for the lotr100 might-have-been challenge
notes: I am making a resolution to hold myself strictly to the 100 mark at lotr100 (discipline, it's not just for breakfast anymore...) so I am sneaking a last few bloated drabbles in before the turn of the year. I will still post my unfettered, undisciplined vignettes here.This one needed the background...
The candles had burned low, and still the argument passed back and forth across the table without resolve.
Dírhael was not opposed to the suitor’s age, but to his daughter’s. Dunedain blood brought long life, and she still seemed little more than full grown to him. He wanted her to wait. But Ivorwen felt there was a fate about the match. And if the days of fulfillment were ever to come, the chieftain’s line should not continue to go without an heir.
Perhaps, Dírhael admitted, no father ever feels ready to give up his child. He smiled indulgently, wondering if elven fathers ever lost this feeling. As though Gilraen would listen to him anyway!
And so, before two years had passed, Arathorn was being called into the confinement room. Beaming with love, he smiled down upon his young wife and his beautiful daughter.