Hello, my dearest Seedlings...

With everything that's happening in the world right now, I think we could all use another feel-good chapter right about now. And so, please enjoy this long-awaited development as we near the end of our tale.

Blessings you all, I think this quote from Tolkien is quite relevant right now;

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

~ GreenScholar


"Sire, sire! Come quickly, it's happening!"

Elfwine was on his feet and running before the stable boy had even finished calling out. Leaving a pile of ledgers and two perplexed accountants in his wake, the King of Rohan flew out the doors and down the steps of the Golden Hall two-at-a-time. Less than a minute later and Elfwine was beneath the rafters of the Royal Stables. Grooms and Riders alike were quick to clear out of their lord's path, faces alight with anticipation and excitement. It was not every day that the House of Eorl welcomed a new horse.

When Elfwine reached the largest stalls at the end of the hallway, he fair nearly vaulted over the gate on his way in. A horseman's instincts stilled him to gentleness though. Entering the second stall slowly, quietly, he took care not to disturb the laboring mare within.

Even Elfwine's soft footfalls on the straw were enough for Almárëa to look back over her shoulder. Her long, glossy brown hair had been wound around her head in a braided crown, the better to keep it out of her way. Bits of straw clung to the hem of her green dress, and her cheeks were pink from having been out in the crisp March breeze. All-in-all, Almárëa fit right in, the scent of horse-hair and saddle leather included. Kneeling beside her was Héoda, one of the best of the Rohirrim when it came to overseeing spring foaling.

Almárëa and Héoda both kept to the far edges of the stall so as not to crowd Swiftwing, the mare who was about to birth the foal of Elfwine's great stallion, Baldor. They would come no closer, but so great was the trust of the horses of Rohan in their folk that their presence served as a reassuring comfort to Swiftwing. Elfwine joined them, sinking to a knee next to Almárëa.

"How long since she went down to her side?" he asked, keeping his voice to a low murmur. Outside the stable, the gathered onlookers likewise whispered amongst themselves.

"The first time, a half hour after you left for your meeting," replied Almárëa. She answered Elfwine's incredulous glance with a sideways smirk. "Héoda thought it best not to send for you until it was nearly time, lest your poor bookkeepers be left neglected all morning."

Elfwine had no rebuttal, and instead had to content himself with grumbling under his breath. They were right; had he known, he would have left that dry meeting behind without a second thought.

A sudden grunt and a strain from Swiftwing stole everyone's attention. The mare shifted a little away from them, and beneath her tail a single protruding hoof came into view. Elfwine had seen many, many foalings before, but he still sucked in a breath. Swiftwing was one of the finest horses in all of Rohan; a dappled grey mare with a romantically long white mane and elegant black legs. Everyone in Edoras had been looking forward to this moment ever since the day Swiftwing and Baldor had been mated. With such parents, the foal could be anything from magnificent to once-in-a-lifetime extraordinary. Nothing in life was certain though, life itself most especially, and so Héoda was not the only one watching Swiftwing's every move intently.

Another grunt...a heave of her sides...and Swiftwing appeared to decide she was due for a little break. Settling down in the straw, she stretched out her neck toward the wall dividing the stalls. As if sensing his mate's struggles, Baldor appeared at the divider, his proud black head tossing side to side as he sniffed the air with interest.

"It won't be long now, princess," whispered Héoda to Almárëa.

Almárëa nodded, eyes fixed on the two horses. "Yes, I know."

For a time Swiftwing rested, hardly anyone daring to breath amidst her heavy panting. It was warm in the stables, despite the last vestiges of winter clinging to the world outside. The scent of melting ice lingered in the rafters, mingling with the sweetness of fresh new straw in all the stalls. Almárëa's small, bare hands were visibly pink from chill though. On a whim, Elfwine bent his arm outward; an offering. Almárëa took the hint and wrapped her hands around the crook of his elbow. Her fingers were like ice, surprising Elfwine and prompting him to grimace dramatically. Almárëa responded by wrinkling her nose at him and pinching his forearm.

A sound like someone clearing their throat caught Elfwine's attention. It was Haleth, leaning against the stall gate with the other Riders. Haleth waggled his eyebrows, a knowing smile lurking beneath. Elfwine ignored him; Swiftwing gave him an excellent reason to when she abruptly turned herself over onto her other side. The single little hoof was now joined by a head, still encased in its cloudy white birth sack.

"It's coming," Héoda announced breathlessly.

Sure enough, a point of no return appeared to have been reached...and passed. Each strain from Swiftwing brought more and more of her foal into the world. It was more than halfway out now, with just the hind legs remaining. Everyone could get at least an impression of the little creature now, and Elfwine felt a smile breaking out beneath his beard.

"It has Baldor's coloring," he said.

"Not entirely," pointed out Almárëa. "Look at the white mane!"

Everyone held their breath as, with a final effort, Swiftwing delivered her foal. Until they saw for themselves that the foal lived, no one was ready to celebrate just yet. Still, there was more than enough to suggest that this would be a horse worth celebrating. Free of the majority of its birth sack, the foal's coat could clearly be seen as a deep, rich black. Soft speckles of grey dappled its hindquarters and shoulders though, and, as Almárëa had said, the foal's mane and tail were as milk-white as its mother's. Long, gangly legs held the promise of future grace, and a smooth neck curved, swan-like. No signs of life were yet to be seen though; the foal remained perfectly still upon the straw.

All of the sudden, the little body heaved and gasped. Pulling in its first breaths, the foal stirred to life. Swiftwing swung her head around to see as cheers of elation filled the royal stables. The Rohirrim clapped their hands, stomped their feet, and beamed from ear to ear. Baldor's ears flattened in annoyance at the sudden noise though, and immediately the raucous died away to a more respectful chatter.

"What a beauty!" Fasthelm exclaimed.

"Is it a filly or a colt?" asked Laedwyn, laden down by a basket of potatoes and straining to see from the back of the crowd.

Héoda shook his head. "Too early to tell yet. Why don't we all give Swiftwing and her babe some peace now, eh?"

A general chorus of disappointment went up from the Rohirrim, but when Elfwine stood they all obediently stepped back from the stall's gate regardless. Holding the gate open for Almárëa, Elfwine took a moment to look back. Baldor - satisfied that there would be no further shouting - had gone back to stretching his neck over the divider as far as it he could reach. Swiftwing was nosing interestedly at the foal, which was now entirely free of the afterbirth and jerkily scooting across the straw toward her side. Its white mane was already drying, and the contrast between that and its dappled black coat really was beautiful. Someday, that knobbly little creature would be a horse fit for a king...or queen.

With a smile, Elfwine closed the gate behind him, leaving the new family to get acquainted.

OoOoO

As they walked back up the hill to The Golden Hall, Elfwine and Almárëa enjoyed debating over possible names for the newborn.

"What about 'Emrŷn'?" Almárëa was suggesting. "It means 'Sunrise', in the Sindarin tongue."

"Hmmm...not bad. I like 'Bréoca'."

"You're so sure its a colt then, and not a filly?"

Elfwine shrugged. The wind - which always seemed to be blowing through the valley of Harrowdale - tugged at his cloak and streamed through his hair, bringing with it the scent of spring. "Bréoca can be a filly's name too. Do you like it though?"

"What does it mean?" asked Almárëa.

"It means 'Treasure', in the Rohirric tongue. Or 'One who is Treasured', depending on whether you're using it to speak of an object or a living being."

"Bréoca..." Almárëa repeated the name slowly, testing out each syllable. "You know, I rather like it too. Does my opinion really matter so much though? The horse belongs to you and the House of Eorl, after all."

"Because...well..."

Elfwine paused, halfway up the final stair to the front doors of Meduseld. It took Almárëa another couple of steps to realize that he had stopped and she looked back, questioning.

It had felt so natural that he should consult with Almárëa, in regards to the naming of the foal and in all other things besides. After the Siege of Minas Ithil over two years ago, Elfwine had half-jokingly asked when she had become both his friend and advisor. Now, looking up at Almárëa, The Golden Hall behind her, bits of straw clinging to the hem of her gown, the wind tugging free strands of hair to wave about her face, Elfwine realized that he couldn't imagine doing anything anymore without her.

Cocking her head curiously at Elfwine, Almárëa laughed.

"Did you have a thought and it escaped you?"

Aware of eyes on them from below in the city, Elfwine shook himself. With a sheepish grin, he rubbed the back of his neck and hurried to catch up.

"Not exactly, I was just..."

"Staring vacantly into space?" offered Almárëa helpfully. "Come on! We'd better take a moment out here for you to get your head back together, before you go inside and get ambushed by your tax collectors yet again."

Elfwine let Almárëa lead the way out onto the terrace, from which The Golden Hall overlooked all of Edoras. Beyond the city gates, Dunharrow Road wound its way across the valley floor to the banks of the river SnowBourn. The river was swollen with the spring melt, its waters tumbling frothy and white over its stony bed. Very soon, the plains of Rohan would turn green and bloom with harebell, clover, and crocus. New foals would frolic beneath blue skies, and everywhere life would spring anew.

Elfwine had never been so keenly aware of Almárëa's presence at his side. She was so small, so deceptively fragile, and yet filled with the wit and wisdom of multitudes. Everything about her, from the way tiny freckles dusted the bridge of her nose to the way the fine hairs curled at the nape of her neck stood out in sudden, sharp relief. Subtly Elfwine shifted, his hand hanging at his side brushing ever-so-slightly against the side of Almárëa's wrist. It was nothing, just the slightest touch which could easily be written off as accidental. Almárëa's gaze remained on the snow covered mountains in the distance...but her wrist turned and her fingers stretched, leaving room for Elfwine's calloused hand to easily slide into hers.

"Almárëa..." Elfwine said slowly.

"Mmm?"

Almárëa turned and looked up at him, nothing in her grey-blue gaze suggesting that there was anything unusual about the two of them standing there, in full view of the people of Edoras, holding one another's hand.

"...Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

A warm, playful smile spread across Almárëa's face. It was as if she'd been expecting Elfwine's question.

"Why don't you kiss me and find out?"

Elfwine didn't need any more of a welcome mat laid out for him. Almárëa surged up to meet him as he leaned over, and the two met in a kiss that felt as natural as breathing.

Sufyan had always spoken of his love for Túrien as if it were a dance, filled with fire and warmth and a whirlwind of leaps and dips. For Elboron, loving Eruthiawen was more like a poem, tenderly composed and laden with emotions nearly beyond the grasp of words. To Elfwine, loving a princess of Gondor had become so much a part of him, he hadn't even realized it until now. With the taste of Almárëa on his lips and her hands in his though, Elfwine was complete.

At last they broke apart, heedless of the many wide eyes staring up at them from below. It seemed silly, Elfwine thought, to ask Almárëa if this meant they were officially courting. Now that he was looking back on their time together through unveiled eyes, what else had they been doing these past years if not courting? He had known Almárëa all of her life, and she nearly the same of his. There was really only one question left to ask.

"How long until I can marry you, Almárëa?"

Almárëa - her lips pink from the stubble of Elfwine's beard - burst out laughing. Reaching up, she took Elfwine's face in her hands and pulled him down for another kiss. When they were both thoroughly breathless, she pulled back and winked at him.

"I imagine that a year ought to about do it. That should be plenty of time for Eldarion to wed Galieth, and Adar to get used to the idea."

Elfwine was caught off guard. "Has Eldarion proposed at last? I hadn't heard!"

Almárëa grinned. "Not yet, but I have a feeling he will very soon. Best not to have the both of us engaged and planning weddings at the same time, yes? Besides..." Almárëa slid her arm through Elfwine's. "I am patient, I can wait."

"Are you really though?" Elfwine, glowing with happiness and contentment, couldn't help but tease.

"I've waited long enough for you, haven't I?" Almárëa shot Elfwine a thoroughly impish look. "Make no mistake, Elfwine Éotan, I will have you. 'A crown for my head and a king for my bed', as Queen Inzilbêth of Númenor said when she married King Ar-Gimilzôr."

"Almárëa!" Elfwine guffawed, a little pink about the ears despite himself. Sobering, he fingered the crown of braided hair encircling Almárëa's head. "You shall have both, and more besides. I had to wait until you were at least of age by Rohan's measure after all, didn't I?"

"You best hope that Adar and Naneth don't make you wait until I'm of age by Gondor's measure! How would that be, to have to wait another five years?"

"I'd wait. I once swore that I would not court again until I found someone whom I could see myself marrying. Today I make a new vow; I will never marry, and the Mark shall have no queen, unless it is you. To you I promise my hand, my home, and my heart. As proof of my word, I give you Swiftwing's foal, Bréoca. As you said, the foal belongs to the House of Eorl, and who better to ride it than Rohan's next queen?"

Clearly touched, Almárëa smiled and kissed Elfwine again.

"One year. When next the snow melts and the flowers bloom, the Mark shall have its queen...and I shall have you, Elfwine."

Together, the two of them stood long outside The Golden Hall, watching the wind blow through the grass upon the plains and the clouds pass overhead. Many saw the princess of Gondor and the king of Rohan standing there hand-in-hand, and though all rejoiced, few wondered at their coming together. Some things, after all, can be seen without the aid of mirrors and Foresight.

OoOoO

Unbeknowst to Elfwine and Almárëa, the people of Edoras were not the only ones watching them from afar. At a side door of The Golden Hall - where they had just come out for a breath of air before lunch - Arwen and Lothíriel looked from behind upon the young couple and smiled. The keen eyes of a mother miss nothing, and Arwen and Lothíriel above all were unsurprised to find their children leaning companionably against one another, Almárëa's head on Elfwine's shoulder.

Lothíriel simply could not resist leaning in to whisper to Arwen;

"Éowyn owes me five castars."

OoOoO