, Elrond's maiden daughter thought. Arwen had seen such parts before on the bodies of her father's injured patients and her own swimming brothers. This sight was different; made her feel different; though she was not exactly sure why.

Perhaps, Arwen decided with a wicked smile as she retreated from the bank, she would find out someday.


Author's Note: Technically, this story occurs before Birthday Kisses, within a year or two, approximately, of Faramir's birthday, since that's when I surmise that Aragorn turned up in the Golden Wood and renewed his acquaintance with Arwen. The story is a bit derivative, given that I've done more than one Faramir-gets-wet story; but you can all blame Lindahoyland; who requested a Bathing Aragorn story.