Those were the excuses she'd told herself, to salve her conscience at so enjoying the sight of a man not yet her husband. And that memory was nothing as to now. Then, he had not seen her perched in the tree overhead, and so had no cause for inhibition; now, he rolled his shoulders almost coyly as he shrugged the velvet dressing-robe off, pooling it about his feet. 'Twas intoxicating.
His chest was not so unscarred as it had been two score years before, and she cherished every pain, every sacrifice he had made. Not for love of her, for she would have run off with him into the wild if he had but asked, but for respect of their father, and for duty, and for honor.
She stepped towards him. Taking his hand in hers, she kissed the white mark on his wrist. "My love, my estel...." she began in a low voice, but found she had no other words.
Aragorn stepped out from his discarded robes, standing so close that his breath was deliciously warm against her skin, and he nodded. He understood. Kissing her first on the lips, then down her throat, he loosened the sash fastening her own robe.
Beta by agape4gondor; written for annmarwalk.