Arwen

Arwen stuck her tongue out at the retreating figure of her mother. It was childish, she knew, and not at all like anything her namesake would do, and that's why she liked doing it.

What was the big deal about Lord of the Rings, anyway? She'd been stuck with the name; she'd had to deal with moony girls and boys in high school when the movies came out, and she'd just about had it.

She was not, she repeated, not going to have a Lord of the Rings wedding. No elfin flowers, no medieval wedding dress, no church decked out like a clearing in the forest. Her nuptials would be fun; she had the Elvis Chapel in Las Vegas booked already.

This Arwen was as stubborn as the first, and every bit as willing to defy her parents.

© 2009 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

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