The trothplighting of Aragorn and Arwen at Cerin Amroth.
Long have I felt the weight of Barahir's ring. I have borne that burden, and that of Isildur's legacy, since Elrond revealed my heritage to me nigh three decades ago.
Now she stands before me: my love, my life, my ŕndomiel. She grasps my rough hands in her soft ones. A simple silver band rests where none lay before, balancing the weight of destiny.
Long years may pass before this trothplighting becomes yet more; until that day, I shall remember this midsummer. Winter winds may yet bite, but I shall recall her hands' warmth. Joy now intermingles with toil.