I awoke to two sensations--a throbbing headache that told me I'd drunk more beer than I thought I had, and a cool, slender hand stroking my brow.
"Snowsteel had too good a time yestereve, from the look of things," purred a familiar voice. I sat up beneath the hand, blinking blearily. Elrohir was perched on one hip upon my bed, looking much too lively, and disgustingly fresh as a daisy in a clean shirt and breeches.
"When did you get back?" I inquired a bit grumpily, "and how long have you been here?"
"I came with the dawn!" he declared dramatically. "But I took the time to wash the dust of the road off, and then I watched you sleep for a while."
"You watched me sleep? Whatever for?"
"You were making the most interesting noises--not snoring, exactly. More like snuffling."
"I do not snuffle!"
"Perhaps not in the normal course of events, but after a night of dancing and drinking you do. That magnificent nose of yours is apparently capable of a wide variety of sounds." Refusing to dignify his assertion with a spoken response, I merely glared indignantly at him. Elrohir grinned his rakish grin in answer to my look, then to my surprise, grew serious.
"There is much unrest in your mind, Snowsteel--what has happened?"
"What--you didn't simply look for yourself?" He shrugged.
"Of late, I have been endeavoring not to be so high-handed where you are concerned. Had you not noticed?" Not wanting to discourage such tendencies, I hastened to reply.
"I had noticed your recent restraint, and I do appreciate it. How was your time in Ithilien?" He actually rolled his eyes, something I didn't remember having seen him do before. It looked odd in an Elvish face, and I suspected that it might be something full-blooded elves didn't do at all.
"It went well enough. We helped the Rangers find their orcs. I grew weary of the hunt after that, and started back on my own. The others are there still. Legolas seemed set on speaking to every tree in Ithilien, trying to find just the right place for his folk to settle."
"Did he have any luck?"
"He had already found a couple of places he fancied when I left. He is very taken with Ithilien."
"He doesn't really talk to trees, does he?" I asked curiously, and got an incredulous look in return.
"YOU find that hard to believe for some reason, oh speaker to giant feather-dusters?" I had to admit he had a point.
"Would you like some breakfast?" I asked, finally remembering my manners. Instead of answering, he uncoiled from the bed and went to the bell pull.
"Indeed I would. Since Felith finds me comely, I shall ask for us both--we will get more food more swiftly that way. Perhaps even leaf-cakes, if they are available."
"Someone has a good opinion of himself this morning," I noted, taking the opportunity to get out of the bed and retreat to the bathroom for a few moments. Morning necessities completed, a liberal application of cold water and woodsy scented soap to face and hands served both to wake and refresh me, and I went back out to fetch my robe from the bed and tie it about me.
"And someone else is in a very bad mood," Elrohir noted, gliding over and taking me into his arms. "I repeat my earlier question--what happened last night?" He pressed his forehead against mine, while endeavoring to look meaningfully into my eyes. The end result was that we both went almost cross-eyed, hardly the most romantic of visions. I had to laugh despite my aching head. He smiled at me, tipped his head to the side a bit and pressed his lips gently against mine. I melted against him and closed my eyes. Whether out of consideration for my headache, or some other reason, his kiss was an undemanding one, his lips cooler than the Prince's had been last night, and softer as well. It went on for a long time, and ended on a sigh.
"The Prince kissed you last night." It was not a question, and though I started and looked at him in trepidation, his voice was utterly calm.
"Aye." My reply was a whisper.
A silky black brow arched in inquiry. "And you found it pleasant?"
"Aye," I whispered once more, feeling the basest wretch in the world. Long-fingered hands slid up my shoulders to cup my face gently.
"Hethlin. It is well. I am not wroth with you. Did you think I would be--was that why you were upset? Or did something else happen?"
"Aye. I mean nay! I mean--I did not know if you would be angry or not. But that is not all that happened. The Prince kissed me, then after he left the wedding, Faramir took me to task about it, saying that I must have seduced his uncle." I felt Elrohir stiffen for a moment, a flash of silver flame in his eyes. Then, with an effort even my poor mortal eyes could see, he relaxed. "So we quarreled. Oh, I was the most horrible person, Elrohir--I called Eowyn a deserter bride, and told Faramir that he was just like his father!"
Elrohir did not seem to find this quite as devastating a development as I did--his effort to repress a smile lacked convincing sincerity. "You could not have been as horrible as all that!" came his reply after a long moment's pause. I frowned at him.
"I am serious, Elrohir! We are not even friends any longer! I feel terrible about the whole thing!" Pulling free of his grasp, I moved over to one of the chairs, flopping down in it. He arched his eyebrows and whistled, low and melodious.
"That must have been quite a kiss, and quite a quarrel! I see now why you are so distraught." He was about to follow me over, and seat himself in the other chair, when a knock at the door announced Felith's arrival. Excusing himself, he went to flirt with the maid and order our breakfasts while I glumly contemplated the previous night's events once more.
"And that is still not all that happened," I continued when he returned and seated himself. "I came back here, and tried to sleep, but I could not. Then Prince Imrahil showed up and said he couldn't sleep either, and that he wanted to talk to me. So I told him about the quarrel, and he told me that he had kissed me because he loved me, and he wanted me to marry him." Elrohir grew very still once more, and I felt a surge of something through our link, something I couldn't define because he blocked it so swiftly and with such thoroughness that a pang of pain shot through my already aching head. I cried out, and he gave me a contrite smile.
"I apologize, Snowsteel--I am not usually so clumsy. Here, let me see if I can ease you." Getting up, he moved around to the back of my chair and laid his fingertips upon my temples, commencing a massage that began to send a warm tingle through my skull. I sighed in relief as the headache began to retreat
"Imrahil asked you to marry him?" Elrohir inquired quietly, as he continued his ministrations. "That is not entirely surprising--I told you he was attracted to you some time back when we were on our way to Lorien." I made a careful little nod, loathe hurt my head further or to dislodge his soothing fingers.
"I remember."
"What answer did you give him?" His tone of voice was politely curious, so I responded without hesitation.
"I told him no."
There was a moment's pause before he answered. "Why, if I may be so bold? He is the biggest marriage prize in all of Gondor. And a good man as well."
"I am not interested in prizes, or riches. I really don't want to be a princess. He reminds me of Faramir, and I wish to be certain that my attraction to him is not because of that resemblance."
"The Prince is nothing like Faramir!" Elrohir asserted vehemently. Frowning, I moved from between his hands, and turned to face him.
"Please don't start in on Faramir again, Elrohir! You've made it perfectly clear to me any number of times that you do not like him.! And the Prince does remind me of him--their smiles are the same, they tilt their heads to the side in exactly the same manner, they even sound somewhat alike! The Prince deserves more than a wife who married him because he reminds her of someone else!" Elrohir slid back over towards his chair, draping himself over it bonelessly, and waved a slender hand.
"He might settle for that at first, Snowsteel, figuring that he would be able to convince you to love him upon his own merits once you were wed. From what I understand of mortal marriage, and I have seen a few in my time, it is more than many couples start with."
"We are not going to be wed, so the opportunity for him to convince me will not arise."
"But you are drawn to him. You admitted as much to me."
"Aye, that I am."
"Then how do you know you cannot love him if you will not associate with him?"
"Associating with him is one thing, marrying him is quite another!"
"Will you go North then, and forego the training at Dol Amroth? Go home with your grandfather?"
"I don't know! That's another reason I gave him, that I just didn't know what I was going to do--about Dol Amroth, or the North--"
"--or me?" he interjected quietly.
"Or you," I agreed. "I did mention you." Elrohir was on his feet of a sudden, without my clear recollection of how he had gotten there, and moved towards the balcony doors, which were open as usual. He paused between them, limned in the morning light, his back to me, his hands clasped behind it, his head lifted as if to scent the morning breeze. Locks of his night-black hair stirred fitfully in the moving air.
"Snowsteel," he said, somber as I'd ever heard him, "It seems that it is time we had a talk."
I advanced towards him till I stood but a couple of paces behind him, a cold chill settling over me. "A talk about what?"
He turned to face me, and his face was not the young, uncertain face he had shown me upon Cerin Amroth, but the face of a being who was every bit of three thousand years old.
"Do you still hold to our agreement? That we are friends who share hearts-ease with each other, and that we are free to seek attachments elsewhere?"
"Aye..." I said slowly. "Why do you ask?"
"Because if that is indeed the case, I would prefer that you not use me as an excuse to avoid relationships with other men." I stared at him, my eyes stinging, and felt the room tip a bit unsteadily under my feet.
"I am sorry, Elrohir, I did not mean to offend you, or to imply to the Prince that things between us were anything more than what we had agreed to." My face felt as stiff and frozen as my voice, and I staggered a step backwards, towards the bed. He moved swiftly forward, and steadied me with a firm hand under the elbow.
"Be at peace! You misunderstand me. No offense was taken." The next thing I knew he had seized both of my elbows and lifted me up to sit upon the edge of the high bed. It was a task that seemed to cost him little effort despite my size, reminding me once more of how strong he really was. He then followed me up with a lithe hop. His hands folded about mine, which was comforting, for mine felt cold of a sudden, and he gazed into my eyes gravely.
"I am simply saying that you must understand how things are. There is information you do not have, that you need to know. What did you think would happen, were you to come North?"
Still frightened, I tried to choose my words carefully. "You had said once....right before the wedding, that you wanted me to. Grandfather did too. I thought I would stay either with you or with him, that we could go out Rangering together. You said that you and Elladan rode often with the Dunedain."
He nodded. "We did, and we will. And such a prospect seems pleasant enough to me, save for one thing." At my quizzical look, he continued. "You are the head of your House, Hethlin, by your own decree. Having gone through so much trouble to establish that, will you let it die in the end? The Eagles expect you to 'nest'; the sooner, the better, as far as they are concerned. And any nest you make with me will be an empty one."
Baffled, I said, "But your father told me, when he agreed to heal me, that one of the reasons he did it was so that you would not be childless."
"Were those his exact words?" At his prompting, I tried to recollect the conversation as best I could.
"He said something about if you cleaved unto me, he did not want you to be childless. That's as close as I remember."
Elrohir nodded. "I thought as much. What he meant was that if I decided to go back on my oath to him, and choose mortality to be with you, then we would be able to have children." Realization dawned upon me, and he nodded once more.
"That is correct. If we were to conceive a child together, we would be wed by Elven standards, and I would have made my choice. So you see, unless you wish to release me from my promise to you, you will have to wed another, mortal man one day to fulfill your obligations to your House, and to the Eagles." His silver eyes bored into mine, but I could still read nothing from him--he had been walling away his mind from mine throughout the entire discussion. "Were you wanting to release me from my promise, Hethlin?" he asked after a moment in the gentlest of voices.
I looked at him, so beautiful and fey, and thought about the wonders I'd seen in Lothlorien. I remembered what Elrohir had said about his father leaving, and what the King had told me about all the elves going over the Sea, and how sad I had felt when he told me that, the sense of losing something irreplaceable and wondrous that had come over me. I could not bear to be a part of the destruction of something so marvelous, to have to watch Elladan watch both his brother and his sister age and die, to see the sorrow deepen in Lord Celeborn's bottomless blue eyes......
"Nay, Elrohir," I whispered, that burning feeling in my eyes once more, "I don't want to release you." He gave me a long, unfathomable look, and I felt the brush of his mind against mine like a feather. Then he smiled, the wicked light suddenly back in his eyes.
"Very well then. The next time some nice gentleman you fancy takes a fancy to you in return, you will not worry about what I might think about it! And in the event some elf-maid catches my eye, I will certainly not give your feelings any consideration whatsoever!" I laughed reluctantly, and he reached up and stroked my cheek.
"Feeling better now, Snowsteel?"
"A little. I did not want to be at odds with you as well."
"There was no danger of that. I am sorry if I frightened you." He pulled me back down upon the bed suddenly, and gave me a roguish look. "You must tell me of your evening--it sounds most exciting! Was the Prince very romantic? How did he ask you? Was he very woeful when you refused him?" Taken aback, I was staring at him, trying to fathom this sudden change of mood, wondering where I wanted to begin and indeed how much I wanted to tell him at all, when a knock at the door announced the arrival of our breakfast and my salvation--or so I thought. He leapt up and went to the door, murmuring thanks and compliments to Felith or whoever had brought the food, then closed the door, and carried it back to the small table.
Lifting the silver lid that covered it, he surveyed the contents with satisfaction. "Excellent! They brought enough for the two of us, even though I am quite faint with hunger from all my travels, and you have the appetite of a hobbit! Come see, and take a plate, Snowsteel! No leafcakes, unfortunately, but eggs and melon and toast and bacon and cherries and milk and cream and honey and jam...." I had just started to get out of bed and come over when I caught a glimpse from his now unshielded mind of a very wicked plan involving me and the condiments. Yelping, I dived back under the covers.
Breakfast was a very long meal, interrupted rather stickily several times, and concluded only when Felith came in, took one look at the aftermath of things, blushed to the roots of her greying hair, then chivvied the two of us into hot baths and then clean clothes. Finally, she chased us out into the light of day, grumbling all the while-- "How I am to make order out of all this mess, I'm sure I don't know and why they call them the Elder race I don't know either; a big bunch of messy children they seem to me!" Elrohir plied her with his doleful, pitiful eyes, and some rather florid compliments, but found her unmoved for once.
"You are a bad influence upon the young lady, milord, and that's a fact! And you old enough to know better!" I flopped into a chair and howled till tears leaked from my eyes when she made that declaration, to Elrohir's great disgust. Our mess was truly impressive, and Felith thoroughly provoked, so provoked that I thought at one point she was actually going to swat Elrohir with her broom, so it was just as well we escaped when we did.
We came out into the bright, hot sunlight to find that it was a little before noon. Elrohir proposed a shopping trip with perhaps some lunch later. He had, he said, a present to look for.
"The Prince told me where I might find what I desired in Minas Tirith, though he says that the one he has that I admired was done by an artist in Dol Amroth. I will go there if I must."
"What is it that you want?"
"Do you remember the little painting of his wife that we found in his things when we were traveling to Lorien?" I nodded. "I thought that I might find someone to do a similar portrait of myself and Elladan and Arwen. Father could take it to Mother when he leaves."
"That is a lovely idea!"
"I rather thought so."
"Would you want a little picture like the Prince's, or something bigger?"
"That I have not decided yet. And I will probably look at several artists' work before I settle upon one."
"Are there several artists in Minas Tirith? I would think they might not have returned yet."
"The Prince seems to think it will not be a problem. He said to go look upon Artisan's Street."
"That's down on the fourth circle, tucked away towards the back of the mountain."
"Then I will rely upon you to guide me, oh knowledgeable one." We strode out briskly, despite the heat of the day--of course we were going downhill, which made matters easier.. Chatting about things that caught our eyes in the bustle of the burgeoning new life of the City passed the time pleasantly enough until we could reach Artisan's Street. It was, as I had said, close to the shoulder of Mindoullin, and far from the bustle of the main road. Only the occasional sound of a hammer or saw and the chirp of birds in some of the few old trees that lined the way disturbed the quiet. Drop-down counters at the fronts of the shops displayed some of the artisans' works in the bright sunlight. There were not only painters and limners, but fine cabinet-makers and a musical instrument-maker, a tapestry weaver and one whitesmith.
Elrohir tarried at the instrument-maker's for a time, admiring his work. One harp in particular caught his eye, a lap harp with what seemed to me over many silver strings for its small size. They were strung crosswise down it on both sides, and for the life of me, I didn't see how anyone could play the thing, but Elrohir's eyes lit from within when he saw it. The pillar and arch and body of it were of an utterly black wood that the maker said was not dyed, but actually its natural color, and had been imported from south of Harad in his father's time, and the soundboard was of some silvery, almost white wood whose name I did not recognize, but Elrohir nodded and said was native to Arnor. The black wood was inlaid with silver tracery and leaves and stars of the white wood, while the soundboard was in turn inlaid with the same design in silver and the black wood. The string shoes and tuning pegs were etched silver, and the pegs looked like Mumak ivory. Even my ignorant self could sense the craftsmanship that had gone into it.
"A cross-strung harp," Elrohir commented. "I did not think that the Men of the South still had such things."
"My father started studying old texts and drawings of them in while he was alive, my lord, and left his notes to me upon his passing," the harp-maker replied, coming out of his shop in response to Elrohir's interest. "I have been working upon re-creating one since that time. This is but a small one--I have a larger one in progress now. 'Tis said they had them in Numenor." Elrohir nodded, and took it gently up.
"May I?" he asked, and the man nodded, and handed him the tuning key. Despite the daunting number of strings, it had been put in tune, and required only a few small adjustments before it was ready to play.
Once before, I had heard Elrohir make magic on a simple harp of the Rohirrim. I was expecting something lovely to occur. That being so, I was still awed and astonished at what he could create with a harp that was worthy of his skill. Hopping up onto a low wall that bounded the shop, he cradled the harp against himself, and his gifted fingers began to coax the sounds of rain and falling water and wind and joy and sorrow from it.
From all over the street, people began to leave their shops and come towards us, irresistibly drawn by the music. The instrument maker watched joyfully as he experienced what his creation could do in the hands of a master. Elrohir, his cheek resting against the top of the harp, was smiling in a way I'd rarely seen, a gentle smile of purest pleasure and enjoyment, his eyes rapt and distant.
His impromptu audience applauded when he finished his first song, if song it could have been said to be--more of a musical ramble it had seemed to me, though executed with flawless grace. He looked up in surprise, as if he had been far away indeed, then grinned and launched into a rippling, sprightly tune. That song was followed by several others, till he regretfully told the crowd that he had to go, and handed the instrument back to its maker. The instrument-maker thanked him in a most heartfelt manner for the demonstration.
"I have barely enough skill with a harp to test my instruments' range and voice," he said, "and I was beginning to despair of finding anyone who truly knew how to play one of these. How did you find her, my lord?"
"Well-wrought and true, with a sweet tone," came Elrohir's considered answer. "The strings are set close together, but that would be appropriate for a lady's harp--or an Elf's. And her voice will only improve with time, I think." He smiled. "Perhaps I will see your larger harp one day, when I visit the City again."
"You would be most welcome at any time, my lord," the man declared, and we took our leave of him.
"That was lovely," I told him, as we strolled down the street, pausing to look at the wares of the first painter's stall we encountered. His fingers twitched reflexively.
"It has been long since I had the leisure to truly make music. I miss it."
"Well I am glad I didn't miss that!"
Elrohir's smile held nothing of its usual mockery as he twined his fingers in mine for a moment. At a second stall, he went within the shop itself to speak to the artist, apparently taken with his work. I paused at the entrance.
"If you are going to be here a while, I think I will look about for a bit," I told him. He nodded, and I promptly made my way back to the instrument maker.
"How much?" I asked without preamble, indicating the black harp, and without hesitation, he named a price that was twice my remaining back pay, and a little over. I had expected it to be expensive, but had not enough previous experience in pricing things other than arms and the weapons of war to know how it would be valued. The ability to make such fine music was apparently worth eight to nine years of mortal peril for a common man. Recalculating the cost of all of the little bits of finery my liege-lord habitually traveled with in the light of this new knowledge, I began to finally comprehend the full extent of his wealth. Imrahil's silver-mounted bridle alone would have probably fed a large, poor family for a couple of years. To him, this would have been almost a bauble, a purchase he could have made upon impulse. For me--it was out of my reach, unless I could find some way to come up with the rest of the money.
For the first time in my life, I felt the lack of coin, for I had never truly hungered or even wanted for much. I had always had shelter and food and clothing-- and even access to horses and books from time to time. I had naught to complain of, and knew myself to be fortunate. But I still wanted that harp, for it was the first thing made by mortals that I had ever seen Elrohir approve of; indeed, the first such thing I'd ever seen him express an interest in at all. It was something I could give him in return for my life, the marvelous black Elven bow, the pleasure we'd shared and all the rest of it.
"Master..."
"...Taloreth," he supplied for me kindly, watching as I stroked the arch of the harp with a careful finger.
"Master Taloreth. Is there any way you could hold this harp for a couple of days? So that I may find sufficient funds to meet your price? I would be willing to pay something for the privilege."
He smiled. "That will not be necessary, my lady. I would be glad to hold it for a couple of days. Though I will warn you, playing one of these will be difficult if you have little experience with a single-strung harp."
"Oh, it's not for me!" I hastened to assure him. "I have no skill in music at all! I wish to surprise my friend."
"Such a fine musician has no instrument of his own?"
"Not here, not to my knowledge. I am sure he has one at his home in the North. But he is the Queen's brother, and will visit often. I would like to get him a harp to keep here."
"I see," he said, and stifled a smile. A brief impression of how Elrohir and I must look as a couple flashed through my mind--plain, mannish girl and incredibly handsome elf. I wondered if the instrument-maker thought I sought to buy Elrohir's favor or keep it with a rich gift. In the end, I truly did not care what he thought, so long as I could find a way to buy the harp from him.
Thanking him for his consideration, I went back up the street to find that Elrohir had moved on to a third painter. It was not long before he had studied the man's works and concluded his business to his satisfaction. Taking me by the arm, he led me back onto the street.
"The third fellow might suit me very well," he said. "I shall have to come down here with Elladan and have him sketch the two of us. If I like what I see, I'll get Arwen to come as well. Are you hungry yet?"
"Not very, we ate breakfast so late. But I will not say nay to lunch." He did not make any comment about that for a change, apparently still mellow from his music-making, but merely smiled and steered me back up to the third circle, where we found a very nice inn that served a much nicer lunch than what could be had at the Red Dog. Once we had ordered our food, and had been served, there was little conversation for a time. I finished first, then watched him for a while, as he consumed a plate of fruit salad with great enthusiasm. When he paused to draw breath, I asked him something that I had long been curious about.
"Why don't you like Faramir, Elrohir? I don't know of anything he has done to you, but I have never seen the two of you together when you are not almost at each other's throats."
His eyebrow flicked up in surprise. "What brought this on? The quarrel?"
"That is part of it, but it's something that I have been wanting to know for a while now."
Elrohir did not answer me immediately, but he had a thoughtful look upon his face that told me he was considering the matter, so I did not press him. Some moments later, he cleared his throat and dabbed at his lips with a napkin.
"You should know that I do think that the Steward is a good man at heart. And a valorous one. I suppose that my main objection is that he is not totally honest with himself." At my quizzical look, he folded his hands upon the table, and explained.
"He is possessive of you, and will not admit it to himself."
"I told him when we quarreled that he thought he owned me."
"And you told him the truth, I deem. He is attracted to you as well, and will not admit that either."
"He loves Eowyn. He does not look at me in that way."
"He worships Eowyn. But he has been tempted by you." I was startled by the matter-of-fact firmness of this statement. "And because he cannot admit that to himself, he attributed his lecherous thoughts to you, and accused you of seducing his uncle."
"That may be true, but it does not explain why you have always been so evil to him."
Elrohir sighed. "I suppose that most recently and in our earlier quarrels as well, I was simply trying to provoke him because I was irked at him for his treatment of you. I can say is that no matter how good a man the Steward is, the war and his father's treatment of him have left him deeply scarred. You have come through so much that should have scarred you as well, Snowsteel. You fought your way clear of it, have healed yourself and have earned the right to live the rest of your life in contentment with a husband who is your equal. Had Faramir returned your love as you wished, you would have spent the rest of your life caring for him, trying to heal what had been done to him. And I did not want that for you."
Frowning, I asked, "Having saved my life, are you not being possessive yourself in your ongoing desire to arrange my life as you see fit?"
"But I have not arranged it," Elrohir demurred. "I have never interfered between you and Faramir--if he does not return your love, it is not my doing. I am merely saying that I do not feel he would have been a good husband for you."
"And who would you approve of, my lord matchmaker? The Prince?" I took a deep draught of ale from the tankard I'd been sipping through lunch. The corner of Elrohir's mouth curled up.
"Whyever should I approve of the Prince? He has only ever thought of your well-being before his own, including being willing to endure a most horrendous and agonizing death simply so you would know that we had tried all we could to save him. Do you not remember the sparring match with Eowyn, where he made sure that you would have your chance to shine? He sent you into harm at Min-rimmon, 'tis true, but that was all unwitting on his part, and he had created the errand to give you some relief and comfort at a difficult time. And he has never accused you of or thought you capable of any base action. Having declared his love, and been refused, do you see Imrahil anywhere near you, troubling your peace? You will not, I wager, despite the fact that he must sorely desire to be with you. And there is much that he could teach you. I do not say that you should wed him, Snowsteel, but I do say that you should wed the man you can love who treats you as he does." He popped a last piece of melon delicately into his mouth and consumed it while I pondered his words.
"You make a valid point there."
"Of course I do. I am far older than thou, my sweet, and wise with it." I snorted, and he rose, grinning, setting his napkin aside and offering me a hand up. He paid the bill for our meal, and we exited forth into the City once more. Unfortunately, his mood had turned both mercurial and whimsical, and he harassed me all the long way back up to the Citadel by suggesting to me potential husbands of the most ridiculous sort, and the advantages and disadvantages each offered--Lorend, Lord Hurin (a happily married man already), the Haradrim ambassador, Lord Erestor, Gandalf, Haldir, and the four hobbits were among his candidates. His assessments were truly hilarious, and I did not know if I would ever be able to face any of the prospective grooms with a straight face again.
I was still laughing as he returned me to my chamber door, then bowed over my hand, saying he had promised to attend upon Arwen that day and had not done so yet. He vowed to return to me after supper, we kissed, and he departed. Entering the room, I found that Felith had worked wonders in my absence, and that things were as cleanly and beautiful as ever. What looked to be a letter lay upon my table, and I went over and picked it up. Letter or note it was indeed, sealed with the seal of the Steward of Gondor. Wondering if it were not some order for my arrest, or a missive eloquently expressing Faramir's further ire, I opened it a bit shakily, my heart plummeting into my stomach. There were few words, and they were to the point.
To the lady Hethlin my greetings—
Misfortune loves a quarrel between friends, my uncle reminds me. We quarreled once before battle and only by chance did we make our peace ere we both fell beneath the Shadow. And since – despite our words last night – I would still call you 'friend', I would not tempt fate a second time, Hethlin.
Shall we meet, my lady, and make our peace again?
Faramir of Ithilien
"Snowsteel had too good a time yestereve, from the look of things," purred a familiar voice. I sat up beneath the hand, blinking blearily. Elrohir was perched on one hip upon my bed, looking much too lively, and disgustingly fresh as a daisy in a clean shirt and breeches.
"When did you get back?" I inquired a bit grumpily, "and how long have you been here?"
"I came with the dawn!" he declared dramatically. "But I took the time to wash the dust of the road off, and then I watched you sleep for a while."
"You watched me sleep? Whatever for?"
"You were making the most interesting noises--not snoring, exactly. More like snuffling."
"I do not snuffle!"
"Perhaps not in the normal course of events, but after a night of dancing and drinking you do. That magnificent nose of yours is apparently capable of a wide variety of sounds." Refusing to dignify his assertion with a spoken response, I merely glared indignantly at him. Elrohir grinned his rakish grin in answer to my look, then to my surprise, grew serious.
"There is much unrest in your mind, Snowsteel--what has happened?"
"What--you didn't simply look for yourself?" He shrugged.
"Of late, I have been endeavoring not to be so high-handed where you are concerned. Had you not noticed?" Not wanting to discourage such tendencies, I hastened to reply.
"I had noticed your recent restraint, and I do appreciate it. How was your time in Ithilien?" He actually rolled his eyes, something I didn't remember having seen him do before. It looked odd in an Elvish face, and I suspected that it might be something full-blooded elves didn't do at all.
"It went well enough. We helped the Rangers find their orcs. I grew weary of the hunt after that, and started back on my own. The others are there still. Legolas seemed set on speaking to every tree in Ithilien, trying to find just the right place for his folk to settle."
"Did he have any luck?"
"He had already found a couple of places he fancied when I left. He is very taken with Ithilien."
"He doesn't really talk to trees, does he?" I asked curiously, and got an incredulous look in return.
"YOU find that hard to believe for some reason, oh speaker to giant feather-dusters?" I had to admit he had a point.
"Would you like some breakfast?" I asked, finally remembering my manners. Instead of answering, he uncoiled from the bed and went to the bell pull.
"Indeed I would. Since Felith finds me comely, I shall ask for us both--we will get more food more swiftly that way. Perhaps even leaf-cakes, if they are available."
"Someone has a good opinion of himself this morning," I noted, taking the opportunity to get out of the bed and retreat to the bathroom for a few moments. Morning necessities completed, a liberal application of cold water and woodsy scented soap to face and hands served both to wake and refresh me, and I went back out to fetch my robe from the bed and tie it about me.
"And someone else is in a very bad mood," Elrohir noted, gliding over and taking me into his arms. "I repeat my earlier question--what happened last night?" He pressed his forehead against mine, while endeavoring to look meaningfully into my eyes. The end result was that we both went almost cross-eyed, hardly the most romantic of visions. I had to laugh despite my aching head. He smiled at me, tipped his head to the side a bit and pressed his lips gently against mine. I melted against him and closed my eyes. Whether out of consideration for my headache, or some other reason, his kiss was an undemanding one, his lips cooler than the Prince's had been last night, and softer as well. It went on for a long time, and ended on a sigh.
"The Prince kissed you last night." It was not a question, and though I started and looked at him in trepidation, his voice was utterly calm.
"Aye." My reply was a whisper.
A silky black brow arched in inquiry. "And you found it pleasant?"
"Aye," I whispered once more, feeling the basest wretch in the world. Long-fingered hands slid up my shoulders to cup my face gently.
"Hethlin. It is well. I am not wroth with you. Did you think I would be--was that why you were upset? Or did something else happen?"
"Aye. I mean nay! I mean--I did not know if you would be angry or not. But that is not all that happened. The Prince kissed me, then after he left the wedding, Faramir took me to task about it, saying that I must have seduced his uncle." I felt Elrohir stiffen for a moment, a flash of silver flame in his eyes. Then, with an effort even my poor mortal eyes could see, he relaxed. "So we quarreled. Oh, I was the most horrible person, Elrohir--I called Eowyn a deserter bride, and told Faramir that he was just like his father!"
Elrohir did not seem to find this quite as devastating a development as I did--his effort to repress a smile lacked convincing sincerity. "You could not have been as horrible as all that!" came his reply after a long moment's pause. I frowned at him.
"I am serious, Elrohir! We are not even friends any longer! I feel terrible about the whole thing!" Pulling free of his grasp, I moved over to one of the chairs, flopping down in it. He arched his eyebrows and whistled, low and melodious.
"That must have been quite a kiss, and quite a quarrel! I see now why you are so distraught." He was about to follow me over, and seat himself in the other chair, when a knock at the door announced Felith's arrival. Excusing himself, he went to flirt with the maid and order our breakfasts while I glumly contemplated the previous night's events once more.
"And that is still not all that happened," I continued when he returned and seated himself. "I came back here, and tried to sleep, but I could not. Then Prince Imrahil showed up and said he couldn't sleep either, and that he wanted to talk to me. So I told him about the quarrel, and he told me that he had kissed me because he loved me, and he wanted me to marry him." Elrohir grew very still once more, and I felt a surge of something through our link, something I couldn't define because he blocked it so swiftly and with such thoroughness that a pang of pain shot through my already aching head. I cried out, and he gave me a contrite smile.
"I apologize, Snowsteel--I am not usually so clumsy. Here, let me see if I can ease you." Getting up, he moved around to the back of my chair and laid his fingertips upon my temples, commencing a massage that began to send a warm tingle through my skull. I sighed in relief as the headache began to retreat
"Imrahil asked you to marry him?" Elrohir inquired quietly, as he continued his ministrations. "That is not entirely surprising--I told you he was attracted to you some time back when we were on our way to Lorien." I made a careful little nod, loathe hurt my head further or to dislodge his soothing fingers.
"I remember."
"What answer did you give him?" His tone of voice was politely curious, so I responded without hesitation.
"I told him no."
There was a moment's pause before he answered. "Why, if I may be so bold? He is the biggest marriage prize in all of Gondor. And a good man as well."
"I am not interested in prizes, or riches. I really don't want to be a princess. He reminds me of Faramir, and I wish to be certain that my attraction to him is not because of that resemblance."
"The Prince is nothing like Faramir!" Elrohir asserted vehemently. Frowning, I moved from between his hands, and turned to face him.
"Please don't start in on Faramir again, Elrohir! You've made it perfectly clear to me any number of times that you do not like him.! And the Prince does remind me of him--their smiles are the same, they tilt their heads to the side in exactly the same manner, they even sound somewhat alike! The Prince deserves more than a wife who married him because he reminds her of someone else!" Elrohir slid back over towards his chair, draping himself over it bonelessly, and waved a slender hand.
"He might settle for that at first, Snowsteel, figuring that he would be able to convince you to love him upon his own merits once you were wed. From what I understand of mortal marriage, and I have seen a few in my time, it is more than many couples start with."
"We are not going to be wed, so the opportunity for him to convince me will not arise."
"But you are drawn to him. You admitted as much to me."
"Aye, that I am."
"Then how do you know you cannot love him if you will not associate with him?"
"Associating with him is one thing, marrying him is quite another!"
"Will you go North then, and forego the training at Dol Amroth? Go home with your grandfather?"
"I don't know! That's another reason I gave him, that I just didn't know what I was going to do--about Dol Amroth, or the North--"
"--or me?" he interjected quietly.
"Or you," I agreed. "I did mention you." Elrohir was on his feet of a sudden, without my clear recollection of how he had gotten there, and moved towards the balcony doors, which were open as usual. He paused between them, limned in the morning light, his back to me, his hands clasped behind it, his head lifted as if to scent the morning breeze. Locks of his night-black hair stirred fitfully in the moving air.
"Snowsteel," he said, somber as I'd ever heard him, "It seems that it is time we had a talk."
I advanced towards him till I stood but a couple of paces behind him, a cold chill settling over me. "A talk about what?"
He turned to face me, and his face was not the young, uncertain face he had shown me upon Cerin Amroth, but the face of a being who was every bit of three thousand years old.
"Do you still hold to our agreement? That we are friends who share hearts-ease with each other, and that we are free to seek attachments elsewhere?"
"Aye..." I said slowly. "Why do you ask?"
"Because if that is indeed the case, I would prefer that you not use me as an excuse to avoid relationships with other men." I stared at him, my eyes stinging, and felt the room tip a bit unsteadily under my feet.
"I am sorry, Elrohir, I did not mean to offend you, or to imply to the Prince that things between us were anything more than what we had agreed to." My face felt as stiff and frozen as my voice, and I staggered a step backwards, towards the bed. He moved swiftly forward, and steadied me with a firm hand under the elbow.
"Be at peace! You misunderstand me. No offense was taken." The next thing I knew he had seized both of my elbows and lifted me up to sit upon the edge of the high bed. It was a task that seemed to cost him little effort despite my size, reminding me once more of how strong he really was. He then followed me up with a lithe hop. His hands folded about mine, which was comforting, for mine felt cold of a sudden, and he gazed into my eyes gravely.
"I am simply saying that you must understand how things are. There is information you do not have, that you need to know. What did you think would happen, were you to come North?"
Still frightened, I tried to choose my words carefully. "You had said once....right before the wedding, that you wanted me to. Grandfather did too. I thought I would stay either with you or with him, that we could go out Rangering together. You said that you and Elladan rode often with the Dunedain."
He nodded. "We did, and we will. And such a prospect seems pleasant enough to me, save for one thing." At my quizzical look, he continued. "You are the head of your House, Hethlin, by your own decree. Having gone through so much trouble to establish that, will you let it die in the end? The Eagles expect you to 'nest'; the sooner, the better, as far as they are concerned. And any nest you make with me will be an empty one."
Baffled, I said, "But your father told me, when he agreed to heal me, that one of the reasons he did it was so that you would not be childless."
"Were those his exact words?" At his prompting, I tried to recollect the conversation as best I could.
"He said something about if you cleaved unto me, he did not want you to be childless. That's as close as I remember."
Elrohir nodded. "I thought as much. What he meant was that if I decided to go back on my oath to him, and choose mortality to be with you, then we would be able to have children." Realization dawned upon me, and he nodded once more.
"That is correct. If we were to conceive a child together, we would be wed by Elven standards, and I would have made my choice. So you see, unless you wish to release me from my promise to you, you will have to wed another, mortal man one day to fulfill your obligations to your House, and to the Eagles." His silver eyes bored into mine, but I could still read nothing from him--he had been walling away his mind from mine throughout the entire discussion. "Were you wanting to release me from my promise, Hethlin?" he asked after a moment in the gentlest of voices.
I looked at him, so beautiful and fey, and thought about the wonders I'd seen in Lothlorien. I remembered what Elrohir had said about his father leaving, and what the King had told me about all the elves going over the Sea, and how sad I had felt when he told me that, the sense of losing something irreplaceable and wondrous that had come over me. I could not bear to be a part of the destruction of something so marvelous, to have to watch Elladan watch both his brother and his sister age and die, to see the sorrow deepen in Lord Celeborn's bottomless blue eyes......
"Nay, Elrohir," I whispered, that burning feeling in my eyes once more, "I don't want to release you." He gave me a long, unfathomable look, and I felt the brush of his mind against mine like a feather. Then he smiled, the wicked light suddenly back in his eyes.
"Very well then. The next time some nice gentleman you fancy takes a fancy to you in return, you will not worry about what I might think about it! And in the event some elf-maid catches my eye, I will certainly not give your feelings any consideration whatsoever!" I laughed reluctantly, and he reached up and stroked my cheek.
"Feeling better now, Snowsteel?"
"A little. I did not want to be at odds with you as well."
"There was no danger of that. I am sorry if I frightened you." He pulled me back down upon the bed suddenly, and gave me a roguish look. "You must tell me of your evening--it sounds most exciting! Was the Prince very romantic? How did he ask you? Was he very woeful when you refused him?" Taken aback, I was staring at him, trying to fathom this sudden change of mood, wondering where I wanted to begin and indeed how much I wanted to tell him at all, when a knock at the door announced the arrival of our breakfast and my salvation--or so I thought. He leapt up and went to the door, murmuring thanks and compliments to Felith or whoever had brought the food, then closed the door, and carried it back to the small table.
Lifting the silver lid that covered it, he surveyed the contents with satisfaction. "Excellent! They brought enough for the two of us, even though I am quite faint with hunger from all my travels, and you have the appetite of a hobbit! Come see, and take a plate, Snowsteel! No leafcakes, unfortunately, but eggs and melon and toast and bacon and cherries and milk and cream and honey and jam...." I had just started to get out of bed and come over when I caught a glimpse from his now unshielded mind of a very wicked plan involving me and the condiments. Yelping, I dived back under the covers.
Breakfast was a very long meal, interrupted rather stickily several times, and concluded only when Felith came in, took one look at the aftermath of things, blushed to the roots of her greying hair, then chivvied the two of us into hot baths and then clean clothes. Finally, she chased us out into the light of day, grumbling all the while-- "How I am to make order out of all this mess, I'm sure I don't know and why they call them the Elder race I don't know either; a big bunch of messy children they seem to me!" Elrohir plied her with his doleful, pitiful eyes, and some rather florid compliments, but found her unmoved for once.
"You are a bad influence upon the young lady, milord, and that's a fact! And you old enough to know better!" I flopped into a chair and howled till tears leaked from my eyes when she made that declaration, to Elrohir's great disgust. Our mess was truly impressive, and Felith thoroughly provoked, so provoked that I thought at one point she was actually going to swat Elrohir with her broom, so it was just as well we escaped when we did.
We came out into the bright, hot sunlight to find that it was a little before noon. Elrohir proposed a shopping trip with perhaps some lunch later. He had, he said, a present to look for.
"The Prince told me where I might find what I desired in Minas Tirith, though he says that the one he has that I admired was done by an artist in Dol Amroth. I will go there if I must."
"What is it that you want?"
"Do you remember the little painting of his wife that we found in his things when we were traveling to Lorien?" I nodded. "I thought that I might find someone to do a similar portrait of myself and Elladan and Arwen. Father could take it to Mother when he leaves."
"That is a lovely idea!"
"I rather thought so."
"Would you want a little picture like the Prince's, or something bigger?"
"That I have not decided yet. And I will probably look at several artists' work before I settle upon one."
"Are there several artists in Minas Tirith? I would think they might not have returned yet."
"The Prince seems to think it will not be a problem. He said to go look upon Artisan's Street."
"That's down on the fourth circle, tucked away towards the back of the mountain."
"Then I will rely upon you to guide me, oh knowledgeable one." We strode out briskly, despite the heat of the day--of course we were going downhill, which made matters easier.. Chatting about things that caught our eyes in the bustle of the burgeoning new life of the City passed the time pleasantly enough until we could reach Artisan's Street. It was, as I had said, close to the shoulder of Mindoullin, and far from the bustle of the main road. Only the occasional sound of a hammer or saw and the chirp of birds in some of the few old trees that lined the way disturbed the quiet. Drop-down counters at the fronts of the shops displayed some of the artisans' works in the bright sunlight. There were not only painters and limners, but fine cabinet-makers and a musical instrument-maker, a tapestry weaver and one whitesmith.
Elrohir tarried at the instrument-maker's for a time, admiring his work. One harp in particular caught his eye, a lap harp with what seemed to me over many silver strings for its small size. They were strung crosswise down it on both sides, and for the life of me, I didn't see how anyone could play the thing, but Elrohir's eyes lit from within when he saw it. The pillar and arch and body of it were of an utterly black wood that the maker said was not dyed, but actually its natural color, and had been imported from south of Harad in his father's time, and the soundboard was of some silvery, almost white wood whose name I did not recognize, but Elrohir nodded and said was native to Arnor. The black wood was inlaid with silver tracery and leaves and stars of the white wood, while the soundboard was in turn inlaid with the same design in silver and the black wood. The string shoes and tuning pegs were etched silver, and the pegs looked like Mumak ivory. Even my ignorant self could sense the craftsmanship that had gone into it.
"A cross-strung harp," Elrohir commented. "I did not think that the Men of the South still had such things."
"My father started studying old texts and drawings of them in while he was alive, my lord, and left his notes to me upon his passing," the harp-maker replied, coming out of his shop in response to Elrohir's interest. "I have been working upon re-creating one since that time. This is but a small one--I have a larger one in progress now. 'Tis said they had them in Numenor." Elrohir nodded, and took it gently up.
"May I?" he asked, and the man nodded, and handed him the tuning key. Despite the daunting number of strings, it had been put in tune, and required only a few small adjustments before it was ready to play.
Once before, I had heard Elrohir make magic on a simple harp of the Rohirrim. I was expecting something lovely to occur. That being so, I was still awed and astonished at what he could create with a harp that was worthy of his skill. Hopping up onto a low wall that bounded the shop, he cradled the harp against himself, and his gifted fingers began to coax the sounds of rain and falling water and wind and joy and sorrow from it.
From all over the street, people began to leave their shops and come towards us, irresistibly drawn by the music. The instrument maker watched joyfully as he experienced what his creation could do in the hands of a master. Elrohir, his cheek resting against the top of the harp, was smiling in a way I'd rarely seen, a gentle smile of purest pleasure and enjoyment, his eyes rapt and distant.
His impromptu audience applauded when he finished his first song, if song it could have been said to be--more of a musical ramble it had seemed to me, though executed with flawless grace. He looked up in surprise, as if he had been far away indeed, then grinned and launched into a rippling, sprightly tune. That song was followed by several others, till he regretfully told the crowd that he had to go, and handed the instrument back to its maker. The instrument-maker thanked him in a most heartfelt manner for the demonstration.
"I have barely enough skill with a harp to test my instruments' range and voice," he said, "and I was beginning to despair of finding anyone who truly knew how to play one of these. How did you find her, my lord?"
"Well-wrought and true, with a sweet tone," came Elrohir's considered answer. "The strings are set close together, but that would be appropriate for a lady's harp--or an Elf's. And her voice will only improve with time, I think." He smiled. "Perhaps I will see your larger harp one day, when I visit the City again."
"You would be most welcome at any time, my lord," the man declared, and we took our leave of him.
"That was lovely," I told him, as we strolled down the street, pausing to look at the wares of the first painter's stall we encountered. His fingers twitched reflexively.
"It has been long since I had the leisure to truly make music. I miss it."
"Well I am glad I didn't miss that!"
Elrohir's smile held nothing of its usual mockery as he twined his fingers in mine for a moment. At a second stall, he went within the shop itself to speak to the artist, apparently taken with his work. I paused at the entrance.
"If you are going to be here a while, I think I will look about for a bit," I told him. He nodded, and I promptly made my way back to the instrument maker.
"How much?" I asked without preamble, indicating the black harp, and without hesitation, he named a price that was twice my remaining back pay, and a little over. I had expected it to be expensive, but had not enough previous experience in pricing things other than arms and the weapons of war to know how it would be valued. The ability to make such fine music was apparently worth eight to nine years of mortal peril for a common man. Recalculating the cost of all of the little bits of finery my liege-lord habitually traveled with in the light of this new knowledge, I began to finally comprehend the full extent of his wealth. Imrahil's silver-mounted bridle alone would have probably fed a large, poor family for a couple of years. To him, this would have been almost a bauble, a purchase he could have made upon impulse. For me--it was out of my reach, unless I could find some way to come up with the rest of the money.
For the first time in my life, I felt the lack of coin, for I had never truly hungered or even wanted for much. I had always had shelter and food and clothing-- and even access to horses and books from time to time. I had naught to complain of, and knew myself to be fortunate. But I still wanted that harp, for it was the first thing made by mortals that I had ever seen Elrohir approve of; indeed, the first such thing I'd ever seen him express an interest in at all. It was something I could give him in return for my life, the marvelous black Elven bow, the pleasure we'd shared and all the rest of it.
"Master..."
"...Taloreth," he supplied for me kindly, watching as I stroked the arch of the harp with a careful finger.
"Master Taloreth. Is there any way you could hold this harp for a couple of days? So that I may find sufficient funds to meet your price? I would be willing to pay something for the privilege."
He smiled. "That will not be necessary, my lady. I would be glad to hold it for a couple of days. Though I will warn you, playing one of these will be difficult if you have little experience with a single-strung harp."
"Oh, it's not for me!" I hastened to assure him. "I have no skill in music at all! I wish to surprise my friend."
"Such a fine musician has no instrument of his own?"
"Not here, not to my knowledge. I am sure he has one at his home in the North. But he is the Queen's brother, and will visit often. I would like to get him a harp to keep here."
"I see," he said, and stifled a smile. A brief impression of how Elrohir and I must look as a couple flashed through my mind--plain, mannish girl and incredibly handsome elf. I wondered if the instrument-maker thought I sought to buy Elrohir's favor or keep it with a rich gift. In the end, I truly did not care what he thought, so long as I could find a way to buy the harp from him.
Thanking him for his consideration, I went back up the street to find that Elrohir had moved on to a third painter. It was not long before he had studied the man's works and concluded his business to his satisfaction. Taking me by the arm, he led me back onto the street.
"The third fellow might suit me very well," he said. "I shall have to come down here with Elladan and have him sketch the two of us. If I like what I see, I'll get Arwen to come as well. Are you hungry yet?"
"Not very, we ate breakfast so late. But I will not say nay to lunch." He did not make any comment about that for a change, apparently still mellow from his music-making, but merely smiled and steered me back up to the third circle, where we found a very nice inn that served a much nicer lunch than what could be had at the Red Dog. Once we had ordered our food, and had been served, there was little conversation for a time. I finished first, then watched him for a while, as he consumed a plate of fruit salad with great enthusiasm. When he paused to draw breath, I asked him something that I had long been curious about.
"Why don't you like Faramir, Elrohir? I don't know of anything he has done to you, but I have never seen the two of you together when you are not almost at each other's throats."
His eyebrow flicked up in surprise. "What brought this on? The quarrel?"
"That is part of it, but it's something that I have been wanting to know for a while now."
Elrohir did not answer me immediately, but he had a thoughtful look upon his face that told me he was considering the matter, so I did not press him. Some moments later, he cleared his throat and dabbed at his lips with a napkin.
"You should know that I do think that the Steward is a good man at heart. And a valorous one. I suppose that my main objection is that he is not totally honest with himself." At my quizzical look, he folded his hands upon the table, and explained.
"He is possessive of you, and will not admit it to himself."
"I told him when we quarreled that he thought he owned me."
"And you told him the truth, I deem. He is attracted to you as well, and will not admit that either."
"He loves Eowyn. He does not look at me in that way."
"He worships Eowyn. But he has been tempted by you." I was startled by the matter-of-fact firmness of this statement. "And because he cannot admit that to himself, he attributed his lecherous thoughts to you, and accused you of seducing his uncle."
"That may be true, but it does not explain why you have always been so evil to him."
Elrohir sighed. "I suppose that most recently and in our earlier quarrels as well, I was simply trying to provoke him because I was irked at him for his treatment of you. I can say is that no matter how good a man the Steward is, the war and his father's treatment of him have left him deeply scarred. You have come through so much that should have scarred you as well, Snowsteel. You fought your way clear of it, have healed yourself and have earned the right to live the rest of your life in contentment with a husband who is your equal. Had Faramir returned your love as you wished, you would have spent the rest of your life caring for him, trying to heal what had been done to him. And I did not want that for you."
Frowning, I asked, "Having saved my life, are you not being possessive yourself in your ongoing desire to arrange my life as you see fit?"
"But I have not arranged it," Elrohir demurred. "I have never interfered between you and Faramir--if he does not return your love, it is not my doing. I am merely saying that I do not feel he would have been a good husband for you."
"And who would you approve of, my lord matchmaker? The Prince?" I took a deep draught of ale from the tankard I'd been sipping through lunch. The corner of Elrohir's mouth curled up.
"Whyever should I approve of the Prince? He has only ever thought of your well-being before his own, including being willing to endure a most horrendous and agonizing death simply so you would know that we had tried all we could to save him. Do you not remember the sparring match with Eowyn, where he made sure that you would have your chance to shine? He sent you into harm at Min-rimmon, 'tis true, but that was all unwitting on his part, and he had created the errand to give you some relief and comfort at a difficult time. And he has never accused you of or thought you capable of any base action. Having declared his love, and been refused, do you see Imrahil anywhere near you, troubling your peace? You will not, I wager, despite the fact that he must sorely desire to be with you. And there is much that he could teach you. I do not say that you should wed him, Snowsteel, but I do say that you should wed the man you can love who treats you as he does." He popped a last piece of melon delicately into his mouth and consumed it while I pondered his words.
"You make a valid point there."
"Of course I do. I am far older than thou, my sweet, and wise with it." I snorted, and he rose, grinning, setting his napkin aside and offering me a hand up. He paid the bill for our meal, and we exited forth into the City once more. Unfortunately, his mood had turned both mercurial and whimsical, and he harassed me all the long way back up to the Citadel by suggesting to me potential husbands of the most ridiculous sort, and the advantages and disadvantages each offered--Lorend, Lord Hurin (a happily married man already), the Haradrim ambassador, Lord Erestor, Gandalf, Haldir, and the four hobbits were among his candidates. His assessments were truly hilarious, and I did not know if I would ever be able to face any of the prospective grooms with a straight face again.
I was still laughing as he returned me to my chamber door, then bowed over my hand, saying he had promised to attend upon Arwen that day and had not done so yet. He vowed to return to me after supper, we kissed, and he departed. Entering the room, I found that Felith had worked wonders in my absence, and that things were as cleanly and beautiful as ever. What looked to be a letter lay upon my table, and I went over and picked it up. Letter or note it was indeed, sealed with the seal of the Steward of Gondor. Wondering if it were not some order for my arrest, or a missive eloquently expressing Faramir's further ire, I opened it a bit shakily, my heart plummeting into my stomach. There were few words, and they were to the point.
To the lady Hethlin my greetings—
Misfortune loves a quarrel between friends, my uncle reminds me. We quarreled once before battle and only by chance did we make our peace ere we both fell beneath the Shadow. And since – despite our words last night – I would still call you 'friend', I would not tempt fate a second time, Hethlin.
Shall we meet, my lady, and make our peace again?
Faramir of Ithilien