More Aralas art Uncensored version on my Patreon .
My headcannon for the first art;
They were tending their wounds after an orc attack and Legolas is cleaning the blood from Aragorn lips when the proximity is too much to handle. The elf is afraid that the rest of the fellowship could saw them so he throw Aragorn to a tree near them. Aragorn can't stop himself from caressing Legolas soft hair going from the neck to his ear, a very soft point for the elf.
After that the journey went well, and the days went quickly by; for they rode at leisure, and often they lingered in the fair woodlands where the leaves were red and yellow in the autumn sun.
Summary: Arwen has passed into the West, and Aragorn remains in Middle-earth beneath the weight of the crown and the shadow of remembrance. Yet amid the rebuilding of Gondor, he meets a woman whose warmth comes softly as dawn after a long and starless night.
Word count: 2.3k
Pairing: Aragorn x Female!Reader
Warnings: I'm rating this 🔞 Explicit 🔞 because, even though the first chapters are all fluff and dreams, I will include description of a sex scene on the 3rd chapter.
So, you've been warned—your choices are your own. I don't want anyone to feel misled. Consider this your heads-up.
That said, this is current chapter is pure, wholesome fluff.
AO3 Link: When Dawn Returns to Stone
Chapter 2
A few days passed, during which the duties of kingship kept him from her path. Then, one afternoon, Aragorn rode out with several of his men to look upon the works of restoration in the City, but before long, he returned.
Esteliel knew of his arrival before she saw him, for the sound of Brego’s hooves rang clear upon the stone, as it had so many times before. She turned from her duties just as they drew near the stables, and, meeting him before the doors, she could not wholly conceal the smile that spread across her lips. His gaze lingered upon her a moment longer than courtesy required, and a faint smile followed.
“My lady,” Aragorn said, inclining his head.
“My King,” she answered as he dismounted, bowing her head. Yet as he drew near, she raised her eyes to his, and a soft daring mingled with their warmth.
His smile deepened as he placed Brego’s reins in her hands. Esteliel took them gladly, then moved at once to loosen the girth and ease the saddle upon the horse’s back.
“Come, Brego,” she said, laying a hand upon his neck. “Shall we find you some water?”
At her word, the horse went willingly to the trough.
“It never ceases to amaze me,” Aragorn said, unfastening his riding gloves, “how you manage to guide him with little more than a word.”
“He is an intelligent fellow,” she replied with a bright ease, “and I have noticed how my lord can do the same.”
“With Brego?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice.
“And others,” she replied, laughing lightly.
At that, one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile she had come to know.
Before he could answer, Brego returned and nudged his nose against Esteliel’s shoulder, prompting her to stroke his mane almost absently.
“You do not seem to be ready to settle down for the night just yet, do you?” she said.
“To which of us do you speak, my lady?”
“To both of you, it would seem,” she answered, amused.
“Do you judge all travellers by their horses?” he asked.
A lightness crept between them, though duty and rank still stood near. Their kiss was not forgotten, but lingered unspoken between them, like a word resting upon the lips. Beneath his gaze her smile softened, and her heart with it.
“I have found, over many years, that a horse often reveals his rider, my lord.”
“Then your judgement and mine are not far apart,” he said with a faint smile. “I have often trusted their judgement above that of Men.”
Esteliel nodded in agreement as Aragorn unfastened his cloak and set aside the heavier layers of his riding clothes, until only the lighter tunic beneath remained. She found it no easy thing to look away. Freed of leather and travelling gear, he seemed no less a king, yet she could not help but behold the beauty of the man beneath the crown.
“Then it is fortunate that I am no man,” she said, looking away, “for my judgement is this: Brego has yet some restlessness in him that the open road might ease.”
“A wise thought,” Aragorn said. “And perhaps the evening air would do no harm to this rider either.”
At that, Brego blew softly through his nostrils and stamped once upon the stone, as though words had delayed them long enough.
“Very well, my dear. I shall not keep you waiting,” Esteliel said with a soft laugh, looking first at Brego and then at his rider. “Unless you would rather take him out yourself, my lord.”
Aragorn stepped nearer, and his hand came to rest over hers upon Brego’s mane. At such nearness, her composure faltered anew. The lighter tunic fell open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of the skin beneath, while the silver jewel upon his breast caught the fading light. Her gaze lingered there for one heartbeat too long—not wholly upon the jewel nor wholly upon the man who wore it.
“I suppose Brego would welcome your company,” Aragorn said, his hand still over hers. “And perhaps the afternoon air might ease more than one restless spirit.”
“Indeed, my King,” she said, studying his face for what lay beneath the words. “And is that Brego’s wish, or your own?”
“Was I not told, but a moment ago, that a horse often reveals his rider?” he said.
“Then I shall not refuse horse nor rider,” Esteliel said, without looking away.
“And I shall count myself fortunate,” he said with the faintest inclination of his head. Then, turning towards the stalls, he called, “Baran.”
At once, Esteliel’s horse lifted his head, nickering, and came forth from his stall, following the calm command in his voice.
“With others than Brego, it would seem.”
Aragorn laughed softly. The laughter did not wholly banish the shadow from his eyes, yet it eased even further something in the air between them.
Esteliel moved to tighten Brego’s girth once more, but Aragorn’s fingers brushed lightly over her forearm as he took the strap from her hand.
“Leave it to me, my lady. Baran also needs your attention,” he said. Then, turning to Brego, he murmured, “Tolo hí, mellon nîn.” At his word, Brego came readily to his side.
Esteliel reached for Baran’s saddle, but found herself distracted by the sight before her. Aragorn’s ease with Brego was no small thing to behold.
When the horses were ready, they led them from the stables. Beyond lay the City in pale stone and long-falling light, its walls still bearing the shadow of war. As they descended through the courts, they could see blackened marks upon the masonry, broken places newly mended, and hear the sound of hammer and chisel carried upon the wind. Yet above it all the evening grew clear, and the high air moved cold and sweet about them, as though the mountain itself had drawn breath again.
Once beyond the Great Gate of the City, they mounted and began their ride, horses side by side, looking to the horizon. The road widened ahead, pale beneath the fading gold of the afternoon, and, for a while, they rode at an easy pace, Baran keeping to Brego’s right, close enough that Esteliel needed only to turn her head to find Aragorn beside her.
For a time they rode in silence, and Esteliel perceived that Aragorn had wandered deep into thought. At last, she resolved to draw him back by motion where words might have failed. She slowly urged Baran forward, just enough to cross before Brego, and the king followed her with curiosity in his eyes.
“You ride beside me, yet your thoughts seem to be far ahead,” she said while completing the circle around Brego. “Or behind.”
Aragorn dropped his head with a low laugh, as though conceding defeat, and looked up to find her once more beside him. Before he could say anything else, she inclined her head close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath.
“Let the road ease your spirit, my King, and the wind scatter these thoughts,” she said, almost in a whisper, and let her horse spring forward.
Baran was a magnificent stallion, almost too tall for the woman riding him, yet beneath her hands he moved as though horse and rider were of one mind. The sight of such grace stole the king’s breath.
She rode as one whose spirit had been forged by the winds, her skirts streaming behind as Baran flew down the open road. Her hair danced with the movement, and when she looked back, her smile kindled something long quiet within him. He leaned forward to Brego and caressed his neck.
“Noro lim, Brego,” he whispered. “Let the wind bear us.”
Brego’s ears pricked forward, and in the next breath, he sprang after her.
They rode as if time itself had fallen away. The white walls of Minas Tirith drew farther behind them, gleaming pale beneath the deepening sky, while the Pelennor Fields opened wide before their path.
Baran flew ahead first, swift and proud, his mane streaming like a dark banner; then Brego came beside him with a thunder of hooves, and Aragorn’s low laugh was carried back upon the wind.
Esteliel looked over her shoulder, her eyes bright as her laughter, and turned Baran lightly across Brego’s path, not to hinder him, but to tempt him onward. Aragorn answered without a word. At the lightest touch of the king’s heel, Brego surged forward until the two horses ran abreast, near enough that each rider had only to turn to meet the other's gaze. Beneath the deepening sky, they passed and yielded, crossed and returned, not in haste, but in play, as though wind and road might loosen sorrow's hold, even for a little while.
For that brief moment, kingship asked little of him, and grief loosened its hand. There was only the wind in their hair, the clear ringing of laughter, and the steady strength of the horses bearing them over the open plain.
At length, they reined the horses first to a trot, and then to an easy walk. From her side, Aragorn guided Brego across Baran’s path and around to Esteliel's other side. The horses turned in a slow half-circle, until the riders came almost face to face.
When at last the horses halted, both riders sat breathless, their hearts still racing. They looked upon one another, smiling; and for a moment, the shadow upon his face seemed to lessen.
“So, is Brego feeling a little less restless, my King—or was it only his rider I managed to ease?’” she asked, sweeping the wind-tossed hair from her face.
“So certain of your effect upon me, my lady?” he said, leaning nearer. “Such confidence might be mistaken for impertinence.”
Esteliel laughed, bright and unrestrained, then leaned forward to meet him.
“I am impertinent,” she said, and pressed a swift kiss to one corner of his mouth.
Before he could answer, She turned Baran back toward Minas Tirith and sent him into a light trot. Aragorn remained where he was, Brego quiet beneath him.
He watched her ride away, a low laugh escaping him as one corner of his mouth lifted. The kiss—and the bright audacity of it—had been unexpected, yet so entirely hers that it seemed almost inevitable. For a moment, the king remained still, wonder softening his face.
As he watched her ride away, the first glimmer of starlight appeared beyond and caught his eye. Slowly, the wonder gave way to stillness. The joy of the road remained, yet beneath it the old grief endured; for there are lights that pass beyond reach, yet never beyond remembrance.
Esteliel reined Baran and looked back. Seeing him still beneath the stars, she waited before drawing him from his silence.
“My King?” she called softly at last, her voice borne gently upon the wind.
Aragorn lowered his gaze from the stars and saw her riding toward him. A moment later, Baran drew alongside Brego once more.
“I would not ask you to turn from the stars,” she said quietly. “But neither would I leave you beneath them alone.”
For a moment, Aragorn did not answer; but slowly, a faint smile returned to his face.
“It would seem grief is outnumbered.”
“You ought to have known as much since you first entered these stables, my King,” Esteliel replied, smiling.
At that, he laughed again, softly, and though the sorrow did not leave his eyes, it no longer stood between them.
“And for that I thank you, my lady.”
They turned their horses toward the City and took the road home side by side. No more was said of the stars, nor of the sorrow they had awakened; yet the silence between them was not an empty one.
Upon returning to the stables, they tended the horses in an easy quiet, moving side by side beneath the glow of the lanterns. When at last the saddles had been set aside and both horses stood content within their stalls, neither seemed eager to be the first to leave. There remained little more to be done, yet Esteliel adjusted the horses’ blankets once, and then again.
“They seem quite content, my lady,” Aragorn observed. “You have already set the blankets aright.”
“Have I? I would not have them chilled at night.”
“You have. Twice,” he answered, the faintest amusement touching his face. “Shall we see the riders out of the cold as well?”
“I should leave you to rest, my King,” Esteliel said, fastening her cloak and drawing on her gloves once more. “Both horses and riders seem to be ready for the quiet of the night”
“Yet I find the quiet less welcome than I had thought,” Aragorn said, stepping nearer.
Esteliel waited, as he chose his next words with care; whatever answer she gave, he wished it to be freely hers. The thread between them was still a tender thing, and he would not press too heavily upon it.
“The horses have found their rest,” he said. “But I would not yet have the evening end. Will you grant me a little more of it?”
Her first answer rose at once, but caution followed close behind. It was not his sincerity she doubted, yet all that stood between them kept her from yielding without thought.
She took his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers.
“My King, though ‘yes’ is the first word upon my lips, I must wonder whether this is wise.”
“That judgement must be yours,” he said, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. “I would not have you come from courtesy, nor for any reason but your own desire.”
“It is not courtesy that gives me pause,” she answered, a warmer daring kindling in her eyes. “Nor does my doubt lie in desire”
His smile deepened by the faintest degree; her meaning had not escaped him.
“Then walk with me a little farther,” he said, giving her his arm. “There is a quieter place where we need not invent further duties.”
If I was Denethor the second, Steward of Gondor I would not have sent my son to a council meeting to try and get a cursed ring- I would have sent both my sons out to Seduce Aragorn by any means necessary.
If I wanted the crown of Gondor and to secure leadership for my family for all time I would have said boys. Get out there. Make it happen. Fluff your beautiful shiny hair up. Make papa proud
imagine being éowyn in the lord of the rings trilogy. your uncle the king is being mind controlled by an evil wizard until said evil wizard's cooler version shows up and frees him. he is accompanied by an elf, a dwarf, and the hottest guy you've ever met. the hot guy also happens to be 87 years old and maybe still not over his immortal elf girlfriend but he respects and listens to you so you're shooting your shot. your geriatric hotguy situationship turns you down the night before the biggest battle ever then goes ghost hunting in the mountains. you decide to go to battle because you'll either help save your people or die in a really cool and honorable way. you then kill middle earth satan's number one henchman with the power of loophole and being a woman (you are also helped in doing this by a 4 foot tall stoner). then you get to marry faramir. 10/10 no notes my girl went through it all
