Chapter 43. The Wedding

Real Life has dealt me a number of blows over the last couple of months, including a broken right arm. Ergo the long silence. Thanks in this chapter go to Altariel, for letting me use (and modify slightly), her Gondorian wedding ceremony from her excellent story "A Game of Chess"; and to Soledad, for letting me borrow Lindir and Erestor from her equally excellent story "Innocence".


When the appointed time came, I started down to the main hall to meet Elrohir. On the way, I heard familiar voices coming from an open room.

"Faramir, I do not know what you think I can do with this! Your hair is even worse than usual. This part here looks as if it were gnawed off by rats!"

"It was a royal rat then, uncle! The King and I were going over the plans for the reclamation of the Pelennor early this morning, and this front part here was too long and kept getting in my eyes. He said that watching me fuss with it was driving him mad (I suspect he was nervous about the wedding), so he cut it for me."

"What did he use? His teeth?"

"No, his belt knife. I was actually quite happy not to be bothered by it any more. But my valet was a bit upset when he saw me."

"I can just imagine." The Prince's tone was dryly ironic. "You and Aragorn do realize that the war is over, don't you, Faramir? You don't have to hack your hair off with knives any more. You should have had your valet trim it." A horrible thought then struck Imrahil. "You didn't return the favor, did you?" Faramir laughed.

"Oh no, Aragorn had just had his hair trimmed by Arwen's ladies, and said it was worth his life to have it touched, even though it was still longer than he preferred."

"I wish he had taken you to them instead of trying this himself."

"Uncle, they were in the middle of getting her ready. They had no time for me."

"So now you come to me mangled, uncombed and unkempt, and expect a miracle at the last minute?"

"Well, a comb at the very least. I know you always carry one about you somewhere."

"You could too, you know."

"Why bother, when I can always count on you?" Imrahil chuckled.

"Untidy, lazy lout!" I stuck my head tentatively around the door. The Prince had Faramir's beryl circlet hung on his arm, and was combing his hair with an air of extreme concentration. Faramir spied me, but not wanting to incur his uncle's wrath by moving, waggled his fingers at me in a tiny wave. Imrahil, after trying to subdue a particularly stubborn cowlick, gave up for a moment with a sigh, turned and saw me. His eyebrows lifted, he looked me up and down a couple of times head to toe, then his mouth curved up in its usual warm and friendly smile.

"Hethlin, child. You look lovely." I sighed in relief, as Faramir added his own approbation.

"Indeed you do, Heth. Very nice indeed! Where did you get that beautiful scabbard?"

I stepped into the room, which was a sitting room of some sort. "Lord Glorfindel lent it to me." Addressing the Prince, I asked, "Can I help in some way, sir? Find some scissors, perhaps?" Imrahil shook his head.

"There is no time for that, Hethlin. But you can do something. I need three hands here." He handed the circlet to me. "I'm going to hold this little piece flat while you put Faramir's crown back on. We're going to tuck it under here, do you see?" I nodded, and waited while the Prince combed Faramir's hair ruthlessly into the desired position, then held it in place with his fingers. I carefully pressed the circlet down on his glossy black head, and the Prince did a deft little tuck. He then spent some time combing through the rest of Faramir's hair, surveying his work with some satisfaction when he was done.

"There. That is much better." Faramir reached his hand up to touch the circlet, only to have his wrist immediately seized by his uncle. "No you don't, Faramir! It is perfect just the way it is. You need to stop all this fidgeting!" Faramir's eyebrow shot up.

"Yes, Uncle Imri!" he actually lisped in a little-boy voice, and Imrahil and I both laughed.

"I do not think I will ever become accustomed to this thing," he then complained in his normal tone, indicating the circlet while being careful not to touch it.

"It is a burden you grow into gradually," his uncle replied, grave once more, and I knew he was speaking of more than a heavy circlet. Indeed, Faramir looked very princely, in a leaf green brocade tunic trimmed in black and silver, darker green breeches, and beautiful new black boots. But when I told him so, he grinned a little sheepishly.

"You can thank Uncle for this, Hethlin. He found the time to order a few things made for me before he departed for Lorien."

"I knew it would never occur to you to do it, lad," sighed the Prince. "Someone must take steps to insure that the royalty of Gondor presents itself properly." Something in the tone of his voice caught my attention, for he seemed suddenly rather uncharacteristically out of sorts. "Let us be on our way." As we proceeded down to the hall, Faramir asked me about my impressions of Lorien, "for I never had the chance to speak with you the other night." I had just enough time to start telling him about the trip before we arrived at our destination, whereupon he and his uncle were both engulfed by a crowd of people all of whom either had urgent business, or simply wished to be seen in their company.

A fair number of these people were female, and I couldn't help but grin a bit as I got a close-up view of what it was to be the two most eligible bachelors in Gondor. Either his betrothal to Eowyn was not common knowledge, or the young ladies of Gondor simply did not care, thinking that they could perhaps cause him to break it, for Faramir was now coming in for as much attention as his uncle. He mouthed an apologetic "Later," at me, and I smiled and nodded and went on my way, only to promptly become lost in the ornately clad and colorful throng. The courtiers I had seen at Aragorn's soldiers'court paled into insignifigance here--literally every person who had any right to be here at all was here, and dressed in their finest. I started looking for Elves, but with no luck whatsoever, and was beginning to be worried, when I heard a stentorian voice at one end of the hall.

"Members of the wedding party! Members of the wedding party over here!" it intoned. I followed it to where it originated, and found myself looking up at a very tall and thin gentleman with a sheaf of parchments in his hand. He looked down his rather impressive nose at me in disdain.

"Clear off, lad! Members of the wedding party only!"

"I am a member of the wedding party. Hethlin, daughter of Halaran, of the House of the Eagle. Check your list." He frowned.

"And I am the Master of Protocol. I do not have to check my list--thanks to you, I had to re-write it three times this morning! I had to reshuffle all the escorts behind you in the procession, not once, but twice! Do tell me you have finally made up your mind!" I got a bit pink in the cheeks, but nodded.

"Aye, that I have."

"So glad to hear it!" he said ironically. "The first door on your right. Wait there until you are called for. And do not change your mind again!" I slipped past him into a quieter hall as he stopped another nobleman from trying to enter the area, and found the first door. Opening it, I found a sitting room--and myself the center of attention. Eleven pairs of eyes focused upon me, and I could hear muttering in the farther corners of the room, as its other inhabitants eyed my breeches and the sword at my side. Eleven of Gondor's finest ladies waited there, including Lady Tirathiel, who inclined her head to me regally, and Princess Lothiriel, magnificent in shimmering blue and silver silk, who after a moment, stepped forward to greet me with a smile.

"Hethlin! You look very nice! Come sit down--there are refreshments on that table in the corner, should you care for any." I followed her to the couch she indicated, and seated myself.

"Nay, lady, I just now finished my breakfast. I am well provided for." She sat down beside me, and addressed me quietly, a faint tinge of embarassment still present in her voice.

"I am glad you decided to come after all, Hethlin." Knodding an acknowledgement, I decided that a change of subject would make her more comfortable.

"Have you seen your filly yet?" She smiled with relief.

"Yes, very early this morning. Such a pretty thing she is, too! Did Father not say that Eomer helped pick her out?"

"The King of Rohan decided that you should have a two-year-old instead of a yearling, and your father said that he wanted you to have a filly. Then the two of them spent about two hours going over all the two-year-olds. Your father made the final decision, but he consulted with Eomer throughout and Eomer agreed that she was a very nice horse, and he was sorry to lose her. Your father then suggested that he apply to you for breeding rights."

"As regards myself, or just the filly?" came Lothiriel's wry question. I looked at her, a bit surprised at the ribald jest, and caught the twinkle, so like her father's, in her eyes.

Chuckling, I answered, "I believe the filly was the sole subject of the conversation, princess, though I do not think your father would be adverse to the match."

"He has said that he is not--other than that I would live so far away that he would seldom see me. And that grieves me as well, though I would suffer it for Eomer....." Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of another young lady, a picture-perfect daughter of Numenor--tall, slim, dark-haired, blue-grey eyes. Her lavender gown was perfectly fitted, her hair and adornments chosen with exquisite taste, her expression one of barely-veiled hauteur.

"'Thiri," she said, her tone of voice and manner of address indicating a long familiarity with the princess, "introduce me to your friend." Lothiriel looked up at her and smiled.

"Jerulas, this is Hethlin, daughter of Halaran of the House of the Eagle. She is the King's kinswoman, and one of my father's new esquires. Hethlin, this is Lady Jerulas. Her father is one of the greatest lords of Belfalas." The Lady Jerulas' brow creased slightly as she surveyed me.

"Indeed? The King's kinswoman? And an esquire? I thought you were the Steward's secretary. I am sure I have seen you about the Citadel."

"You may have, lady. I was the Steward's secretary for a time, after I was wounded during the retreat. Before that, I was one of his Rangers."

"There was a rumor to that effect," she conceded. "And now you are to be a Swan Knight?" I nodded. Her eyebrow arched, a dark and delicate feather. "How extraordinary. I wonder what you are doing here?"

Since I'd been wondering that very thing myself off and on all morning, I could hardly take offense at the question. "The Lady Arwen asked that I be included," I answered honestly. "It was not my idea at all." Lady Jerulas smiled, an expression as cloyingly sweet as Faramir's honeyed tea.

"Well, my dear, you must just accept that no matter how disconcerting it is to find yourself in such company, the Lady Arwen and the King have your best interests at heart. If they feel that your being here this morning is a good way to start rebuilding your reputation, you should listen to them. After all, there are rather more ladies than men available right now, and if you are seriously interested in acquiring a husband, you must realize that you are decidedly handicapped by the stories about you."

"What stories?" I asked flatly. Having become familiar with that particular tone in my voice just this very morning, Princess Lothiriel laid a cautious hand upon my arm. Lady Jerulas answered readily enough, though her expression was fraught with feigned reluctance.

"Surely you can understand that spending several years alone in the wild as the lone woman in the company of two hundred men, many of them from the lower social orders, is not going to enhance your reputation as a lady of virtue? How can you expect people to believe that you were chaste, and not being shared among the Rangers?"

"Anyone who knows Faramir's ability to command his men would believe that were possible," I said in the same toneless voice. The sudden, sick anger I was supressing was making my stomach hurt, and making me regret I'd eaten such a large breakfast. Lothiriel frowned but Jerulas continued, her manner that of solicitous concern.

"Ah, but though the Prince is well-loved by the people, he is not particularly well-known, being such a private person. Most people judge only by circumstances. And yours, you must admit, are highly unusual. Yes indeed, it is best that you pay heed to Lady Arwen and the King--they are the best people to help you with your current difficulties. So very nice to meet you." She curtseyed to Lothiriel and departed, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. Lothiriel gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Ignore her, Hethlin--Jerulas' spleen has always been larger than her brain."

"Do people really think that about me?"

"Only the small-minded ones, Hethlin," she assured me, unconsciously echoing her father. "No one who matters does."

"I hate this sort of thing!" I exclaimed in a low voice. "All this back-biting, and name-calling and seeming niceness laid over cruelty! The battlefield is much more straightforward!" Lothiriel's eyebrows soared up and she gave me a very droll look.

"Hethlin, whatever made you think you weren't on a battlefield right now?" I stared at her, surprised, and she nodded.

"If you think of court in those terms, you may be better able to understand what goes on."


Before she could expound further upon that idea, which rather intrigued me, our elven escorts arrived. Lord Celeborn took Lady Tirathiel on his arm, while Lord Glorfindel escorted Princess Lothiriel. Elrohir had been right--Glorfindel was quite the glittering figure in pale gold silk embroidered all over with flowers in gold thread, and I stopped worrying about having deprived him of his scabbard, for he had an equally nice one in gold. Elrohir then stepped forward to claim me. He cast an eye about the room, then laid a hand along my cheek and kissed me softly before taking my arm with an evil grin. Murmurs arose, and his grin broadened. As for me, I was blushing horribly, and couldn't seem to stop. Elladan got the unenviable priviledge of escorting Lady Jerulas, and others of the royal houses of Imladris and Lorien took their escorts in hand. There was a brief delay as one young lady, overcome by the beauty of her partner, an exquisite blonde elf whose name was apparently Lindir, swooned and had to be swiftly revived.

Then poor Lindir, who, it turned out, was a very sheltered elf with a gentle nature, became distraught because of his companion's reaction, and it required many whispered words from Erestor, Lord Elrond's tall, dark seneschal, to soothe him.

*Lindir does not like this city,* Elrohir sent to me, with an overtone of affectionate compassion I seldom heard from him. *There are too many people and too few trees here. He is very shy, and very much a creature of the forest. He would not have come here at all did he not love Arwen so much.* I watched Lindir, who was uneasily looking at the girl looking shamefaced back at him, as Erestor had to return to his own escort.

"Do you think we should perhaps switch partners?" I asked Elrohir quietly, aloud.

He gave me a rueful smile. "Much as I mislike loosing your company, Snowsteel, it is well thought of. He was raised by the wizard Aiwendil, who is a friend to all creatures of the Wild, but most particularly birds, so he would probably enjoy being escorted by a member of the House of the Eagle. If you are willing, I will arrange it." I nodded.

"If it would make him more comfortable, I am only too glad to do it." Elrohir promptly strolled over to Lindir and the girl, and gave her a sweeping bow, apparently explaining the situation to them both. The girl flushed with embarassment, but gave him a teary-eyed nod, whereupon Elrohir escorted Lindir over to me. The slender elf gave me a tentative smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lindir," I said softly in Sindarin. His eyes lit up in relief, and he responded in a very musical voice.

"Elrohir tells me you are Halaran's daughter. I am pleased to meet you too. Is Landroval your eagle-friend as well?" Elrohir rolled his eyes, and sent to me.

*He will be all right now. Thank you, Snowsteel.* I sent him warm affection, and he smiled and moved to the young woman, helping her to her feet with easy grace. I proferred Lindir my arm, and answered his question.

"Nay, Landroval is not my eagle-friend--his mother, the Windlady Gwaenaur, is." He smiled with childlike delight.

"I have met the Windlady Gwaenaur! She is very large, and reddish in color, and opiniated." Laughing, I replied that that was indeed the case, and we joined the procession at last.


Four abreast, we filed out of the King's House into a beautiful Midsummer's day. The Master of Protocol, seeing the switch of escorts, gave me a glare and headed in my direction, but was intercepted by Elrohir, who apparently set him back so hard on his heels that he dared make no further comment on the subject. I smiled, gave Lindir's arm a reassuring pat and moved on, noting the Prince Imrahil was leading the line of Gondorian men with the Lady Galadriel on his arm, while Faramir, Prince Erchirion, Prince Amrothos and other Gondorian noblemen escorted the other elf maidens who had come with Arwen. I hoped that the lady Amrothos was escorting knew something about the movement of essential goods within Caras Galadon; otherwise, she was in for a rough time of it.

Lord Hurin's men had their hands full holding back the enthusiastic crowd that literally covered the grounds of the Citadel. A roar rose up as we processed past the Tower of Ecthelion towards the Court of the Fountain, and Lindir jumped, startled. I hastened to reassure him.

"They are just glad, Lord Lindir. They mean no harm by it." He nodded, but his blue-grey eyes were wide. I wondered how old he was, for he seemed very childlike in his demeanor.

"There are so many!" he exclaimed, and it was not an exclamation of pleasure.

"Of course," I said, deciding that a matter-of-fact manner might soothe him better than anything else. "That the King should return was unlooked for for many lives of Men, and that he should wed such a fair lady as the Evenstar is the greatest event of our age. Everyone who is important enough to acquire an invitation by any means is here."

He nodded, and after a moment gave me a sidelong look. "I am supposed to sing at the wedding," he confided somewhat nervously.

"I am sure that you will do wonderfully well," I assured him. "You have a lovely voice."

"But I do not know if the mortals will like my singing."

"Well, I am a mortal, and I like it when Elrohir sings." He actually snorted.

"Elrohir! If you like Elrohir's singing, then you will certainly enjoy mine!" Elrohir, behind us in line, cleared his throat loudly, and Lindir blushed.

"I have been ill-mannered again," he confessed to me mournfully after a moment. "It seems no matter how I try, I always am."

"This is rather a lot of excitement for anyone, much less someone who is not accustomed to cities," I said in a comforting manner. "Besides, Elrohir is ill-mannered enough himself upon occasion." There was a growl of protest behind us, but Lindir actually laughed.

"That is true enough! Did he ever tell you about the time he and Elladan--"

"Lindir! This is neither the time nor the place!" Elrohir interjected sharply. Crestfallen, the singer subsided, and I turned my head to shoot my lover a warning glare. Then I turned it back--and nearly halted in my tracks, my mouth agape.

We were come into the Court of the Fountain, but it had changed. I had not noticed the evening before, so eager had I been to seek my rest. No longer was the dead, dry Tree there, its branches dripping drops from the fountain like tears. In its place was a sapling scarce four feet tall, pale and smooth of bark, with leaves that were darkest green above, and silver below. It was covered with clusters of white blossoms, and seemed the personification of all that was young, and growing, and glad.

When I saw it there, I knew at once what it must be, and wondered how such a thing had come to be found again. To find another White Tree of Gondor, descended from the sapling that had come over the sea with Elendil, that descended in turn from the tree that they sung of in Lorien, that had illuminated Valinor itself with silver light--that had to be wizard's work. The sight of that slender little stick with its clusters of leaves and flowers moved me so deeply and profoundly that I felt sudden tears sting my eyes. More than Gwaihir's tidings, more than Aragorn's coronation and entrance into the City, this one small tree told me that we had truly won, that the Darkness was vanquished, if not forever, then for many lives of Men. Its appearance heralded a renewed, hopeful future for both the House of Elendil and the North and South Kingdoms.

Lindir too, seemed moved by the sight of the Tree, and as we filed into our places before it, he lifted his head and a sudden phrase of music poured from him, in a language that was Elvish but no Elvish I had ever heard before. As for his voice--I suddenly realized why Elrohir thought himself lacking in that department. I doubted the Valar themselves could have sung more sweetly. Like molten gold it was, or all the songs of nature combined into one sweet voice.

He seemed to be singing to the Tree itself, and perhaps it was just chance that a slight breeze seemed to stir the leaves, or maybe it was in fact the Tree, returning his greeting. People turned their heads towards him, surprised, but many were smiling as they did, for though they could not understand the words, the song was obviously joyous. The wizard Mithrandir, who stood to one side of the Tree all a-glimmer in shining white with the four hobbits, was smiling as well, as he indicated to Lindir that he should take up position upon the other side with the elf Legolas and the dwarf Gimli. I moved to the groom's side of the assembly while Lindir, all shyness seemingly gone, did as he was directed, singing all the while, a slender hand reaching out to lovingly stroke one of the dark green leaves. The Tree rustled once more, and the tableau of age and wisdom and youth and innocence that Mithandir and Lindir represented together was quite striking--even if, as I suspected, the Elf was far older than he looked.

Then heads turned back in the direction of the Tower, to witness the coming of the King. Aragorn paced with regal slowness, his head held high. Kingly he looked indeed, though the only martial aspect of his garb at this celebration of peace was Anduril girded at his waist. A slender band of silver or mithril with a single pure white diamond bound his brows, and the gem seemed to sparkle with starfire in the summer sun. He was clad in the sable of Gondor, but it was fabric of surpassing richness, and embroidered cunningly upon the breast in gems and silver was the device of the White Tree, mirroring the little sapling before him. The white cloak and green eagle clasp he had worn at his crowning completed the ensemble.

Aragorn looked younger than his actual age as he advanced towards the destiny he had been moving towards all his adult life, and though his face was very composed, I could see tension in the muscle that lay along the jaw, and a certain whiteness of knuckle that made me believe the King might be a trifle nervous. He was accompanied by one of the members of the Grey Company, a man whose silver hair marked him as the oldest member of that Northern band. Though lined with age and weather, the Ranger's face had a severe though pleasing handsomeness, and I felt a nagging sense of familiarity as I gazed upon him. I finally decided that I must have seen him about the Citadel before my departure for Lorien.

Like his ruler, he wore no armor, merely a fine tunic in dark grey, with his Ranger cloak and star brooch over all. He and the other Rangers of the Grey Company were the only sober notes in the rainbow throng, but though their clothing was plain, their usually grim faces were filled with gladness for he who was their commander. He and the King took their places before the wizard, and when they had done so, Lindir's song, which had never ceased, changed key and became, if possible even more joyfully jubilant. Heads turned once more as Arwen arrived.

T'is said that all brides are beautiful, as if the rite of marriage itself lends a fleeting glow to even the plainest countenance. The Evenstar, deemed fairest of her people, who were so much fairer than mortal Men, could hardly be improved upon. Yet I knew, watching her as she advanced towards the Tree upon her father's arm, that she would never be more beautiful than she was on this day. She reminded me, and I was certain many others in the crowd as well, of no one less than Elbereth, the Star-kindler herself. The exquisite gown I had seen before, now finished, clung to her perfect form, the leaves and flowers embroidered upon it shimmering in the sun. Her night-black hair, flowing unbound to her hips, was cunningly scattered with small white gems that twinkled like stars. And her face, alight with love as she gazed upon her lord,was almost too unbearably beautiful to look upon.

Lord Elrond, aways remarkable in any gathering of Men or Elves, was quite cast into the shade this day by his glowing daughter. Clad in a rich overobe of sapphire blue, his expression was calm and inscrutably grave. I wondered if he and Arwen were speaking mind to mind, and, if so, what they were saying to each other. There was no sign of it upon their countenances. And when I looked across the aisle to where Elrohir stood close to his grandparents, his fingers twined in his twin's, I found that his face was quietly attentive as well--though the pang of anguish that surged through our link at Arwen's appearance told me his heart was anything but quiet.

For a moment, I regretted the impulse that had led me to escort Lindir, for while it had undoubtedly made the beautiful singer's participation in the ceremony more tolerable, it had taken me away from Elrohir at the very time he needed my support most. Then I realized that I was being the veriest idiot in Gondor and reached out to Elrohir, who reached back with a mental sigh of relief and gratitude. It was as if we clasped hands mentally.

*I am glad that you are here, Snowsteel.*

*I do not care what Lindir says, I still like your singing.* I felt a tiny ripple of surprised mental laughter. Arwen and her father took their appointed places, and the bride exchanged a loving smile with her bedazzled groom.

Then Mithrandir spoke, his deep voice carrying easily over the crowd.

"The King welcomes you, his guests, and asks you to bear witness this day to the vows of marriage between himself and his chosen Queen, the Lady Arwen of Imladris." He turned his attention to the bride and groom. "Years ago, you plighted your troth, and exchanged rings in token of your promise. Take them back, and give them once more, in recognition of that promise kept." This was done, the couple's heads bent intently over the task, Aragorn's weatherbeaten fingers brown against Lady Arwen's pale ones.

Then, Gandalf extended an open hand, which contained two golden rings.

"Now, in token of the deeper vows you are about to make, take these rings as well." They did so, and with quiet, private smiles at each other, placed the gold rings above the silver ones. Then the Ranger and Lord Elrond took their right hands and placed them together, and they turned to face each other.

The Lady Arwen spoke first, her face bright. "Long ago, I pledged myself to you in all things, and to this still do I hold. To the end of our days together I will love you, and beyond, your wife in every way. Thus speak I, Arwen Undomiel of Imladris."

Aragorn took a deep breath before he answered her, looking deeply into her eyes, seemingly reassured by what he found there.

"There is nothing I could ever give you that could match the splendor of the gift you have given me, my love. But what I have--my kingdom, my life, my love, my soul--everything that is mine is yours forever. Thus say I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, King Elessar Telcontar of Arnor and Gondor."

In that moment of supreme happiness for the two of them, I was buffeted by a wrenching, agonized sense of loss from Elrohir, and more distantly, from Elladan.

*She has chosen. She is gone from us.* Their heads bowed together, as Gandalf addressed Arwen and Aragorn one last time.

"All that has been done here this day, before the eyes of those assembled, is in accordance with the laws of Gondor and Arnor. You are man and wife, King and Queen." He produced a circlet like unto the King's, and Aragorn set it upon his wife's head, embracing and kissing her as the crowd cheered wildly. Then they turned, and beaming, proudly proceeded back down the aisle we'd made for them, followed by Mithrandir and the Fellowship. The rest of us fell in according to the plan, Lindir hastening back to my side.

We walked as a company back to Merethrond, wherein were set tables of delicacies and fine drinks, that the high folk might nibble as they mingled. The wedding feast proper was to be that evening. Once there, we had discharged our responsibilities and were free to leave our escorts, but I remained with Lindir until Lord Erestor came to meet him.

"Thank you, my lady, for your care of Lindir," he said most graciously.

"It was my very great pleasure," I replied; then, smiling at the blonde elf, addressed him. "Your singing was truly beautiful, Lindir." He gave me a pleased smile in return.

"Thank you, Lady Hethlin. I wish that you could return with us to Imladris. You would like it in the North. You could talk to the Eagles. And you could keep Elrohir out of trouble!"

Laughing, I replied, "Gracious! I fear that that is beyond my abilities, not being a wizard, or a greater power! And the King commands me to Dol Amroth for the next two years. Perhaps after that, I will be able to come--I have long wished to do so." Lindir gave me a suddenly sad look. He was quite the mercurial creature.

"Oh! I fear many of us may be gone if you wait that long, and I wished you to meet everyone! But," and here he brightened again, "I will remember you, Lady."

"And I you," I replied gently. "Elrohir tells me the same thing. So it seems I will be remembered forever twice over. A very nice thing." Lord Erestor laid a companionable arm about his shoulders.

"Come, Lindir. Let us go see if we can rescue poor Glorfindel. He is quite surrounded by those young ladies over there." He gave me a courteous nod, and the two of them moved off, Lindir cheerfully exclaiming over the rarity of Glorfindel needing a rescue from them.

My responsibilities ended, I looked about for Elrohir, but found that he was standing with the King and Queen upon the dais at the end of the hall with Lord Elrond, his brother and grandparents. They were greeting the dignitaries and important guests. Searching next for Faramir, I found him deep in conversation with the Haradrim ambassador. The Prince, too, was occupied with the high and the mighty. It seemed that I was on my own. I considered simply leaving the festivities, having participated as had been requested, but did not know if that would be insulting or not. Eventually, I wandered over to the buffet tables, not because I was hungry, but for lack of anything better to do.

Bemused, I stared at the display of foods which were ornately prepared and cut and molded so as to give no clue as to what they might actually consist of.

"Those gray things over there are goose, liver, I think. I can smell them," a cheerful voice said. I looked down and found Pippin standing there with two plates in his hands. "Hullo, Lady Hethlin. Would you mind very much reaching me some of those, and some of those cheesy things on the far corner there?"

"Not at all, Master Peregrin," I replied, and did so, then got him some of the other treats he couldn't quite reach. When the plates were full, he thanked me.

"This one is for Frodo. Did you like the wedding?"

"I did, very much. Did you?"

"Oh yes. I am very glad for Strider and Lady Arwen. I hope that they will be happy."

"Do you have a lady waiting for you at home, Master Peregrin?" I inquired, curious. He laughed.

"Oh no! I did steal a kiss from a hobbit-lass named Diamond once, behind a mulberry bush."

"What happened?"

"She boxed my ears." We both laughed, and he took his plates and departed. I decided against getting a plate for myself, and looked about the assemblage once more. There was a knot of Rangers from the Grey Company off to one side, talking, and I noticed the Ranger that had accompanied the King during the ceremony staring at me very intently. His scrutiny unnerved me, so I turned away from him, and moved into the crowd. It was about that time that things began to get very strange.

I was approached, in quick succession, by a sulky seventeen-year-old, a rather plump, middle-aged merchant, and an older man of cadaverous appearance, though he was richly dressed. The seventeen-year-old told me he had been ordered by his father to talk with me and size me up as a potential bride. He became a lot less sulky when I informed him that I had no intention of taking a husband, whereupon we discussed my experiences in the war for a while instead, a subject he greeted with much more enthusiasm. This served to appease his father, who was not close enough to hear what we were talking about, but could see that we were getting along well.

It took almost ten minutes for the merchant in his turn to work around to his floridly worded proposal, which was couched in terms of mergers and trade agreements. I refused as politely as I could, and fled into the crowd--only to run right into my last suitor, who proposed an alliance in which he would be able to use the connection I gave him to the King, whilst I dallied where I wished. He too received a polite though harried refusal, and I fled away once more, scanning the throng desperately in search of a friend. My glance crossed the staring Ranger's once more, and feeling absolutely hunted, I turned from him to the opposite direction. This brought me close to the Prince, still talking cordially to yet another dignitary. I watched him for a moment, and as I did so, something caught my eye. The hand in which he held his goblet was trembling slightly. Setting the cup down on the table which stood nearby, he placed his hand behind his back to disguise the tremor, and continued his conversation without pause.

I remembered what he had said about the shaking in Edoras, and feared that a repeat of his collapse there was imminent. I was also somewhat worried that he would be wroth with me for interrupting him, but was willing to take that chance, for I certainly needed a rescue even if he did not. Squaring my shoulders, I strove to make my expression look as official as possible, and approached him with a purposeful stride.

"My lord prince?" I said with a bow. He broke off his conversation and looked at me quizzically.

"Yes, Hethlin?"

"That messenger you have been expecting has just arrived." He did not hesitate.

"Ah, yes. Turnald, will you excuse me? A bit of urgent business has come up." The dignitary nodded graciously, and I stepped away, the Prince joining me. He started walking swiftly towards the door that led out of Merethrond, speaking quietly to me, his head close to mine.

"Did Andrahar send you to fetch me?"

"Nay, my lord, I noticed your hand was shaking and became concerned. Did you require a rescue?"

"It was reaching that point." I sighed in relief, and he gave me a tired smile. "Were you afraid I would chastise you, child? I can talk to Turnald any time. You were only trying to look after me. Andrahar has prepared a bolt-hole for me in the Citadel against this very happenstance. I set him a time when he was to fetch me, but I overestimated my endurance. So you were timely indeed." Feeling suddenly rather clever, I walked swiftly with him into the Citadel, watching him greet and be greeted as he made his way through the throng outside the hall, but never letting himself be drawn into conversation. We passed within, and up the stairs to the second floor, where he went unerringly to the very sitting room he had been repairing Faramir's hair in earlier. We entered, and he bolted it from within, then sank down upon the couch with a relieved sigh.

The window was closed, and the room stuffy in the growing heat of the day, so I moved over and opened it. A rather pleasant breeze wafted in. The day had turned out to be truly beautiful, with a gentle wind from the North that cut the often oppressive heat of a Minas Tirith Mid-summer. The sky was clear, and achingly blue, with never a cloud in sight. Good flying weather, I thought, smiling at the recollection of my feathered friends, fair air indeed.

The Prince removed his sapphire-studded circlet, and placed it upon the small table beside the couch, running his hands wearily through his hair. He then began unbuckling his sword belt, and I came over to stand ready to receive it.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" I asked with a frown. "After that ride, you should have sought your bed early. I did."

"Ah, but there are different sorts of rest," he replied with a slightly embarassed smile, "and I had not seen my children for over a month. They wished to know of our journey, and I did not want to alarm them by seeming ill. So we talked until late, and then I awoke early because I was uneasy in my mind about the ceremony, and wanted to make sure that things were going to go smoothly." He handed his sword-belt to me, and I accepted it, taking a moment to admire the weapon, which I had never examined carefully before. The hilt was fashioned like the body of a swan, with the spread wings being the quillons, and a flared tail extending onto the blade. The swan's neck was the grip, and its head the pommel. The whole thing was simply but gracefully wrought, and it had the satiny patina that came from generations of use. The scabbard and belt in which it resided were far more ornate than the weapon itself. I leaned it carefully against a nearby armchair, and gave him an irritated look.

"In other words, you got no sleep to speak of. How do you ever expect to get better if you keep driving yourself in this way? Riding after me to the inn, and now this?"

Busy unbuttoning his tunic, he paused to arch an eyebrow at me. "Oh dear. I fear that I am being fussed at. By my esquire, no less." It was not a rebuke, but I flushed a bit anyway.

"Well, someone has to do it, my lord prince! And since you are being so close-mouthed about being sick, the elves and I are the only ones who can! Perhaps I should tell Lord Elrond about how foolish you are being!"

"Perhaps you should," he agreed amicably, his eyes twinkling with their usual amusement once more. He finished with the buttons, handed the tunic to me, and I took it, automatically smoothing my hand over the incredible fabric. Draping it carefully over the same chair his sword was leaned up against, I turned to find him settling himself upon the couch, head resting upon one arm and booted ankles crossed upon the other. There was a pillow upon the arm chair, and I handed it to him. He thanked me, placed it under his head and closed his eyes, obviously preparing to take a nap. I looked at him a bit wistfully.

"Am I going to have to be at the feast this evening, my lord?"

"Yes, Hethlin. You will sit with me and my family, on the groom's side of the table."

"I see. Is there anything I can get you? Do you need something?"

"No, Hethlin. But thank you for asking."

"Shall I stay in case you need something later?"

"No, Hethlin. Andrahar will be here any time. Go back to the party and have a good time."

"I really don't mind staying, sir." Imrahil cracked an eye open, and sighed patiently.

"Is there some reason you do not wish to return to the party, child?" Given this feeble encouragement, I told him the tale of my three 'suitors'. He closed his eyes again, but chuckled from time to time.

I ended the tale in a state of high dudgeon. "The last one, the old man, even said that I would be able to indulge in 'my lascivious behavior' all that I pleased, and that he hoped the King would appreciate his taking Aragorn's problem kinswoman off of his hands!" The Prince laughed long and softly.

"Hethlin you are going to have to decide if you are going to live your life as you feel it should be lived, or if you are going to worry about what people think about you, for you cannot do both. Aragorn, Faramir, the Queen, and myself all think well of you, and if it is not too immodest to say so, so long as we do, what anyone else thinks does not matter! This is nothing I have not told you before. You are a woman who has chosen to take a man's place in the world, and there are always going to be people who think that unseemly. Now I know that you are brave--do me a service and cease this running and hiding you've done today! Go back outside, and try to have a good time." I bowed my head, abashed.

"Very well, my lord." Going to the door, I unlocked it and stepped outside.

"Hethlin," came the quiet voice from the couch.

"My lord?"

"Thank you for the rescue."

"You are welcome, my lord." I shut the door behind me, and started the walk back to Merethrond.


Back in the Hall of Feasting, things were much as I had left them. Lord Elrond still kept his family gathered close to the King, and Faramir was still surrounded by well-wishers and sycophants. I wondered briefly if Lord Elrond was going to intentionally try to keep Elrohir and myself apart for the duration of the Elves' stay in Minas Tirith. With nothing better to do in mind, I wended my way back to the table of food, and stood there for a bit, trying to decide if I wanted to get a plate after all. I had just decided that I would, when I felt eyes upon my back, and turned around--to find that the Ranger who had been watching me all day was standing within an arm's length of me. I jumped.

"My apologies, lass, I did not mean to startle you." His voice was deep, and had the same Northern accent as the King's. "You are very much your father's daughter. I do not see your mother in your face."

"She may not be in my face, my lord, but I keep her in my heart," I said, a bit tartly because of the unease this man had caused me all day long.

My answer seemed to please him for some reason. He smiled slightly, and hooked his hands into his belt. They were the hands of a warrior, nicked and scarred, calloused and weathebeaten. There was a large scar at his temple, crossing the wrinkles at the corner of his eye. He'd been lucky with that one, whenever he had got it.

"I had thought to meet you somewhat earlier," the Ranger said matter-of-factly, "but we were all very busy after the Chieftain was crowned, and I wished to talk to some who knew you first, to see what manner of lass you were. We don't rush things up North, unless it is in battle. And about the time I had finished asking about you, and had decided the time was right to talk to you, you vanished. None knew where you'd gone, but Aragorn told me you were off to fetch the Lady Arwen with the Prince. So this is the first chance I've had."

I stared at him, puzzled, a bit angry, and intrigued that Aragorn had entrusted him with the secret of his bride. But then, he had seconded the King at his very marriage....."You asked people about me?"

"Aye."

"Why? Did you know my parents?"

"Aye." He could see my anger, but was calm in the face of it.

"Who did you talk to?"

"Aragorn, of course. He sent me to Prince Faramir, and to Captain Mablung. I spoke to them at length, with the King's request that they answer plainly and in full and not ask why I needed the information. I also spoke to Lord Hurin. They all think very well of you, have naught but good things to say. You'll be getting your star soon, and by all accounts, it is well deserved. You may be younger even than your father was when he got his, and he was one of the youngest to do so. I think that both your parents would be proud of you." I nodded shortly, only half-hearing the praise. I was still trying to figure out exactly who this fellow could be that Aragorn would allow him, nay, aid him, to investigate me.

"Now that I know something about you from others," he continued, "I would like you to tell me something of yourself. And your father and mother, and brother and sister as well. Anything and everything you can remember."

It was apparently not only the day for me to run and hide, but the day for all sorts of violations of privacy. "And if I do not choose to do so?" I asked, very annoyed. "Will you have the King command me?"

"Nay, lady," he responded, ignoring my ill humor. "Though I would hope that you would want to do it."

"And why should I want to do it? Who are you that you should ask?" The look he gave me then with his rain-grey eyes, held such sadness in it that I felt my ire beginning to subside.

"My name is Litharel, lass," he said by way of explanation, and when he saw from my uncomprehending look that that meant nothing to me, he sighed and explained further.

"I am your grandfather."