Father

Written By:Firefly-Maj
You can read the original here:
All Credit goes to the original Author:

Father

--

Deep in thought, Aragorn studies Elrond´s face; the Elf is talking to his counsellor and not noticing it. His seemingly ageless features are serious; he looks like he has always done ever since Aragorn can remember.

The Ranger has no memory of the man who has been his father for the first two years of his life; much as he tried, was he not even able to conjure up at least a blurry image. He has a picture in mind, of course, for his mother used to tell him how much alike he looked, how often he reminded her of her late husband.

She has told her son many a story about Arathorn: stories about his braveness for the child, stories about the way he made her laugh and how happy he was about his little son for the young man. Aragorn can still hear her voice; she always sounded sad at the end, no matter what she had talked about, telling him how much she still missed her beloved.

Aragorn highly valued those quiet ventures into the past, but still: the only father he has truly known, who was there for him to touch and talk to, is Elrond. Often it was Elrond who had come to him in the middle of the night when bad dreams had haunted him out of sleep, who had wrapped his arms around the little one to protect him and chase the monsters away.

Unconsciously, the man smiles; despite everything that has transpired, to him, Elrond will always be a source of comfort.

As if he had sensed his son´s scrutiny, the Elf now lifts his head. His gaze meets Aragorn´s, and he pauses for a moment to return the smile.

Long after Elrond has turned his attention back to Erestor, Aragorn can still feel the affection his father conveyed during those few seconds, and for some reason, he feels calmer now. He has been restless ever since Bree, but now, for the first time, he feels reassured.

TBC

Son

--

Elrond has watched his foster son closely ever since Aragorn and the hobbits had arrived in Rivendell. The Ranger has not been home for a long time, but Elrond´s thoughts have been with him constantly; the Elf is concerned about Aragorn´s welfare, and as the world around him had slowly, almost imperceptibly started to change, he could not but think of his youngest son. Estel.

He smiles as he now looks at Aragorn and finds that the man is actually watching him, smiling as well; he is glad that his son still finds courage in his heart despite what undoubtedly lies ahead of him. Elrond knows that Aragorn is fully aware of his task and the perils it very likely ensues; they have never talked about the consequences in case of failure, though. The prospect is not an easy one.

-

The elf´s heart has been heavy with increasing worry and sorrow for a long time now, and he wishes he could avert the danger. Even though millenia have gone by since the disastrous moment in which Isildur´s weakness turned Middle-Earth´s fate, Elrond still wishes he would have done more, had simply forced Isildur to throw the ring into the fire; so many lives would have been saved, so much grief would have been avoided. And, most important of all: Aragorn would not have had to bear the burden he is carrying now, would probably never have lost his real father and would not have been forced to endanger himself so... the elf shakes his head. He has pondered this countless times ever since the day Aragorn had come into his life, and he knows it is futile, for it will not change anything.

He can only hope that Aragorn will be stronger than Isildur; for a long time he has doubted this, fearing that the Ranger might have chosen exile over his destiny, but as he looks at him now, he sees something new in Aragorn´s eyes: refreshened resolve instead of weariness.

Elrond assumes that it has to something to do with the hobbits; the Rangers have been guarding the Shire for a long time, but the elf senses that there is another reason for it. While the elf-lord was caring for Frodo, Aragorn went to look in on the halfling at least once a day, quietly entering the room and staying for a while, sometimes holding the hobbit´s hand. He never talked about it, but Elrond could see that the Ranger had grown fond of Frodo, which very probably had to do with respect as well as the beginning of a friendship.

-

Aragorn indeed felt that there was a mutual understanding between Frodo and himself, and he deeply regretted that he had not been able to avoid the hobbit gtting hurt by the wraith. While he was sitting with him, he realized that Frodo was only one of the many he would have to face his destiny for.

Sorrowful, Aragorn stared at the hobbit´s childlike, innocent face: the hobbits would perish quickly under the dark lord if he would not be defeated. The thought was more than Aragorn could bear, and he silently vowed to face whatever evil he might have to encounter with all the strength he could muster.

He knows that his father does not expect him to, even thinks that Aragorn has turned away from his heritage; he will be surprised to learn that the Ranger has come a decision at last.

Aragorn hesitated to approach Elrond, though, as he is not sure how to convey his feelings, and this situation does not help the restlessness which he cannot get rid of. He has forgotten how perceptive Elrond really is.

-

But now that they look at each other, smiling, Aragorn realizes that his father knows, and that he approves.

Silent understanding passes between them, drowning out the low mumbling around them.

Elrond´s heart still feels heavy, but he is relieved nevertheless: now that he has seen the determination in Aragorn´s eyes, he can at least believe that the man is at ease with his role. Estel, he thinks, only half-listening to Erestor. May your name be a comfort to you...

--

The End

Sleep, my Child

Written By:Firefly-Maj
You can read the original here:
All Credit goes to the original Author:

Sleep, my Child

--

Outside it was dark, but the upper guest chamber in the Last Homely House of Rivendell was warmly illuminated by several lamps which were spreading golden light.

Elrond Peredhel silently entered and looked about the room. The bed was occupied by a fair-haired elf who was fast asleep, his face relaxed and betraying nothing of what he had just been through.

The elf-lord let his gaze linger on him for a while, then turned to the fireplace; in front of it, a man was lying on the hearth-rug, facing the now dying fire, his head resting on his rolled-up coat.

Elrond approached him and knelt down next to him; he was not surprised to see that Aragorn was asleep as well, overwhelmed by his exhaustion, even though his sleep was light and his face not as relaxed as his companion´s. He was still wearing his travel-worn clothes, traces of what had happened being evident not only on them but on himself as well: dried blood had crusted underneath his hairline, giving him a rather savage appearance. Though Elrond asked himself how anyone could ever mistake the Ranger for savage if they looked more closely: his face was that of a noble man, not of some coarse brute, and those who talked to him inevitably would notice how soft-spoken he was, how well-thought-out his responses usually were.

Elrond smiled; he himself could not be counted as impartial, of course, for Aragorn was his son and would forever remain his child. Gently, he reached out and placed his hand on the man´s brow, concentrating: “Sleep”, he murmured. Soon, Aragorn´s breathing deepened, and his features seemed to calm down.

-

Elrond stoked the fire, then got up and left the room; when he returned a short while later, he carried a tray with some cloths, a few jars, bowls, a nightshirt and a jug of warm water. He set those down next to Aragorn and knelt down again, then cautiously turned the man on his back and assessed him once more: he had more lines than Elrond remembered, and his hair showed the first streaks of grey, but his face betrayed his Númenórean origin and made him seeming much younger than his actual age.

Elrond opened one of the jars and mixed its contents with some of the water; he soaked a cloth with it, then started to wash the blood off Aragorn´s face. The man did not even stir, and Elrond was glad about it; he was sure that the Ranger had not gotten much sleep during the past few days. The elf-lord had not yet heard the full account, but it seemed that Legolas had been injured badly in an incident with wolves which had cost both his and Aragorn´s horse their lives; Aragorn had thus brought Legolas to Imladris on foot, which had taken them several days.

Elrond pondered at the tale while he was tending his foster son. Rarely had he heard something similar about mere wolves, and he suspected that there was more to it than he presently knew. He would talk to Aragorn in the morning; when he and Legolas had finally reached Imladris, the Ranger had barely been able to speak, so exhausted was he. His friend had been feverish and unconscious since the previous day, and it had taken the better part of Aragorn´s strength to bring him home.

-

When Elrond had finished at last, Aragorn´s own if minor injuries were tended, he was relatively clean and wore a fresh nightshirt. The elf slid one arm underneath his son´s shoulders, the other underneath his knees, and slowly got up, thus carrying Aragorn out of the guest chamber and to his own room next door, where he eased him down on the bed and thoroughly tucked him in. Images of similar scenes came to his mind, of days long forgotten: how many times had he put Aragorn to bed after the boy had fallen asleep, marvelling at the little one for one reason or another?

He smiled down on the sleeping man, then turned to go: it would never change. No matter how old Aragorn would become, he would forever remain Elrond´s child indeed, for his father was still marvelling at him.

--

The End

The Cursed Elf

Written By:XTwilightxDragonx
You can read the original here:
All Credit goes to the original Author:

Summary:

Many years ago a young elfling was left at the feet of the great wizard Gandalf by a gravely injured elf mother who pleaded for him to save the child after her death. Gandalf heeded the request and placed the elfling with the hobbits and there she grew up safely within the Shire. The female elf lived peacefully and happy until the day came when the war with Sauron began. In an attempt to help her dear friend she joins in Frodo’s quest and becomes part of the fellowship, never knowing just what dark part she would end up playing in this war. With friends both old and new she will have to find the strength to conquer the darkness within her and perhaps even find something more than she could have ever imagined. Legolas/OC

Note: First and foremost I apologize if there are any discrepancies within the story that aren’t entirely accurate with both the books and movies, especially if I make anyone OOC, which believe me in my stories I always try not to do that. I love them both although I am not an expert on them but I will do my best. This is the first time I’ve tried writing a LOTR fanfic so go easy on me. It’s the first draft so to speak and I will probably revise the story later on and fix any problems with it, including if I get some things wrong like with the grammar, misspellings, etc. I will be going by the events in the movie as well just so everyone knows while adding in my own things into it so the story will work out so don’t kill me for that, it’s more fun putting things in since it’s only a fanfic. With all that being said I hope you enjoy the story! Critique and advice is always welcome, flames as always will be ignored.

Disclaimer: Everything from The Lord of the Rings belongs respectively to Tolkien and I claim no ownership over it.

Prologue;

The beautiful light of the moon shone brightly within the sky above, illuminating the darkened land of Middle-Earth that lay below. With the full moon resting idly in the ocean of stars all seemed completely quiet in the dark desolate forest. The silence that had once been lingering upon the land was soon broken by a chilling cry that echoed throughout the forest. The scream was followed by the low sounds of panting and bare feet pitter pattering against the dirt covered floor of the forest. A figure ran at great speed through the forest, completely dressed in a dark cloak with a hood up so their face could not be seen. Within their arms was an even smaller being, completely hidden beneath another cloak as well. The sight was certainly a strange one but even more horrifying was the fact that as the figure ran an arrow could clearly be seen embedded within their shoulder. Dark spots were everywhere over the cloak and the air was thick and heavy with the scent of fresh blood. Twisted trees with sharp edged branches hung at all sides of the path the figure was running upon and they ripped and tore at the thin lined cloak, shredding it almost completely revealing a few strands of pure blonde hair.

Finally after running for what seemed like days the figure finally stopped, the hood of their cloak completely destroyed. What the shredded remains revealed was the face of a young female elf with pure blue sapphire eyes that cast downward upon the bundle in her arms. Her face was twisted in both fear and agony as she collapsed onto her knees on the forest floor, the extent of her injuries had finally caught up with her, and she could no longer run. Just hours before the she-elf had been attacked by a band of orcs who tried taking away her child, for reasons not even she could fully understand. During their pursuit she had been gravely injured and her continued determination to run away only made the wounds even worse, the last of which had been an arrow that one of the orcs had shot into her shoulder. The pain was severe but she had pushed on, all for the little body cradled safely within her arms. But now she could no longer go on. The strength she once held was leaving her and she could barely hold her only two year old daughter within her arms. Tears fell freely from the female elf’s pain stricken eyes and fell right onto the face of a little girl as she pulled back the cloak.

The little girl inside the bundle had already opened up her own cerulean colored eyes and was now looking upon the face of her mother from underneath the locks of black hair that had fallen in front of her face during their escape. As she gazed down at the child she could only feel more grief swell up within her heart at what she had done. If only she had at least left her daughter in Rivendell, then she would have been spared this horrible ordeal. It was only her after all that brought such cursed events upon her race, not her child. However she didn’t have the heart to leave her behind, the little girl who resembled her dear love so much. Since his death the grief had weighed heavily upon her heart and the only reason for her existence now was for her daughter, but even that would soon end tonight and it caused even more tears to fall at the thought of such a thing.

What brought her forth from her terrible thoughts was the frightened whimpering her child had let out. “Hush dear one…I promise you, everything shall be fine…” She whispered the tender words and weakly placed a kiss upon the little girl’s forehead. Just when she did so however she felt her heart sink even more when she heard noises coming from ahead of them. Fear consumed her entire being once again at the thought of those monsters having caught up and surrounded her. She brought the little girl closer against her body and shut her eyes tightly, hoping that she was wrong and simply only imagining the noises. However they never stopped, the footsteps drew in closer yet they were not the hard cruel ones of the orcs. These were much softer and calmer than anything else and it gave her the small bit of courage needed to open her eyes and see who it was approaching them.

“Adelia…” The familiar gentle voice of none other than Gandalf reached her ears and just seeing him standing there was enough to put her heart at ease. She remembered the wizard from many years ago when she had come across him while living in Rivendell and felt as though in this moment she had been blessed at him finding her.

“Oh Gandalf…such a sight for sore eyes you are…” She said and with each breath she took she could feel her voice growing fainter. She had to hold on just a little longer though; she had to make sure her daughter was safe.

“Adelia what has happened to you?” Gandalf asked while hurrying over to the familiar elf’s side as she leaned back against a tree, never once letting go of her child. Right away he tried moving the cloak aside so he could inspect her wounds but her hand shot out and grabbed his, onto desperately.

“I have not the time to explain…but I beg of you…Gandalf, please protect my daughter. I fear my time in this world grows shorter with each passing second and I can no longer save her.” Adelia explained while trying her best not to burst into tears once more. It was so hard to speak now and her words had come out slower than before. She wanted to let go so badly but could not just yet, not until she was sure this was done.

With careful movements Adelia loosened her grip upon her daughter who once again looked up from under the cloak, not at all understanding what was happening just now. All she could see was her mother’s tear filled eyes and saddening smile. “Amil?” The child uttered softly and in response she received a tight hug from her mother.

“You must go with Gandalf my little one…he shall protect you in my place so you must listen to what he says.” Adelia whispered into her daughter’s ear while lifting her gaze up at the old wizard who looked down at her almost sorrowfully. He knew of her bloodline and most likely knew the cause behind her departure from home and attack. It was too late to save the mother, that was a face that not even he could deny, but saving her daughter was something he would indeed do as her last wish in this world.

“Amil…” The child spoke again but was silenced when her mother kissed her forehead once more before releasing her from her arms and letting her stand up on the forest floor. “I love you dearly…never forget that. I shall always be with you…Melian…” Adelia spoke while stroking her fingers over the little girl’s cheek but just as they had left her lips her strength had finally fled from her body and darkness began consuming her. She could rest on now, knowing her child would be in safe hands.

“Amil!” Melian cried for her mother when she felt her hand slip away and fallen onto the ground, her eyes no longer filled with the life and light she always saw. What had happened? She could not understand this at all and the worst part of it was yet to come as she felt herself being picked up again, the warm cloak suddenly wrapped around her tightly once more as Gandalf turned and began taking her away from the sight.

There were sounds coming from the distance and although it did pain him to just simply leave Adelia’s body in such a place he had to fulfill the last and only request that she had begged from him. The little elfling within his arms trembled and he could hear the soft sobbing sounds coming from her at being parted with her mother. He said nothing and merely held the elfling comfortably within his free arm as he made his way back to this cart a few miles off where his horse was patiently waiting for him. It would take a few days before he reached his destination and in that time the elfling had not spoken once although he hadn’t expected much after the terrible ordeal she had been through.

It was the third day of their journey when they finally arrived and Melian had just finished eating a small piece of lambas bread that Gandalf had given her earlier to help coax her to eat more. She had even been reluctant on doing that along with speaking anything about what happened with her mother but finally she gave in when hunger consumed her and accepted the bread, taking just a few nibbles out of it every few minutes or so from what he had seen. It only made him hope all the more that she would begin feeling more at ease when they reached the Shire.

The sun was just beginning to rise when they arrived at the home of the hobbits and from the hill they were on Melian could see the peaceful place very clearly from below. It was nothing like home where she and her mother had lived. The hurt inside of her dimmed slightly and curiosity and confusion rose within her now at where they were now. The blue eyes of the little elfling turned and looked up toward the old wizard once more, as if silently asking what this place was.

In response Gandalf smiled gently down at her and moved one of his hands away from the reins of the horse so he could gently pat her head. “This shall be your home now young Melian. Here you will be safe and happy from the dangers of the world.” He reassured her as their eyes met and although he knew both his words and eyes held truth she was still hesitant as she turned and looked back at the shire. This was to be her home now? A home without her mother at her side like she always had been? She couldn’t understand completely the words the wizard had spoken or even what was going on because she was so young.

Gandalf knew it would take much time before she would feel safe again but this was the best place for her and he knew she would be in safe hands here. He could only pray that the darkness that had sought out her mother Adelia did not come for her later in life as well. The curse of their family was said to follow them everywhere but in his efforts he could possibly kee

A Test

Written By:Thain Of Coruscant
You can Read the Original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

Legolas grimaced at the thought of seeing his friend, Aragorn, in pink pantyhos (long story, not gonna get into it) singing 'jailhouse rock' and dancing on the battlefield.

Actually, he down right covered his face and cryed when his 'friend' (teehee) would do something this...this...bleck. I mean, to do something so...bleck, was an offense to Iluvatar himself.

"Oh gosh no." Legolas prayed to Eru as Aragorn began stripping in front of the Orcs.

"..." is the only thing he could 'say' and/or 'do'. As Aragorn did the um, *cough* *cough* worm, in the nude, wearing nothing, but hello kitty socks (teehee), Gimli busted a gut as he mowed down `em Orcs and finally exploded.

"Am I back at the club in Edoras!?" Eomer randomly burst out, everyone turning to his direction. He quickly, and percisively, threw a random corn dog that appeared in his hand through thin air at Elessar which hit him in his...lets say 'little workers'.

Aragorn wept as he weaved back and forth, holding his *cough* 'little workers'. Meriadoc and Peregrin both ran to assist Strider, and, instead, toppled over eachother and cursed. Alot. Too many words for such a 'innocent' little fish pop like Pippin.

Warning: because there are so many children on these days I will 'bleep' out the cuss words.

" 'Bleep' you 'bleepin' little 'bleep' tard I hate your 'bleepin' guts, you are such a 'bleepin' retard Meriadoc 'bleepin' buck (teehee). You and your 'bleepin' so called nikes you 'bleepin' bleeper' of 'bleepinstein' I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU 'BLEEP' 'BLEEP'!!!" Pippin colorfully put. Merry stoud still and silent for some short time.

3 hours later;

Pippin snickered and placed a funky hairdo on his head for the finishing touch. Merry came out of his 'colorful' trance and began feeling...spicy. Pippin flipped on the song 'thriller' and Meriadoc danced like Michael Jackson.

Merry wore a suit like MJ wore on did the moon walk and then a black flip over a cooeing Aragorn and landed with a split. "WOOO!!" Merry and Pippin victoriously cried.

On Minas Tirith... Eomer and Eowyn and Gandalf and Denethor -- wait, Denethor? your dead fool! and Gandalf pushed him off the top of the peak of the white city -- and Theoden, who miraculously came back to life, and Grima and Saruman and the Prince from Dol Amroth and Elfhelm and Elladan and Elrohir and Elrond and Arwen and Galdriel and Celeborn and Bilbo and Radagast and Gwaihir and the other Eagles and the Balrog and Azog, who also came back to life, and Gimli and Legolas and J.R.R Tolkien all applauded and some farted the 'the road goes ever on and on' one of them being Bilbo and Galadriel she`s a number one player for a good gas stanza.

Aragorn, however, was too badly hurt by that corn dog 'incident' (everyone glare at Eomer) so he laid there on the ground and sang Thriller by himself in a high-pitched voice (just amagine it :) ).

1 day later;

Aragorn woke up in a full body cast with an I.V in his...*cough* (you know what im talking about right?). Gandalf was the first one to greet him. Aragorn sort of felt enlightened.

"Hello Elessar!" he said as he pulled out his pipe and puffed smoke rings."Mmmmm, sweet tobacco, or is that meth. Whatever." Gandalf talked to himself and Aragorn began crying.

"Well I gotta get on the road to black shores or death or pretty blue rainbow ponies galloping into the sunset, or I might just die. Good bye Hellstar, I think." Gandalf quickly snapped then smacked Aragorn on the face, hard.

Next one to meet him was Eomer, who put him in that cast (he got trampled by a thousand Orcs, though I just didn`t tell ya).

"Salutat-i-ons my brother from another mo-ther!" Eomer gangsterly said. I think. Aragorn glared and slammed his casted leg against Eomers *cough* 'little workers'.

"Oooooh!...so -- ah eeh oh -- you know?" Aragorn nodded undoubtedly. Eomer just decided to leave him be. And he left, like a cheetah.

Everyone met him and left in a recorded time of 4 seconds.

Arwen laughed, because she didn`t end up in the cast (she won the bet and he had to go out and where pink pantyhos and sing jailhouse rock, if you don`t remember scroll up to the 1st sentence).

many weeks later;

Aragorn was finally free of the cast. He became the king, he married Arwen and made very close friends. as he sang his song, him and his wife walked up the the peak of the white city (where Denethor 'fell') and they kissed so romantically. She whispered in his ear and said:

"I love you. Goodbye." he bent his head at that last part but, then, she through him off the peak and he fell, and landed with a sickening crunch.

"Im okay!!!" he yelled up. They all laughed and went inside and had a beer chugging contest.

Gimli vs Legolas -- Winner; Gimli, chugging 30 ales then collapsing.

Arwen vs Elrond -- Winner; Arwen, chugging 31 ales then dieing.

Samwise vs Frodo -- Winner; Frodo, chugging 40 ales then became a homosexual.

Balrog vs Azog -- Winner; Balrog, chugging 100 ales. All his flame turned to alcohol.

Tolkien vs Bilbo -- Winner; Bilbo, chugging 51 ales then made out with Galadriel.

..The End..

His Eyes Are Unwavering

Written By:dastaes
You can Read the Original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

With Eyes Unwavering

His eyes are unwavering, his hands steady, his form perfect. He steps with a practiced grace across the stone floor. His arm falls in a swift arc as he turns, only the sound of displaced air in his ears. And now for the final….

“Practicing your dancing again, Brother?”

The young boy turns to smile ruefully at the form lurking between his bedchamber’s doorposts.

“Of course. Always.”

“The things you study, I am sure I will never understand.”

The door closes once again locking him in stillness and silence. Faramir raises his arm high, the imagined steel of a magnificent blade glinting in sunlight. His eyes are unwavering, his hands steady, his form perfect.

“And now for the final…strike!”

I'll Donate To That

Written By:IndigoNightandRayneStorm
You can Read the Original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

“I think!” Pippin declared loudly.

“News to me,” Merry interjected, giggling drunkenly.

“I think,” he continued, “That this is s-sodding good ale!”

“Here! Here!” Gimli cheered, raising his tankard.

Legolas watched coolly.

“Don’t you… agree, Leggie?” Merry demanded.

“Not particularly,” Legolas was not drunk at all, “It pales in comparison to the wine of Mirkwood.”

Pippin’s eyes widened.

Gimli was not impressed. “You know what your problem is, elf?”

“No, what?” he was curious.

“Yeh need ta get that stick outta yer ass!”

“I’ll donate to that!” Pippin hollered.

“Donate?” Merry questioned giggling.

“Yup, I’m gonna buy him an ale!”

Rivalry

Written By:Medea Smyke
You can Read the Original here:
All Credit goes to the original author

Are we human or are we dancer? – The Killers

“Where are they?” Erchirion groused. Amrothos had been charged to bring Lothíriel since their father had required the two eldest of his sons on some business in the Citadel before the reception, and they would not return to their townhouse beforehand. The eastern horizon lay covered in darkness, while the fading fingers of the sun would soon disappear behind Mindolluin’s head. Bells tolled in their high towers, ringing in the third hour of the night. “I swear, Amrothos and Lothíriel are the most unseemly, anti-social—”

“Running late does not make one anti-social, Erchirion.” Elphir’s wife, Aranel, laughed and patted his arm. “Rude, perhaps. But, they are young and beautiful, so nobody will mind very much.”

“I mind. I’m tired of waiting for them. It’s humid out here and I’m thirsty—”

“Aranel is always making excuses for other people’s bad behavior.” Elphir smiled.

Erchirion made a sour face as his older brother and sister-in-law made love to each other with their eyes. He supposed, on some level, that sort of affection could be pleasing—just not displayed by his older brother.

Their father cleared his throat. “I am going inside to salvage the family honor,” Imrahil said, amusement threading through his voice. He offered Aranel his arm. “May I?”

She accepted and they left Erchirion and Elphir waiting on the steps of Merethrond for the youngest two of the family, who were now beyond the acceptable limit of tardiness.

The great double doors of the Hall were wide open, and the sound of tinkling glass and laughter from the king’s reception drifted out into the sticky air. They had already missed the light refreshments that were served to the guests, and soon the dancing would begin.

“Are you weary of waiting yet?” Erchirion asked after a few moments.

“Yes, let’s go inside. It isn’t as though they don’t know the way in,” Elphir replied. “And the midges are coming out.”

They left the youngest of their family to fend for themselves and entered the Hall of Feasts. A few notes from the musicians warming up their instruments drifted toward them along with the low hum of the guests’ conversations.

The Master of Ceremonies announced the princes as they appeared on the dais. A few heads in the crowd turned to look with polite curiosity before resuming their conversations. They descended the marble steps and then Elphir silently gripped Erchirion’s shoulder before abandoning him in search of Aranel.

Erchirion walked on for a few steps around the parameter of the hall to better scan the groups of ladies for a desirable dance partner, as he could see that most of his friends had taken that liberty already. He turned back to the dais again, however, when he spotted a familiar blue tunic out of the corner of his eye. Amrothos and a lady were soon announced.

To Erchirion’s consternation, the woman was not Lothíriel. Rather, Lady Míreth, Lord Húrin’s daughter, had her arm tucked lightly into his younger brother’s. Now how had Amrothos managed that? And where in Mordor had Lothíriel gone?

Irritated, Erchirion headed straight for his younger brother and dispensed with all pleasantries and seemliness, and directly addressed Amrothos.

“Where did you leave Lothíriel?” he demanded, prodding his brother in the chest with his index finger.

Amrothos’ eyebrows creased in irritation as he brushed the finger away. “Good evening to you, too,” he retorted. “I don’t know where Lothíriel is.”

Erchirion folded his arms over his chest in an imperious fashion. “You were supposed escort her tonight.”

Míreth gingerly touched Amrothos’s arm with her other hand, and some silent communication passed between them. He gave her an apologetic half-grin before she moved away. For a moment, they were distracted from their argument by the gentle sway of her hips. Erchirion blinked and looked away after Amrothos discreetly swatted him on the arm.

His attention returned to Amrothos, who gestured that he wished to move toward a nearby pillar away from the crowd.

“I would have brought Lothíriel, but then we had an argument. She told me that she would find a way to the banquet without my help.”

Erchirion groaned. Those two had always argued like orcs. “And you gave in to her? Amrothos, you know what the city is like now that the gates are open to anyone. There are all kinds of riffraff walking the streets,” Erchirion sputtered. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be fair. Lothíriel could be quite headstrong sometimes, and it wasn’t as though Amrothos could knock some sense into their fully grown sister. “What argument?”

Amrothos shifted his weight just a bit, but enough to alert Erchirion to his unease. “We quarreled about tonight.”

Erchirion arched his brow. “What about tonight?”

“You know.”

“Tell me,” he said through gritted teeth, wondering just how he should know.

Amrothos shrugged. “About the dancing.”

“Dancing!”

“We were supposed to compete tonight,” he mumbled.

Erchirion cupped his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes. Competition didn’t have anything to do with it, if he knew his brother and sister. “When you say compete, you mean the stupid way the two of you strut around the dance floor pretending that you’re better dancers than the other couples who don’t even know they’re being judged?”

“We are better than the other dancers,” Amrothos retorted. “We make a very good team, you have to admit. Look at those couples over there. They’re completely lacking in form, not to mention spirit. I happen to know that Elphir is fudging his way through the steps.” Amrothos grimaced. “And I hate to say it, but it looks like Faramir is mopping the floor with Lady Éowyn’s feet.”

Erchirion rolled his eyes in contempt for his arrogant brother and sister. “So, how did you upset Lothíriel?”

“Well…I, eh, decided that I wanted to escort Lady Míreth tonight.”

Erchirion blinked. “A sudden decision?”

“Not exactly,” Amrothos replied, failing to look nonchalant. “But I had to wait to find out if my persuasive powers were…persuasive.”

“Lord Húrin let you escort his daughter?” Erchirion could hardly believe that the Keeper of the Keys would allow that, almost as little as he could believe that young Amrothos would wish to single out a woman in a serious manner.

Amrothos crossed his arms, mirroring Erchirion. “Why not?”

Erchirion held up his hands and shrugged. “It seems like a bit of a…statement, that’s all.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Dancing with Lady Míreth after her father escorts her to a formal reception does not make a statement. Bringing her yourself, and then dancing with her, makes a wee bit of a statement.”

“I thought we were discussing Lothíriel,” Amrothos muttered evasively, looking ruffled and peevish.

“We are,” Erchirion agreed, allowing the subject to drop. For now. “So you aren’t going to dance every set with your sister. That’s completely understandable, especially now that you’ve both grown up. So what?”

“I know! And that’s what I told her. She could come with us, but I made it clear that I’d be spending most of the evening with Lady Míreth—especially after all the trouble I went through. Well, Lotí didn’t like the idea because she didn’t want to be the ‘hanger-on’ having to follow Míreth and me around all night. And then she pouted about how she had looked forward to out-dancing the other couples.”

“And?”

“And then things sort of escalated.” Amrothos threw his hands up. “I told her it was high time she grew up and started dancing with other men instead of hiding behind us all the time. Next thing I knew, she made a disparaging comment about Míreth’s…er, qualities. Well, I told her with that kind of attitude I wouldn’t dance with her at all.”

Erchirion rolled his eyes. “Outstanding.”

“And then since I’d ruined her night, she decided that I deserved public humiliation.” Amrothos looked around, almost as though he expected her to pop out of somewhere and start shouting out his embarrassing childhood memories.

Despite the fact that his sister could be wandering around in some seedy part of town, Erchirion felt like laughing at the idiotic turn of events, and his brother’s apprehension. “How is dear Lothíriel going to humiliate you?”

“We’re going to compete against each other!” Amrothos cried. “She believes she will win hands down, and that I will have to bear the ignominy of being only the second greatest of her partners.”

“I imagine you had something to say to that?”

“Well, I told her that she would be hard-pressed to find a better dancer to replace me! There’s no mistaking that.”

“And she took that pretty well?”

Amrothos grimaced. “I think not. Our sweet little sister told me to do some things that I’m sure are physically impossible…language she picked up from you, no doubt.” He jabbed Erchirion in the arm.

“No doubt.”

“And that she would find her own escort tonight, and that she and Lord Twinkletoes, whomever he is, will dance circles around Míreth and me.”

Erchirion shook his head in exasperation. “And you thought this was a good idea, letting her wander around picking out men to dance with and escort her around Minas Tirith?”

“Better than wringing her stubborn, sulky, little neck,” Amrothos retorted. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t dance with my sister for the rest of my life!” He slumped against the pillar. “Besides, we only live two circles away from Merethrond. Not exactly an epic distance, is it?”

“For the love of…how many circles do you think it would take for Lothíriel to get herself into mischief?” Erchirion cried, knowing his sister only too well. “Anyway, you didn’t have to spring this on her at the last minute. You know how shy she can be…” Amrothos glared at him. “…with other people.”

Amrothos stuck to his pillar, although Erchirion noticed his eyes roaming the room for Lady Míreth. “Look, had you finally talked Lord Húrin into letting you take his daughter out for the evening, you’d spring anything on anyone, at anytime or any place. Sister or no sister.”

“Try explaining that to Father. Here he comes.”

Sure enough, Prince Imrahil waded through the crowd toward his sons. Their new friend, King Éomer, followed close behind.

“Amrothos, where is your sister? I want to introduce her to Éomer. I thought you were to bring her?”

“I was…eh, but something came up. She should be here soon.”

“And how will she be getting here?”

“Eh—”

Fortunately, the Master of Ceremonies announced the arrival of her highness, the Princess of Dol Amroth, saving Amrothos from answering to his father.

Beside Erchirion, the King of Rohan sucked in his breath—and no wonder, he thought. Lothíriel had really outdone herself tonight. Her saffron dress caught the candlelight and sent it radiating back into the room in soft sparkles, while her hair hung around her shoulders like a black mantle with a blue sheen. Somehow between the beginning and end of the war, she had managed to grow up and fill out. Her skin glowed from all the time spent out of doors helping with the displaced civilians rather than sitting in her study in the castle reading stuffy old books Faramir sent her from time to time.

Yet, Lothiriel stood alone on the dais, looking regal but slightly lost, and for a moment, Erchirion felt annoyed with himself. Why should he care about the stupid competition between his brother and sister? They both deserved to be set down a peg. But he did pity her for not finding a partner like she’d hoped. He also felt a jolt of anger directed toward Amrothos for abandoning her to arrive at Merethrond unescorted and unprotected.

He took one last look at an interesting group of young women and squared his shoulders. Brotherly duty called and he knew his own mind.

Oblivious to her family, however, Lothíriel seemed to have spotted someone in the crowd, and gracefully descended the stair before he took so much as a step. The guests parted, and Erchirion heard himself gasp as her chosen, very tall, dance partner stepped forward to claim her hand. She whispered something to him, and he scanned the room, then whispered back when he spotted them by the pillar.

With a radiant smile and confident gait, Lothíriel walked arm in arm with her partner toward her waiting family.

“Amrothos, I would like to introduce my dance partner, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm.” She smiled sweetly through Amrothos’ scowl. The Elf stood by, ignorant of or benignly unconcerned with the battle between the youngest of Imrahil’s children.

“How did you—” Amrothos pointed rudely. “How?”

His humor restored, Erchirion clapped a crestfallen Amrothos on the shoulder and whispered, “Sorry, mate. Maybe next time.”

…

Many thanks to Deandra, for being so helpful! And to folks at the Garden for comments.