Written for funkytoes . I had wayyy too much fun writing this.


Year 34 of the Fourth Age.

Elfwine stopped in his tracks, the face of the young woman he had just passed in the corridor sinking into his mind. She was extraordinarily familiar — and yet not familiar enough. Where had he seen her before? He turned back and opened his mouth, intending to ask her, but the last trail of her silver skirt disappeared around a corner and he cursed. Did he dare make a fool of himself by chasing after her and then ask her her name? No, if they truly were acquainted he would deserve every whit of censure she would surely give him. Though he could barely recall her features, he did recall feeling as if he had done wrong just in the moment of meeting her large, brown eyes.

Where in Arda had he met her before?

It had not been recent, that much he knew. Elfwine had been away for the last eighteen months, dividing time between Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. He certainly had not met her in the Mark nor during his recent stay in Gondor, for he would have remembered her. And yet he did not. He growled under his breath, hating his decrepit memory. Was he getting old?

"Elfie!"

He turned to see his youngest sister hurtling down the corridor with so much enthusiasm that she nearly tripped over her own feet. He caught her and swung her in the air, her unabashed giggles filling the air. "Now, miss," he said, setting her down and putting his hands on his hips in mock displeasure. "Are you not supposed to be at your studies?"

"No studies on holidays," Léofwyn said, puffing up her chest and looking him in the eye. "Mum said."

"Béma!" Elfwine said, and held out his hand for her to take, which she did, and they set off towards the family chambers. "Mother was not so lenient when I was in the schoolroom. I hope you appreciate that, little miss."

"Mum says I'm too little to sit down very long," his sister said, and a frown crossed her face. "I wish I was bigger like you."

He laughed. "You are not very little," he said. "You could not even talk when I left! Do you know your addition tables yet?"

Léofwyn's recitations kept them occupied on their journey, and when he swung the door open into the living quarters she stopped in the middle of eight-plus-three. "Mum! Elfie's here!"

Mother was sitting at a desk by the window, and when Léofwyn ran towards her, she put down a quill so that the child could climb in her lab. "Good morning, Elfwine!" the queen said, smiling at him as he closed the door and found a seat on a low, cushioned bench. "I did not expect to see you so early. You returned so late last night!"

Elfwine shrugged. "I am not as tired as I thought."

"You may regret that attitude later," Mother said, and Léofwyn poked her cheek.

"Mum, is it time to go to the festival yet?"

"Not yet, sweetling. Once your da come back, we will all go together."

"Why?"

"Because it is much more enjoyable to celebrate Midsummer's Day together, as a family."

"Where's Friede and Synnifa?"

"They are tidying their bedchamber."

"Why?"

"Because it is terribly messy."

"Where's Éomund?"

"He is in the stables."

"Why?"

"He intends to enter his horse into the show competition, so Sunbolt must be groomed very well today."

Léofwyn was quiet for a moment, then beginning another round of interrogation, this time about what games they might play at the festival. Elfwine, yawned, and leaned back on the bench, letting the chatter fill his ears.

"Were you lying about being tired?"

Elfwine opened an eye to see Ísond staring at him, her arms full of books and her skirt dusty.

"I never lie," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping Mother with her correspondence. I thought Léofwyn was the only one asking stupid questions."

"Her questions are not stupid," he replied, frowning at his sister. Exactly the middle child, Ísond had a strong sense of dramatics. She sniffed at his response.

"Of course you would think that."

"Ísond!" Ever with the ears of a bat, Mother looked up, a reproachful expression on her face. Ísond has the decency to blush, and took her cue to leave, but not before sticking her tongue at Elfwine before she disappeared through the door. Mother sighed, and Léofwyn leaned her head on her shoulder.

"Mother," Elfwine began. "I saw a young woman in the corridor whom I do not quite, er, recall. Who is she?"

The queen raised her brows, and he squirmed, suddenly feeling about six years old. "You might describe her, Elfwine. I cannot read your mind, and there are many young people hereabouts."

"Erm, dark hair, dark eyes…silver frock?"

"That is Elessar's eldest daughter. She is spending the summer with us."

Elfwine felt himself pale.

"Did you not recognize her?" Mother asked, her eyes shrewd. "I understood that you met one another at Eldarion's court presentation."

"Of course I recognized her!" He fumbled with the words. "I only forgot her name; that was five years ago after all. What is it, by the way?"

Mother was smiling. "Her name is Gilræn. But I must warn you that if you mention to her that you forgot it, she will likely tan your hide."

"Thank you for the warning."

The door opened again, and with a squeal Léofwyn leapt off of her mother's lap and ran to her father. The king of the Riddermark opened his arms to swing her into a hug. "Ho, ho!" he said, pretending to stumble back. "Who is this? Why, Léofwyn - I swear you were not this big yesterday!"

"I had a big breakfast!"

"An entire boar, I wager."

"No, Da!" she giggled.

"No? Well, I hope you are hungry for the festival. I myself am anticipating a half-dozen fried scones with clotted cream, lamb pies, fire-roasted potatoes..."

Mother was packing away her work, her attention undiverted. "Elfwine, did you bring any letters from your grandfather? Or any other family?"

"Yes, I did. I have not yet unpacked my belongings, Mother, but once I do I promise I will give them to you…"

"Da, will you carry me to town?" Léofwyn was asking.

The king considered this, looking keenly at his daughter. "Are you sure that you do not wish Elfwine to carry you?"

Naturally Léofwyn did indeed wish for her brother, and Elfwine groaned, only half-joking. "Come on then," he said, standing and crouching down so that Father could swing the girl onto his shoulders.

"Good luck, son," Father said, clapping Elfwine on the back as he straightened, a little shaky with the sticky hands clamped onto his forehead. "When you are my age, you will appreciate the young'uns. Now, you -" He looked at his wife, who blushed. "I could carry you if you would like."

"My constitution is not as strong as it was," the queen said, tilting her chin. "Best not to risk it."

They smiled at each other, and knowing that this would only end in — ew, kissing — Elfwine took the opportunity to duck out of the room with Léofwyn, crouching once more as they passed through the low doorway. "We need to find Friede and Synnifa!" she crowed.

"You are getting too big for this!" Elfwine complained. "You are going to break my back! Then you shall have to carry me instead."

"I can't carry you! You are too big! I am only four." Little Léofwyn was such a perfect age to be teased, and Elfwine loved it, laughing as they tromped into the hall.

Their sisters were very easy to find, primping themselves in the polished silver plates in the hall. "Do you not have mirrors of your own?" Elfwine asked.

"One of my hairpins fell out," Synnifa said, who was indeed trying to fix her hair. It was not going well.

"I have a pimple!" Friede wailed.

"Everyone has pimples at your age," Elfwine pointed out. "Even the boys you are trying to attract."

She turned to scowl at him. "What do you know?"

Friede, having been one of Elfwine's favorite sisters, was now apparently aping Isond's moody mein. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, and gave her condescending pat on the shoulder. "Someday, sister, when you grow out of your pimples, you will dearly wish them back."

"Why -"

"Because then you will be an adult," Elfwine said vaguely. "Are you coming?"

"Where are Mother and Father?" Synnifa asked, her hair falling completely out of its updo.

"They will be here presently, I believe." His shoulders were beginning to ache with Léofwyn's weight. "Ah - here they are."

"I hope you finished your cleaning this morning, ladies," the queen's voice carried as they strode into the hall, arm in arm. "I would not like at all to have to send you back early."

"We are done!" Friede said. "Gilræn helped us, then did our hair for us."

"She did a very nice job," Mother said. "I hope you thanked her."

"Of course!" Synnifa looked aghast.

Elfwine felt Léofwyn sigh, and then she said very loudly, "Let's get a move on! I want to see the trick riders."

Everyone obliged, finally starting their course down the festival which was set up just beyond the barrows outside of the city. Friede helped Synnifa to pull out the remainder of her hairpins along the way, trying to make the younger girl presentable. "Are you entering the archery tournament?" Elfwine asked.

Friede frowned. "Of course not! I am a lady, sir, and I would not dream of sullying my reputation in such a way."

"Gilræn is an accomplished archer, or so I hear," Father intoned. "I wonder if she will compete."

Silence followed his statement, and Elfwine was hard pressed not to laugh as he saw astonishment pass on Friede and Synnifa's faces. "Is it too late to fetch my bow?" Friede asked Mother. "Oh - please let me fetch it!"

"No," Mother said, voice firm. "Consider this a lesson."

"What kind of lesson - !"

Elfwine began to whistle, feeling annoyed for a number of reasons. Why on earth his sisters were practically hero-worshipping Princess Gilræn, he did not know. Why exactly he felt his hackles rise at the mention of her name, he knew a little. He was not exactly looking forward to seeing her again.

The tents wherein imported treasures and all manner of victuals were to be sold, as well as the largest tent where the awards would be given, came into sight as they hiked down the rocky path to the city gates. Music began to filter into the air, and Léofwyn squealed in excitement, making Elfwine wince.

"I see Éomund! I see him! He's over there!"

Elfwine had no way of seeing where she was pointing, but it was hard to miss the sight of his brother leading his spotted stallion through the barrows most in a most delicate manner. Éomund was kicking stones out the way before his horse could step on them, and Elfwine guffawed. His youngest brother had grown nearly two feet in Elfwine's absence, but had yet to become accustomed to his size. It made the sight all the more ridiculous.

"He is so weird!" Synnifa said, her nose wrinkling.

"Synnifa!" Mother warned.

"He had better win first prize," Father said. "Otherwise I cannot justify such infernal treatment. It's a damned horse, not a woman!"

"Eomer!" Mother exclaimed. "Do not swear!"

"I was speaking to Elfwine," the king excused himself.

"But you are not alone. Some of us have delicate ears."

So slow was Éomund's progress that his family soon caught up to him, and at once his sisters (excepting Léofwyn) began to tease him, making him blush all the way to the tips of his ears. "Mother…" he began to whine.

"Perhaps we should finish our trek enjoying the glorified and much-too-rare sound of silence," she replied.

"Hear, hear," Elfwine said.

"But -" Léofwyn began.

"Shh!"

There was not much farther to walk, and soon they passed through a juggling act and into the mess of tents and crowds of people. Elfwine lifted Léofwyn from his shoulders. "You might ask Éomund if you can ride Sunbolt to his competition," he suggested. "Mother -" he turned to her. "I am going to wander off alone. Meet you later?"

"I am sure you will find us," Father said, patting his wife's hand as she began to protest. "Just follow the bickering."

"'Bye, Elfie!" Léofwyn cried, waving from Sunbolt's back, having been lifted upon by a nauseated-looking Éomund.

As much as Elfwine loved his family, he was not quite in the mood for their exuberant company. He was still feeling displaced from his long absence, but that began to fade as he meandered through the market and passed pleasantries with many people who recognized him. His Rohirric was a little underused, but soon enough he was chattering without a second thought, only slipping into Sindarin, (which he spoke in Dol Amroth with his grandfather), once when he stubbed his toe on a tent pole. Not that the expletive he used was one he would have dared utter in Prince Imrahil's presence.

The sun was by now risen to its peak, beating down on the festival most unrelentingly. Elfwine felt sweat begin to trickle down his back, and he stopped for an ale in a shady tent. His fingers tapped on his mug, and his thoughts began to drift away to a very uncomfortable place…

"Oi!"

He looked up to see a brawny man staring him down, despite being several inches shorter than himself.

"Are ye entering the rasslin' tournament? Is about to start."

"No, but I thank you for your confidence in my wrestling ability," Elfwine said, toasting the man.

The man grunted. "Yer brother won six years in a row afore he headed off to the Deep. I figured yer made of the same stuff."

Elfwine grinned. "Eorl is made of nothing but muscle. I cannot boast the same."

"Aye. I'll be off, then."

"I wish you luck." Elfwine downed the last of his ale. His nerves now appropriately braced, and his thirst quenched, he strode forth to find the very person he did not wish to see.

It was only a matter of minutes before the woman in the silver dress came into view. She was tossing apples into nets at a stall, and he paused to admire her aim. Then he admired her long, dark-brown hair. And then her shapely figure as she leaned forward ever so slightly.

"Excellent work, madam!" The stall owner exclaimed. "Tha's the most we've had today. A gold piece, for your efforts."

"I thank you, kind sir," the woman said, and Elfwine saw her bestow a gracious smile upon the owner, who flushed red. She took her leave, and turned towards Elfwine, though he was fairly certain she had not seen him yet. She walked straight past him, not even favoring him with a greeting despite his proximity. He gawped for a moment, and then hurried after her.

"I did not realize you recognized me," she said in a cool voice, not turning to look at him. He wondered if she was speaking to another, but most of the crowd had disappeared inside the cooler tents. There was no other nearby.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, feeling wary. The little he remembered of her rather frightened him.

"If you remembered me, you would not have been so quick to leer."

Yes, she was certainly speaking to him. Elfwine tried to catch up with her, but she was walking very fast. "I did not leer," he said.

"Liar."

"I am not a liar!"

He saw her lips pull into a smile, and not a nice one. "That is all the evidence I need, and I thank you," she said. "Good day, sir."

"Wait!"

She had altered her path to cut through behind a tent, but at his word she paused, her back rigid. Then she turned, and at last, met his eyes. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. She blinked at him, her gaze quite composed. Elfwine tried to speak, but he could not. "I have done you the courtesy of waiting," she drawled. "Do me the same by saying your piece."

"Dance," he forced through his dry throat, and promptly blushed.

Her elegant brows shot skyward. "I beg your pardon?"

"The dance, er, tonight. After the feast," he fumbled. "Will you be there?"

"I intended to."

"Dance with me."

She scowled. "Certainly not. Your manners are appalling; I would never agree to such a rude demand."

The sight of her scowl seemed to surface all the memories Elfwine needed to lose his last bit of self-respect and dignity. "Please," he begged. "Please dance with me tonight."

"So charming!"

"I had not intended to dance, myself, until now," he forced through gritted teeth, his annoyance peaking. "I pray that is flattering enough to convince you. Now I have asked you twice, I would appreciate a straight answer."

"You asked once," she pointed out. "You demanded once as well."

"An answer!"

She considered him, and he felt strangely tingly. "On one condition," she said at last. "If you do remember me, as you pretend: what is my name?"

He could have laughed. "How could I forget your name, Gilræn? It is forever burned in my mind."

Gilræn had obviously not expected him to remember, and she scowled. "One dance," she said. "That is all." And she turned once more and stalked away, Elfwine left once again to stare as she disappeared.

It was going to be a long day.