Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate. The plot belongs to me.
A/N: Aragorn/Arwen and/or Arwen fans should proceed with caution.
The Deciding Duel
The two swords clanged against one another as the fighters tried to disarm each other. They separated and circled each other, breathing heavily. They were beginning to tire; this was taking longer than they expected. But each was determined to be the victor. One fighter lunged forward, and the blades clashed again.
They had a single witness to their fight, who stood a safe distance away but walked along, watching all with breathless, anxious anticipation. At times all seemed to be lost, only for the tide to turn. But the outcome remained uncertain. More than once during the duel, the witness's chest tightened as though one was suffering a heart attack.
The fighters continued on, grunting, gasping, feet moving swiftly, arms swinging with purpose. Suddenly a sword fell to the floor, the sound echoing and slowly dying away. Silence hung in the air.
The beaten warrior gazed down at the fallen sword, then up at the opponent whose sword was pointed at the warrior's neck. The witness gaped at the still scene. Slowly, the defeated fighter knelt on the floor and stared disbelievingly at the lost sword. The body began to shake as sobs started, quietly at first, which built up in intensity and volume.
"DADDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"
Elrond heard the wail a mile away. Hitching up his robes, he rushed off as fast as his legs could carry him, through the maze of hallways and staircases. He didn't know whether to shout for joy or cry, for his daughter's sake at least.
When he burst into the courtyard, he nearly tripped as he reached Arwen's crumpled form. He was tempted to put his fingers in his ears – so loud were her wails – but reluctantly decided not to. He knelt beside her and cradled her in his arms.
"Daddy, don't let her kill me!" she begged in a trembling tone, looking up at her father. "She pointed her sword at my neck! I don't want to die! I'm too young!" Out came the too familiar and annoying quivering bottom lip; and there was the start of the tears, one from the left, then one from the right, left, right, left, right, left, right… Arwen buried her face in Elrond's robes.
"Ahem. I don't think you have to worry about that," he answered.
The elf lord finally took in the others involved in this drama. Aragorn, who had watched helplessly the fight between the two ladies, had Eowyn in his arms, her sword still in her hand. He was kissing her with passionate joy.
Elrond sighed in relief, averted his eyes from the touching scene, and looked down at his daughter, who had developed a fit of hiccups. She chose that moment also to look around and nearly fainted at seeing her ex-fiancé embracing her rival.
"It's not fair!" she wailed, and Elrond could not disguise his wince. "He was mine for so long!"
"Arwen, you shouldn't have decided to have a duel between yourself and Lady Eowyn with the winner getting Aragorn, to settle your differences. And you were supposed to listen to Aragorn in the first place as to whom he wanted to be with. It was not your place to veto him," Elrond lectured.
This time, as Arwen wailed loudly in self-pity, Elrond did put his fingers in his ears. And Aragorn and Eowyn…were blissfully oblivious.
THE END