Disclaimer – I do not own
Once Upon a Snowy Night
Part 1 – Fall Fair
It had taken pale after pale after pale of water from the well to fill the seven large tubs full of apples for the rounds of apple-bobbing they were to have as part of their games. Gilraen and Tilá emptied the last buckets of water into the last tub of apples, now, satisfied that the water was at the correct level, Gilraen and Tilá put away their water buckets.
The Fall Fair was the customary celebration of their kind, The Numenorean's, arrived in Arda from their island home that had been swallowed by the sea. Gilraen shared the oddity of golden brown hair and blue eyes with her mother, who hailed from Gondor, while Tilá sported dark brown hair and muddy eyes.
"So," Tilá gave her friend a narrowed look, "What has your father said about it?"
"About what exactly?" Gilraen asked, fully knowing what her friend was asking.
"About Arathorn, our Chieftain? Are you to marry him or not?" Tilá asked.
"Well, its not as if he has his eye on anyone particular, is it? I mean, it was idle conversation that should not have been imposed upon their meeting," Gilraen shrugged it off. Not that she was entirely uncaring of the situation. Arathorn and Halbarad had been throwing about the fact that Arathorn (now sixty-nine) should be getting married. Gilraen was only twenty-one, much too young to truly understand how marriage worked and yet she longed for it. Tilá was older still, at thirty, and hadn't been interested in the idea of marriage until recently. But, Gilraen mostly suspected the young man, Aldadur of this idea sneaking into Tilá's head.
"How is he going to pick?" Tilá mused to herself.
"It's kind of like the legend," Gilraen replied, "The one about the cinder girl who went to the ball, and met the Prince of the kingdom and fell in love,"
"Almost, we aren't to have a ball, but a fair, and everyone here works, I don't know of a person who doesn't except for Wingë, and she is spoilt," Tilá clicked her tongue in annoyance; for Wingë wasn't of their nomadic origins, she had grown up in a well-to-do port by the ocean. Her mother and father had taken a holiday out at sea and never came back, her only family was her Uncle Halbarad. Still, she was not made to do much. She was wonderful at sewing and so she would do most of the mending of the young and single men's wear. Her embroidery was impeccable and, she was one of those people who thought blood lines were more important than love when one wedded. In fact, she was set on catching Arathorn's heart. She was always bragging about one thing or another, how he looked at her, the one time he handed her an apple (though Gilraen knew that he was deep in thought and it hadn't been meant as anything of the sort from one lover to another). The time he saved her from an Orc, that was his job, what the hell was she going on about anyway!?
Gilraen hoped though that Arathorn wouldn't announce any intentions that night. She hoped that maybe, if the signs she had seen from him were worth anything, that he might approach her on his own and not in front of a crowd. Sure, he was to be the King of Men and retake the Gondor Throne, but, she didn't care about that. No, not at all.
All she really wanted, was to be loved.
---
Arathorn changed into soft, doe skin breeches and a thick, dark green tunic. It was cold now, for summer had turned to fall and soon it would snow. He didn't like the snow; he had spent a week almost freezing on top of some mountain while doing some stupid favor for Mithrandir. He refused to do anything in the snow, much preferring to be by the hearth on a cold winter's day, enjoying an old tomb from his foster-father's library.
Winter in Imaldris was wonderful, of course, the twins would drag him out to play a game or two, but still, Yule was the most celebrated of the seasons. A time of good will towards all and a hope in peace for Arda restored.
Halbarad was waiting in the common room for his chieftain, Arathorn pulled on his worn boots. He would need them redone; he decided that a trip to Imaldris wouldn't be untoward, especially if he had his Fiancé on his arm. Elrond, Elrohir, Elledan, Errestor and Glorfindel would like to see him finally settled down, just a little bit, and having heirs. They and Halbarad were always on him about it.
"So, have you made up your mind yet?" Halbarad asked, correctly assimilating his Lord's thoughts.
"Maybe, I don't know. I am told she is too young," Arathorn shrugged.
"You have put this off for twenty years; don't you think it is time? Why don't you just close your eyes and point at a girl?" Halbarad joked. Arathorn chuckled.
"Thou art nothing but a kuku bird when it comes to young ladies," Arathorn shook his head.
"True, actually, if it helps, I also have my eye on a young maiden, tell me, have you taken her?"
"Who might this young lady be?" Arathorn asked.
"Tilá, daughter of Ostdil," Halbarad replied.
"Ah, and what of the other young man vying for her heart?" Arathorn wondered aloud.
"He is of no matter, I've seen the way she bats her eyelashes at me," Halbarad shrugged. Arathorn right out laughed now.
"What had crawled under your shirt, my friend, to make you laugh at my plight so?" Halbarad pouted.
"Forgive me, I meant no offence," Arathorn replied placating. Halbarad huffed, but forgave him all the same.
"Well, promise me that, you don't have to approach her tonight, but please, make up your mind," Halbarad sighed and stood. The Fall Fair was to start in an hour.
"I shall," Arathorn promised. He just prayed to the Valar that he would find his love tonight. He did not want to think of what would happen if he did not and died before fulfilling his destiny.
---
Fireworks shot off at random intervals by Gandalf who had arrived just in time for their festival. Casks of beer were being broken open and passed about; lemonade had been made for the youngest of children. Apple-bobbing and Pop-the-fox were the most popular games. Prizes that had been hand whittled, such as bows and soft arrows for children, nicely made daggers for adults.
Gilraen was made to man the kissing-booth. A mere penny for a kiss and the proceeds would go towards anything that the village might need that they couldn't make for themselves. Most of the money went to the Rangers when they would depart for a terribly long journey.
Gilraen kissed the cheek of an old man in his two-hundredth year before she caught site of Arathorn. He was enjoying a mug of beer with some of the other young (for being fifty-sixty years of age) men. He caught her looking at him and sent her a wave; she turned red and took another penny for another kiss. She had the fluttering idea of a hope that he would come over and give her a penny, so that she could give him a kiss. Of course, she knew that she was only being silly. Arathorn obviously had eyes for Wingë; the nit would never let her hear the end of it!
---
"Go over there and get a kiss, Arathorn," Halbarad nudged him in the middle.
"Why would I want to do that?" Arathorn sniffed, though, he had to admit; the girl was pretty, she shared more in the Gondorian looks, which, Arathorn found, he liked.
"She's making eyes at you!" Rant, the youngest of the group, teased.
"Oh fine, if nothing else at least the village purse shall have another penny!" Arathorn glowered at the men around him but as he walked away, they chuckled, knowing that all Arathorn needed was a push out the door.
"You know what we should do," Halbarad mused. He had the attention of the small group around him.
"I don't think Arathorn knows exactly how to go about this, so, why don't we just help him along?" he asked.
"We should," Rant nodded his head.
"Brilliant…here is what we shall do…."
The group huddled together planning strategy that for once did not include, wargs, Dark Numenorean's or Orcs.
---
Arathorn was pushed to the front of the line, the men around him chuckling at the fact that he apparently wanted a kiss from the beautiful Gilraen. For her part, she was red in the face, but in a way that made Arathorn proud of himself, he was able to do that!
She wore a dress of dark purple with lilacs in her hair that was turned up into braids and pinned by star-lit pins that must belong to her mother. He handed her the penny and as she leaned in to kiss him, she also wouldn't let him take his hand back. Maybe it was something that she had longed to do and he figured it wouldn't hurt to let her. But, at the same time, he couldn't imagine the young lady wanting him in that way.
Arathorn didn't miss the teasing or the laughing from the groups around him, or the twittering of the older women who looked upon him with the air that older women often would, the hope that he would pick this girl to marry, or even that they must be courting secretly. He had heard that one before, the rumor was that he was courting Wingë, he didn't liked that girl, he just didn't know how to tell that to Halbarad!
---
A/N – I wanted to write about Arathorn's and Gilraen's courtship. They only had two years together in marriage before Arathorn died, I might write about those two years as well. I figure then that Aragorn must be a Honeymoon baby if he was two years old when his father died.