I wonder if I am as beautiful to her as she is to me.
It has been long years since we met, years through which I have often not been at her side. When I first saw her, she was as beautiful as the sun and moon to me, and even now she grows in my heart like the tree of the Eldar, always springtime.
The last flowering of the Elves came to pass in our time, but the absence of children has not brought the pain it might have in another lifetime – because we have each other. We are strong together, triumphant, a love everlasting.
I stare at her in the golden sunrise as she sleeps, look over the gentle curves of her face, the sweep of an eyelash, a strand of her hair, and my heart beats ever faster. I am glad she came to me, to ease the loneliness of the years, to partner my restless heart.
We have given ourselves to one another, forsaking all others even in the spring of our youth. Our minds are ever-linked, and though we might not age in the eyes of Man, years accumulate in our hearts and we share it all, together.
I have often been absent, but she is forever-forgiving. When I come to her, gently, she welcomes me and soothes my needs and fears with a laugh like waterbells, with kisses that temper steel. The ecstasy of our love is immeasurable by any means of Middle-earth.
This my comrades do not know. Aragorn would compare this love to that which he shares with Arwen, but it cannot be set beside it for it is not the same. He is mortal, and so shall she be in the judgment of time. He cannot understand.
Gimli has never loved, or if he does he does so without demonstration. He is gruff and discontent, but perhaps that is the way of all dwarves. I know him best of all, and yet I do not know his heart.
The halflings are a different sort. They would not understand, nor have anything by which to measure what I hold in my heart.
She is the only other who knows. She has my heart, and understands my soul. And I know I am as beautiful to her as she is to me.