* Thanks to all who reviewed, kudos, favourited and followed. I am still not worthy!
** Thanks to my beta, Frannel, for her continued patience and boundless inspiration.
*** I feel I must apologise for the cliffhanger ending in Part One. I hate cliffhangers just as much as anybody else. But, I felt I needed to let everyone know I'm still around and writing and therefore posted even though Part Two wasn't ready. So please, no pitchforks!
**** Sometimes I read reviews and wonder. Sometimes I wish I could answer or ask further questions. From here on, if anyone would like me to respond to reviews, answer questions, or allow me to ask any follow up questions in regards to their review, please use the 'Sindar Signal' - **** (four stars) after your comment, question etc and I will PM you. Thanks!
***** Once more, all Sindarin indicated by brackets.
"Can it be? Sindar's going to lose?"
Eryndes watched Sindar stumbled backwards in horror, his legs crumpling under him.
The mighty elven warrior fell to the ground.
Faron surged after him ready to finish the challenge. But his fist struck nothing.
Hitting the ground, the elf used the momentum of his fall to roll over his head to his feet in a low crouch. Faron threw another hit at him.
This time Sindar grabbed him, then spun out on his other hand to shove a bent leg into the man's stomach and threw him backwards.
Standing, Sindar rubbed his cheek and spat out a mouthful of blood.
Charming.
Swallowing one's own blood probably wasn't exactly pleasant but still, Eryndes would have to kiss that blood stained mouth if he won.
Her hands trembled in her lap. Eyeing the small tumbler of courage Foruyndes slipped her earlier, Eryndes discretely snatched it up. Another whole mouthful of brandy burned its way down her throat and warmed her belly.
But where was the courage?
There was probably enough left in the tumbler to make another full mouthful-
"Any moment now."
Just as covertly, she replaced the brandy on the table. "Any moment, what? Is Sindar losing?"
The elf did get whacked pretty good in the face. The sickness in her stomach deepened.
Being far too engrossed in watching the match, Aragorn didn't answer.
Through the first half of dinner Eryndes hadn't spoken one word to him. Eventually he grew frustrated and quietly demanded an explanation . . .
"Why did you permit it? Allowing me to be used as a . . . a prize?"
Aragorn was taken aback, "Why did you? You could've refused."
"Refuse when you of all people had not?" She turned from him and glared around them, "What a marvellous situation! As if the people haven't long thought me and my inheritance a prize to fight over. Now it is ever so simple: win a fight and earn a spot at the Masters' table, a seat to Lord Aragorn's right hand as the new head of Carthal! I always knew Faron was ambitious but I never thought-"
"Calm yourself," Aragorn hushed taking her arm and coaxing her back around to face him. "No one is going to win your hand in a fight. That I would never permit," he told her seriously before sitting back in ease, "Don't take this personally. Faron and Sindar have something of a score to settle which has nothing to do with you."
Her fury lessened enough for her vision to clear and stared at him in confusion, "Nothing to do with me? Then why-"
"Faron and Sindar don't get along, I don't think that's unknown to anyone. Faron's probably set this up just to make trouble." He laughed, "Trust me, Faron has no intentions towards you or your inheritance. And Sindar? I wasn't expecting him to step up but I'm not truly surprised. He wouldn't pass up the chance to take Faron down a few pegs."
Still mad at Aragorn but not quite as much, Eryndes went on to make a fine show of enjoying her meal. She kept polite conversation with those around her as decorum dictated. She laughed at the jokes, paid keen attention to the tales and even joined Sali and Mydedis in singing a small ditty . . .
Honestly though, she wished herself far away. Regardless of what Aragorn believed, the people of Carthal had ideas of their own. What absurd gossip would arise from Faron and Sindar's shenanigans?
Why did they have to involve her? And a kiss of all things!
Flicking her gaze from the challenge to the last mouthful of brandy, she reached for it-
"It's almost done," Aragorn finally answered, nodding towards the challengers, "Sindar's been caught off guard by Faron's ferocity. He won't take it kindly and now Faron's lost the element of surprise. Sindar will knock him down. Hard. He doesn't take injuries to his pride lightly."
"Sindar won't hurt him, will he?"
Aragorn smirked not taking his eyes from the battle, "You would rather kiss Faron?"
"I would not!"
His smirk broadened, "Then you prefer Sindar?"
"I-," a new blush heated up her cheeks in the cooling air and she hid her face by focusing on the fight once more, "Perhaps I rather kiss neither."
In the circle, Faron recovered to his feet advanced. He got in close again and struck just as hard and fast as before, yet this time Sindar blocked. Easily, even to her inept eyes. The elf's stance didn't budge, his feet didn't move. The ferocity of his regard was gone; his face now was a picture of stone cold focus.
Faron threw both fists and feet at his chest and head.
The elf blocked them all.
Eryndes knew very little about fighting, but even she could sense the change of mood. Faron's attempts to keep the fight in close were countermanded by Sindar's quicker feet; and it all seemed so effortless.
Perhaps the knock to his head shook something loose?
"That's it," Aragorn announced. "Sindar's had enough and Faron's run out of surprises. He's finished."
Eryndes opened her mouth to ask him to explain further-
In the same moment Sindar blocked a lunge from Faron, he stepped in right into him, and took hold of his wrist. Snapping it the opposite way, Sindar pushed Faron's arm behind the elbow at a sickening angle to the shoulder, and smoothly turned his hip.
Faron plummeted to the ground. Hard.
Still holding Faron's arm hard at the wrong angle, Sindar spoke words she couldn't hear.
"What did he say?"
Aragorn laughed, "Better not to know. It wasn't very polite."
Victorious, Sindar released Faron.
Faron rose to his feet speaking animatedly.
"I guess that wasn't a compliment either?" she asked.
"Faron was gloating about drawing Sindar's blood."
Yes, Sindar's bloody mouth. Eryndes' hands started to shake again. "I wish you might have taught me how to read lips. They were having quite the conversation out there before."
"When?"
"When you went to get more ale," she watched the two figures returning from the circle, "Just before they began."
"I doubt I'd have been close enough," he said, rising out of his seat, "They moved closer during the fight, when Sindar stumbled this way. Come, we must congratulate the winner and pay our due."
"Pay my due, you mean," she bit out but accepting his offered hand and rising.
"Sindar would hardly approve of me taking your place. Besides, there's a good chance he'll simply wave his prize away."
Allowing him to lead her around the table, she pressed against his side to whisper, "Why?"
"Kissing isn't fanciful like it is to men. It's an intimate act of affection for elves." He laughed in her ear, "And as far as I'm aware the two of you aren't currently courting."
"Of course not," she refuted quickly, feeling her whole body burning now.
Aragorn gave her hand a squeeze then dropped her hand. Eryndes stood back from the raised platform. She bit her lip, the eyes of hundreds of fellow Dúnedain bore into her back.
Stepping upon the platform, Aragorn addressed the crowd, "Congratulations to our last winner of the night. And well done to Faron. I'm not sure the last time anyone succeeded in spilling Sindar's blood. Sindar?"
Sindar stood to the side where his friends gathered to watch the fight, his grey eyes staring unamused at Aragorn.
Grinning in the face of Sindar's glare, Aragorn waved him towards her, "Your prize, melloneg."
Eryndes stood absolutely still but inside felt like she was dancing to a stout beat her nerves shook so bad.
Aragorn said he might turn down his prize.
Yet so far he hadn't.
Instead Sindar walked over, passing his companions who were cheering even louder than the crowd. Eryndes waited, her boots feeling too snug and rogue hairs escaped from her braids tickled her face. If only she'd thought to feign sickness earlier, she'd be spared this spectacle.
Surely it was only a simple kiss, a peck on the lips. From an elf. From an elf lord. From an elf lord who once flirted with her then pretended it never happened.
Just a kiss. She bit her lip.
Stopping in front of her, his tall frame towered over her. His mouth didn't look swollen or bloody from the challenge. But his stoic regard gave no hint to his thoughts. He didn't speak.
Then without preamble, Sindar simply reached out and took her hand.
He wasn't going to take a kiss from her?
Bowing low, he pressed his lips to her knuckles, holding for perhaps a hairsbreadth too long before straightening, "A more favourable substitute than the alternative, I hope?"
Understanding bolted through her; all embarrassment and awkwardness dissolved. Surprise and gratitude, along with quite a lot of wine and brandy swirling in her veins compelled her into ill-thought action.
Reversing the grip on his hand, words gushed from her lips, "I am sorry Master Elf, but your prize was not to be this way. Upon my word, I am bound to pay my due." Gratitude bolstering her boldness, she quickly brought his hand up before losing her nerve and pressed a kiss against his knuckles just as he'd done to her.
Around them the crowd cheered and jeered.
He smelt warm and earthy, pleasing and resoundingly masculine; so ambrosial her breath held in deep within, savouring, before righting herself with a silent prayer he wasn't offended.
Sindar was staring at her in surprise, a red tint upon his pale cheeks, his lips parted but silent. Then the silver of his blinkless eyes softened and Eryndes felt she was ice melting before a warm hearth.
Her breath caught tight in her chest.
"(I am honoured)," he whispered finally.
Quietly enough for only Sindar to hear, she tried to make him understand what he'd done for her, "Thank you. These are . . . silly games."
"Your gratitude is unnecessary," he reproached lightly, his smug arrogance returning. "No one should ever be forced to kiss Faron."
A laugh escaped her.
Sindar glanced to the side, perhaps realising the hundreds of people were waiting and inclined his head with a small smile before walking back to his friends.
"Sister, well done." Aragorn wrapped an arm around hers and guided her back to their seats, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Nay," she found herself admitting. Actually, she felt oddly . . . disappointed.
Silly games. Silly prizes. Silly old maids thinking handsome elven lords would want to kiss them.
"Eryndes!"
Gueniel waved to her from across the grass where she sat at her table. "Aragorn?"
"Go on, then," he released her arm and bade her forth, "but save the first dance?"
"Of course," she promised. At moderate pace for a lady, Eryndes made a straight line for Gueniel's table. There was so much to tell her friend.
Almost there, her step faltered. Squeezing her thumbs hard, she greeted him with all the politeness her mother ever taught her. "Good evening, Nestdôl."
The old Healing Master stood in too close to her, his wrinkled face looming over her barely contained ire, like pickled gherkin brushed with lemon juice. "What was that?"
Her thumbs throbbed, her squeeze tightening. "I beg your pardon?" she asked innocently, edging to the side for escape.
"Flirting with an elf?!" Nestdôl blocked her path, "Have you lost your mind?"
"I beg your pardon?! I did nothing of the sort!" she hissed, hoping none were close enough to hear.
"Or do you think to gain the elf's protection through," his eyes dropped lower, "payment?"
"How dare you?!" this time she barely held back a shriek, her face burning in humiliation. People around them stopped speaking and turned to look. She lowered her voice, "I am the Mistress-"
"Best you remember where the true rule of Carthal lies," Nestdôl didn't care about the carry of his voice, "Don't you dare forget."
"Aragorn is the Chieftain-"
"Aragorn's rule is fleeting and soon to return to the Wild. Whom do you think the families will follow when he does? You?" he laughed cruelly. "Best you save your flirtations for men. That is the extent of your true duty."
Suddenly she felt very cold. "You filthy bast-"
"We grow impatient," Nestdôl held a finger in her face, "make your bed soon or it will be made for you."
"Eryndes! I have been calling you!" Gueniel called loudly coming sharply to her side. She grabbed her waist and firmly pulled her along, sending the old Healing Master a scathing rebuke, "Nestdôl? I believe your mead mug is calling you."
"Watch your mouth, woman," Nestdôl spat at Gueniel but strode away.
"What did he want?" Gueniel growled lowly, guiding them through the crowds of people.
"To scare me, what else?" she whispered just as quietly, "Thank you."
"Strider needs to stick a blunt sword in Nestdôl's gullet. His and the rest of the elder Masters. They think they rule Carthal."
"They think because they do. If it weren't for Aragorn-"
"Eryndes!" Gueniel's mother cheered from the table ahead, "Come, come, we must know! What made you kiss Sindar when you needn't have? You vixen! Well done!"
"Yes!" an aunt joined in, "Come sit. We're all dying to know!"
Then half the table was pleading for her tale of bravery and bravado, making Eryndes blush and smile.
Gueniel released her and they sat down together at Gueniel's family table. Many greetings later, Eryndes gratefully took a cup of Gueniel's grandmother's sweet strawberry wine and a large cut of fruit cake. She laughed with them as she told the tale, and joined in their fervent praise of Sindar's noble sacrifice to spare her from worse embarrassment.
Aragorn was her brother, but Gueniel and her kin were family, and all the Nestdôl's nastiness was quickly forgotten.
Or perhaps only temporarily numbed.
"The time has come for music, my lord."
Hearing Geledir's announcement, Eryndes hastily put down her fork full of cake.
She knew the second piece was a bad idea. Chewing quickly, she tried to swallow. Then tried again.
It was too dense. Clearly she indeed mucked up the count.
"Have some more wine," Gueniel held up her cup.
Taking a long few gulps she drained the cup and forced it down; wine and all. Wine, brandy, then more and more wine. It wouldn't be the first time she'd danced with Aragorn more than just a tad tipsy. He of course would snigger at her, but hold her steady like a true nobleman.
From the other side of the circle at the Masters' table, Aragorn nodded at her. He called out to the crowd, "Begin the dancing." He stood and held out a hand to her, "Sister?"
Eryndes left Gueniel's table and walked quickly, if a little unsteady over to accept his hand.
But he didn't lead her back out to the grass.
Aragorn instead held her hand up high and looked down the table, "Sindar? Will you not partake of the first dance with the fairest partner?"
Eryndes' hand clenched in his. He surely did not mean her. The first dance was always with Aragorn. Always. Or when he was actually there. The years when he wasn't, she never danced the first, choosing to sit out and watch in lament of his absence.
And now he was giving her away?
Sindar looked just as surprised. Was Aragorn doing this to make a mockery of his friend?
Without having to look she could feel Nestdôl's eye from halfway down the table, tingling the hair on her arms and the back of her neck.
Eryndes shivered.
Joust jumped at Sindar's hesitation, "But Baineth's already promised the first dance to another." He winked in Eryndes' direction, "Unless you're talking about the old maid on your arm? I guess I could be persuaded into charity."
Aragorn didn't share in Joust's humour, "I was not offering to you."
Eryndes wasn't impressed either. She tried to step back, "Come, Aragorn. The dance will start without us."
Aragorn wouldn't be moved, "Sindar?"
Sindar finally looked in her direction, but didn't bother reaching her eyes when he spoke, "Best watch your feet, Eryndes. By my count Aragorn's drank enough for three men."
Aragorn gestured to him, "Then you will not save her feet?"
He looked away and answered quietly, "(I will not)."
Aragorn's hold on her hand tightened. So did his voice, "Come, Eryndes, the music awaits."
The moment her and Aragorn took their positions, his face turned hard. "Why did you do that?"
Her hand paused mid slid up upon his shoulder, "What did I do?"
"Sindar saw precisely how you felt. So did I. So did everyone. If I'd been him, I'd have been offended. I'm certain he was."
"What did I do?" she repeated desperately, her insides becoming very hollow.
"Your face. Your posture. As clear as if you shouted it." The music started and he lead her around the grass, but there was no grace, no joy, "I have asked you to befriend him-"
"Have I not done so?"
"To which I was glad. But then you snub him? In front of all who would call him friend? How can you be so cold?"
All the blood fell from her face, "No, no, Aragorn, I did mean to imply-"
"Intended or not, you clearly showed your feelings. You should have been honoured!"
Aragorn moved her about, keeping in time with the music, yet she felt so empty her feet moved on their own.
"No, I-" she gasped, guilt swallowing her whole. "No, Aragorn I just didn't think- you and I, we always dance the first. Also everyone is always watching, wondering at whom I dance with and Nestdôl-"
"What of Nestdôl?"
The seldom seen anger from Aragorn made her cower, "He thinks I-"
"I care not for what he thinks! Nor should you. You know better than to listen to him!"
Tears itched in her eyes. She swallowed and forced on her breath as her mother taught her. No lady ever cried in public. Aragorn was angry. He was disappointed his eyes could only see her slight to his friend.
"I never meant to offend him," she breathed carefully, "I have truly come to think of him as a friend. He and I, we are friendly."
Aragorn stared at her, his face showing precisely what he was thinking.
Wishing the darkness of the night take her far away, again, she whispered, "I would have liked very much to dance with Sindar, especially after the challenge. But Nestdôl-"
He hissed through his teeth, "No more of your excuses."
"Excuses?" she gasped.
"I have heard enough!" he snapped. "You know as well as I Nestdôl is a cantankerous old man. Don't use him to excuse your own actions. If you wanted to dance with him, then you should have."
They danced along in uncomfortable silence as the music filled the night.
"Well, at least there is one good hearted woman here tonight," Aragorn broke the silence, directing her gaze to the tables. Young Baineth was at the Masters' table and speaking with Sindar. After a moment he rose from his chair and held out a hand, leading her away from the table and a red-faced Joust.
"Baineth doesn't think dancing with him beneath her dignity."
Her stomach dropped and she stared agog at her brother. "I think nothing of the sort! Sindar is . . . skies above my own," she shot another poisonous glance at Baineth, "And above hers too."
Aragorn's eyebrow rose, "She doesn't seem to share your opinion."
"She is young and bold."
Aragorn was silent then pressed forward to kiss her forehead none too gently. It was not a kiss of affection but of rebuke, "You shouldn't be so concerned of what the people or men like Nestdôl think."
She bit her lip, "Why did you want me to dance with Sindar?"
He looked down in forced patience, "Do you think I want to see him alone? On a night like this?" He lifted his head to stare through his brows, "Do you want to see him the only one left at the Masters' table?"
Eryndes looked over at Sindar and Baineth dancing in perfection. The idea never occurred to her. "This was why you gave up the first dance? Our dance?"
Taking a moment, he eased her around the other dancers. "Sindar is dearer to me than any blood-brother," he explained gently. "I hoped you would encourage him to join in, to include him in revelry. I despair seeing him forlorn and left out. Surely you can understand?"
A pain shot out from the back of her throat and pleaded up at her brother. "Aragorn, I . . ."
Aragorn tapped under her chin, the corner of his mouth lifting, "I wanted you to dance with him and encouraging others to do the same. I wanted to see him enjoying himself."
Eryndes looked back to where Sindar and Baineth danced together; Baineth with a grace far surpassing any she hoped to possess. And Sindar? He looked . . . content and attentive to his partner, and his dancing was even more flawless than Baineth's.
"I would very much like to see that too," she admitted softly.
For two more dances, they moved just as they'd done all her life. The first time being when she'd stood on his feet, her arms wrapped around his midriff, face pressed into his stomach; far too embarrassed to be dancing with her brother's friend in front of everyone.
Now, he was her brother and she could not be any prouder to dance with him.
As the third dance neared the end, out the corner of her eye she saw Sindar sitting alone at the table. He didn't look miserable, but he was alone and her heart ached seeing it.
"Have you overcome your inhibition?"
She looked to her brother, "Sorry?"
He knocked his head towards the master's table.
She looked away meekly, "Nestdôl tried to scare me earlier. You were right, I should have been stronger."
Aragorn lost his smile, "What did he say?"
Eryndes flinched, "He suggested I was flirting with Sindar, to gain his favour."
Aragorn's eye twitched, his lips quirking, "You flirted with my friend?"
Blood filled her ears, "Of course not. At least in my mind I wasn't." His answering laugh made the blood pound, "Aragorn!"
"Peace," he soothed, still chuckling, "If you do decide to dabble in flirting, perhaps you might let Sindar know that is what you're doing. I'm not sure if he could recognise it."
She bit the inside of her cheek. If only Aragorn had seen just how well the elf knew of flirting the first day he rode to Carthal.
"Do you seek his attentions?"
Aragorn's cautious question shook her and took a pause before finding her voice, "He is an elf!"
"That's no answer."
A laugh slipped awkwardly from her throat, "I think I know better than to fall for an elf!" She nodded at Baineth, "Like some foolish girl with fairy-tale beliefs of impossibility."
Her brother's eyes studied her at length. "Elves and men aren't so very different."
"Except they are immortal!" This was getting more ridiculous. "Aragorn, I tell you the truth. I do not seek his attentions. Only his friendship. Nestdôl desires me to capitulate and marry a man most likely of his own particular choosing. You were right. I should have not allowed him to influence me or my treatment of our friend." She breathed in deeply and let go of Aragorn. "I will prove the lesson is learnt by doing as I should have earlier."
Determined, she gathered all the courage she could muster, walked in the direction of the Masters' table.
"Master Elf?" she gingerly called, coming alongside him.
He turned his eyes to her, his manner as coolly aloof as always. But Aragorn was right; he had every right to feel offended.
Gathering her wits she held out her hand to him with a coy smile, "Will you permit me a dance?"
His gaze didn't waver from hers, not even to acknowledge her hand, and for the briefest heartbeats she felt once more like a tethered animal before a wolf.
But he didn't make her wait any longer than a handful of beats from her racing heart. Gracefully standing, he took her hand in his; his grasp gentle, skin warm and smooth as it had been earlier and he lead her around the tables to join the other dancers.
Into position, Eryndes slid her hand up onto his shoulder, his around her back. Their palms came together, their fingers entwining between them. Then music started and Sindar lead her in step.
Moving together, being so close . . . was just too close.
He was truly beautiful.
Anyone with working eyes could see the elf was handsome. Standing so close however, space enough for only their interlocked hands between them made it much harder to ignore. Even in the late evening lit only by candle and fire, he was a bright morning sunrise over a crisp white winter's morning; hair the colour of golden sunlight, pale skin and silver eyes of snow and ice, but a rare smile to warm the world.
His features could be so profoundly arrogant, so condescending, yet also incredibly soft and gentle. His modest nose and delicate line to his lips contradicted the strong outline of his jaw, full chin and the strong dark brows. His cheeks were soft like a boy yet to achieve his first beard.
He was harmonious blend of blatant but beautiful masculinity and unspoiled youth, set upon the wisdom of ancient shoulders. Broad ancient shoulders.
And he was peering down at her, "Are you well?"
Eryndes blushed knowing she'd been staring for a good while. "I have done you an injustice," she lamented at last.
"Have you?" he asked in a low tone.
She told the truth. Or at least the truth minus Nestdôl's interference. Sindar did not need to know about that. "Before, I was unsettled and a little alarmed, I certainly didn't mean any offence."
Sindar's piercing eyes held her captive. This was part of why being around him unnerved her sometimes; his unblinking elf eyes seemed to look straight through to her soul.
"Pay no mind," he dismissed flatly.
With those words it was abundantly clear Aragorn was right; he was offended. Taking a breath, she tried even harder, "Aragorn and I always take the first dance, I mean when he is here and that is to say not very often . . . And he gave me no prior warning of his plan. I also assumed you would not care for dancing," she felt a fool and uttered quietly, "which is obviously . . . very wrong."
Sindar's cool regard didn't change, "What gave you that idea?"
"I am not sure, I-I know very little of your customs and have heard a great many tales about elven sobriety," she admitted, "and well, Aragorn, sometimes he likes to play these games, perhaps his suggestion was a mockery of you- and I didn't want to make it worse-"
The elf shook his head, "Aragorn's fondness for games and mischief notwithstanding, do not be fooled by folk tales," he warned, "Elves have appetites a plenty for happy diversions, perhaps even more so than any of the races."
"Oh?"
"A feast or party may endure for many days."
Her mouth dropped, "Days?"
"Conception days and wedding celebrations are notoriously long. And raucous."
"Conception days?" she wondered. Surely it didn't mean how it sounded?
"You celebrate the day of birth; we celebrate the day of conception."
Eryndes felt a tingle break out low in her belly. It was just as it sounded. "How could one possibly know the day-?"
"You do know little of my kind," he declared plainly.
"A good deal less than I thought."
Sindar brought them to a stop and took a look around for her to realise the music had stopped.
Their dance was over.
But she wasn't even halfway through her apology. Would it be truly greedy to ask for another dance? Surely dancing sequential dances with Sindar would cause gossip amongst folk. Yet after her words with Aragorn, Eryndes was prepared to dance every dance with him and hang the gossip; if only she would be spared seeing him sitting all alone at the Masters' table once more.
Besides, unknowingly offending or not, facing gossip was a lesser punishment. Had her mother been alive, the penance would've been much worse.
Regardless however, Sindar made no move to remove them from the dance ground.
He waited expectantly and when she did not speak he took the lead as music filled the air once more and a new dance started, "Shall we not partake of another?"
Her laugh sounded unexpectedly, and they moved in tangent to change holds for the new dance, "We are already dancing."
"I was being polite," he defended with a wry glint to his eyes before stepping beside her, taking her hands down by her waist, "Shall we stop-?"
"Nay, please do not," she gasped, looking around them. Gossip about her dancing exclusively with Sindar was one thing but she couldn't imagine what people would say if Sindar abandoned her in the middle of a dance!
His light chuckle tickled her ear before sweeping her around to loop back the way they'd come.
"Forgive me, these Dúnedain dances are not half as long as I am accustomed. I do not feel like I have sufficiently danced until a total of three have been completed."
"Three?" She thought back to when he danced with Baineth; they'd only danced one. "You do know our dances exceedingly well."
"I have many occasions to learn them."
"Is it true you spend much time in the Wild?"
"The better part of sixty years," he said with complete nonchalance.
"Oh," her eyes widened. He'd spent more time in the Wild than she'd lived.
"Seemingly so much longer," His lip twitched, "Sixty years amongst rangers can be an eternity."
She laughed again, barely able to contain herself. "Then I am surprised you are here, amongst even more rangers."
A moment passed before he answered, "There are some advantages."
Eryndes was about ask, when the music stopped again.
Sindar once more didn't move to lead her from the grass and Eryndes kept her hands upon him, a strange brazenness overcoming her in light of their shared humour. "We are upon dance number three," she stated as a slower tune whined from a fiddle.
"I realise," he held her a little closer as the dance demanded. Two steps to the side and she turned-
Whacking her arms into Sindar's chest, "Goodness. I am sorry."
He joined their hands again for another two steps, and she turned, whacking him again!
She gaped at him. She'd danced this dance all her life.
"Are you in distress?"
She blushed, "I think perhaps my grandmother's dress was a mistake."
Or she drank far too much. But then she'd danced the other dances just fine.
Sindar look perplexed, "I see no problem."
Her blush deepened. "I think it is a-a little tight. My grandmother was slenderer."
"Perhaps another should be fashioned to account for your larger shape?"
Eryndes swallowed, trying very hard not to feel insulted or resentful. Her grandmother's dress was the finest she owned, worn by three generations of Carthal Mistresses. Her grandmother's dress was all she had and darn her 'larger shape' for not fitting into it well enough.
Maidens like Baineth always fit into their dresses. Maidens like Baineth always had new gowns made every year.
Though probably it wouldn't hurt to start skipping the dessert dishes from now on. Definitely no more cake.
Turning, she whacked him again. "Forgive me!" she cried.
"It is not your dress causing the problem," Sindar laughed, "But you do not account for our differences in height."
Eryndes' gaped at him. Was that true? "But I dance with Aragorn all the time."
"And you think Aragorn and I are of equal height?" Sindar corrected her position without hesitation or annoyance, "I am taller." She turned again, and this time she didn't whack him. "See?"
"Perhaps I could tell if I came up any further than your chin," she grumbled. Eryndes was not particularly short for a Dúnedan woman, and yet always longed to have been gifted with her mother's height.
Sindar spoke gently into her thoughts, "Standing with you I feel taller than my father."
Eager to learn anything about him, she posed the question politely, "He is of a much greater height?"
Sindar answered without reservation, "My father has half a head on me."
"Oh?" her eyes went wide and searched above his head, "I can scarcely imagine one so tall."
"He is indeed very pleased with his stature," he told her seriously, "even his clothes are tailored to give the illusion of a grander height."
Eryndes laughed and they skipped along in tandem, "Why?"
"To inspire awe and forbearance in all who look upon him?"
Finishing another turn, she frowned until the telling twitch to his lips gave him away. "You are terrible! Making jest at your father!"
Sindar cocked his head, "Who says I am jesting?"
Doubt wheedled its way into her mind and she stared in astonishment-
Until he gave in with a small snort.
"Ah!" she cried, tapping his shoulder in light reproach, "Aragorn warned me about you!"
A slow smile grew on his lips, "Did he indeed? What precisely was his warning?"
"You are a great tease!"
"That is something you should be warned against?" He stopped and only when he released her did she realise another dance had ended.
"What else did he warn you about?"
Eryndes felt her heart jump directly into her mouth. "N-nothing."
One dark brow rose.
A new warmth prickled her face and down her arms, "He did warn me against serving you venison and elk or try to convince you to sing."
"And what did he say would be my response?"
She bit her lip, "Sulking. He said you sulk."
He surprised her by not blowing up or even laughing. Instead he held his smile, so perfect and vivid in the low light. "Not the most damning accusation he might have made," he all but whispered.
"Why? What else should he have said?"
"Who in this world could ever claim to be without fault?"
Captured in the drowning softness of his eyes she could not stop her confession spilling forth, "He also warned me against strict convention," she looked away, "in relation to your rank."
"I have already said as much," he reminded her without hesitation. "Twice, if you remember."
She remembered, remembered quite clearly. The first time she could barely think about without a mix of secret pleasure and embarrassment. "Perhaps the worthiest lessons are those hardest learnt," she said a little defensively.
His unblinking gaze didn't waver, "Perhaps."
The moment was broken by a tug on her dress.
Looking to her side, Eryndes found Briel holding her dress but looking at Sindar.
"Yes, Briel?" Sindar asked.
"Uh, well, would you, can I dance with you?"
"I would be pleased," Sindar looked at the girl as if she'd suggested they fly to the moon together, "But how when you are as small as you are?"
Eryndes tried to hold back her giggle. Briel was short for her age, only tall enough as Eryndes' breasts and barely came up so far as Sindar's ribs. But seeing how the girl was crushed by his words, she clamped down her amusement. "Briel, why don't you ask your father?"
That suggestion was met with silence.
"Very well," Sindar said finally, "Come. But do not give leave for any of the other children. I am not a pony."
Sindar hoisted the small girl into his arms.
Eryndes backed away with a satisfied grin, watching Briel beaming brighter than any flame in the elf's arms. Sindar was a fierce warrior, yet helpless against the charms of children.
A light glowed in her chest.
"Eryndes?" A voice came up beside her. It was Bregol. Grinning widely, he took her hand, "I thought the elf was never going to relinquish. Will you do me the honour?"
Eryndes nodded politely and took his shoulder. Immediately he led her into the steps, taking the lead more strongly.
She tried to gently correct him, pushing a little against his taught hold and ease their momentum. It was like dancing with a bull.
"Bregol," she laughed if only not to grimace, "It is not a battle. If you wish to impress your new wife one day, you must learn to guide, not force."
Bregol stopped, pouting. If she didn't know better, she'd think him never to have learnt to dance. But he had. All Carthal Dúnedain were taught as children.
"Here," she picked up his hands and replaced them in the correct position, "Remember what I taught you? Think of yourself as the mould and I the soft clay. You only need to be gently persuasive and I will follow." Eryndes smiled reassuringly, "Now, try again."
Two dances later, Eryndes limped her way to find Gueniel after excusing herself from Bregol with the reason of thirst.
Only to find him coming after her with a cup of wine. Another dance, and this time she used the excuse of a pain in her toe. Which wasn't a lie considering how many times Bregol stepped on it.
Gueniel groused, "Here he comes again. "
"Again?" she stammered, feeling a presence coming up behind her, "He only just released me."
"Not Bregol," Gueniel glowered at the newcomer.
Eryndes sighed in relief before turning smiling gratefully, "Thank goodness."
A lone dark brow rose, "Pardon?"
"She thought you were Bregol," Gueniel supplied blandly.
Sindar nodded to the side in amusement, "Aragorn saw your trial and bade me come warn you of his approach."
She followed his eyes and sure enough, Bregol was pressing his way through the crowd towards them. "Oh, heavens! Does he have someone he's trying to make jealous?"
Sindar held out a hand to her in silent offer.
Like a saviour's hand reached out to pull her from the water, Eryndes grabbed it with relief "Thank Eru for you, Master Elf! I cannot bear another dance with him or be snapped in half."
He didn't lead her on though and calmly held out the other hand to Gueniel.
Gueniel stared at his hand like it was a serpent. "What?"
"I believe it is a 'group' dance, midwife."
Gueniel sighed and took his hand, "Very well, elf. Try not to step on my toes."
"I shall endeavour to try," he scorned with a false sincerity, led them to where the other groups were gathering.
Eryndes tugged Sindar and Gueniel. "Haste!" she coaxed them eagerly, "there is room with Geledir's group."
The music started and Gueniel was the last to join hands. The beat and soar of flutes swept up into the night sky. All around them folk danced in unison, laughing, bowing, ducking, flapping arms, holding hands and charging then changing partners in ordered chaos of the dance, the 'goslings stampede'.
Nearing the end, Eryndes hooked arms with Sindar and Gueniel once more, laughing in the joy of such a ludicrous dance, her breath a little laboured and her face warm.
Everyone came to a stop with the music, clapping, laughing, and declaring the 'goslings stampede' the silliest of dances.
"Nice to see a fellow gander amongst the geese," Geledir greeted Sindar loudly, taking his hand briefly.
Sindar frowned, "Your daughter tells you have a bad knee. Yet you appear to move just fine."
Geledir, sounding more than a little inebriated, filled the grass area with his belly laugh, "My knees maybe old, but strong."
"Why would she say otherwise?"
"My good elf, kids will be kids. I apologise for her misdeed but please excuse us," Geledir quickly told him before his wife insistently pulled him out and away from the group towards the tables.
Sindar looked at Eryndes questioning.
"Children do not always tell the truth if it means getting what they want."
"I thought elves could always tell a lie?" Gueniel asked, waving air across her face with her hand.
"So did I," the elf wondered aloud.
"Perhaps your perceptions are confused by children?" Eryndes wrapped a hand around his arm, "Gueniel, I claim Sindar for the next dance. I see Amben is without a partner," she winked conspiringly at her. "He is but over there."
Sliding her hand from hers, Gueniel turned away, "No thank you. If you can bare my absence, I think I'll sit this next one out." Wiping at her brow, Gueniel moved off in the direction of her family's table.
"You are getting old," Eryndes giggled after her, but secretly glad her forehead was dry. Sindar didn't even look like he'd gained a single heartbeat. Though there was little wonder if elves could party and dance for days.
"You were teasing your friend?"
She stared up at him, "About being old?"
"Nay," he said, "concerning master Amben? Her retreat was decidedly. Courting amongst the Dúnedain is not something I am well versed-"
Eryndes grimaced and she shuffled on her feet, "Oh. Well, that is not for me to say. Please, I did not mean to make it obvious."
Sindar eyed her, "I do not think I am incorrect."
"You are correct," she confirmed reluctantly, "but please do not speak of it. It was wrong of me to have mentioned it to a public ear."
He was still not satisfied, the small creases between his brows deepening, "Why does she hide her interest? Is that not counterproductive?"
Eryndes bit her lip, cursing her far too liberal tongue. Gueniel was not going to be happy with her. "Courtships are complicated."
"Indeed?" Sindar snorted with a bemused smile. "Come."
Staring at him with loss, she frowned, "Where?"
He gestured to his arm, "I believe you engaged me for the next dance?"
Seeing her hand still wrapped around his arm, she stammered at her gall. When had they'd become so familiar? Over the span of a few dances? "I guess I did. Forgive me, I should have asked first-"
"Strider has called the last dance of the night," Geledir's loud booming voice cut in. "Remain joined partners. You are our contestants!"
Eryndes looked around them in surprise, "Oh this is terrible!"
"What is so terrible?"
"The last dance, the king's gallop. Dancers keep in step with the music which gains speed continually until all but one couple drop out."
"Yes, I am familiar with it. What is so terrible?"
She apologised up at him, "I am very ill at this."
"Nonsense, you dance well."
"Nay, at contests of physical . . . exertions."
Sindar's cagey expression broke, "I did notice. You were particularly ill at three-leggered mule."
She didn't share in his amusement, "If I had of known it was time for the last dance, you could have picked a better partner. Even Gueniel would have been an improvement."
He watched her, smirk still solid on his face where his lips barely moved and his eyes did all the smiling, "Yes, far too late now. You will have to suffice."
"Begin," Geledir called.
The music started, slow, the beat kept easy by an almost languid tap of drum and tambourine. The flutes joined in and they were off, each couple floating around the grass like leaves on a gentle river. After a twenty count, the pace increased.
Sindar was still smirking.
"Will you still be smirking when I trip and fall, needing to be picked off the ground?"
"You will not trip or fall."
"My brother said the same three years ago." The pace increased again.
An almost wicked chuckle came deep from his throat, "I am not your brother."
Her answering giggle was hardly dignified, "No, indeed."
His eyes were mesmerizing as always, "Do not think you will fall and you will not."
The pace increased. Within twenty seconds three couples dropped out.
"I do not think I can." Her silly giggle didn't stop.
Raising his chin, he looked down at her but feigned sternness was given away by the twitch in his lips, "Of course you can."
Her breath was starting to get ragged but her laugh didn't pause, "I cannot."
"Focus on me and on your feet. I will keep you balanced. Trust me."
Eryndes did as she was told, blurring out anything other than him and the movement of her own feet. They danced together to the ever increasing tempo and she only saw him.
"Perhaps you should stop laughing and save your breath."
She tried but the more she tried the worse it got. "I cannot help it."
Sindar's smirk, now long gone, was replaced by a gentle smile. But the beauty of his smile did nothing to stop her laughter, and they continued on, the pace of the music now leaving only three couples.
"One of the men tripped," Sindar commentated with a small snigger, "It is down to Camaenor, his partner and us."
"Camaenor?" she looked around-
"Focus on me!"
Almost too late Eryndes turned back to Sindar, Sindar's sure hold saving her footing with only a slight stumble.
"You do not wish to lose to Camaenor, do you?"
Her breath now gushing, her laugh nothing more than a broad grin, her brow growing hot, she set her chin up high, "Never."
The elf chuckled, his breath perfectly at ease, "I did not think him the dancing temperament."
"He is," she gasped, "a very good dancer-" barely able to breathe, "and singer."
The music was nothing but hard, rapid beating of drums and squeal of flutes.
"And he plays," she tried to continue, but now her leg muscles felt like jelly, "the lute. Master Elf-"
"Hold fast, a few moments more."
"I cannot-"
The music came to a timely stop and Sindar pulled them to a gentle halt, finishing by spinning her around to face the cheering and clapping crowd.
"There you have it," Sindar reproached teasingly by her ear, "Remarkable what you can do when you try."
Out of breath, Eryndes bashfully looked at everyone cheering her for what was likely the first time for something other than her singing. Trying desperately to catch her breath, she smiled up at Sindar, "I would have fallen had you not held me upright."
"Equally so for I could not have won without you," he led her back towards the master's table, Eryndes holding tightly to him, her jelly legs no longer trustworthy. Smiling bashfully at her friends, she discretely dabbed at her brow. The elf might have a stammer to outdo his horse, but she did not.
Aragorn, clapping along with the others, took her hand from Sindar and giving her a kiss on her cheek, "Well done, sister. You surprised us all."
"I believe the credit goes to my partner," she smiled over at Sindar.
"Clearly," Aragorn took her shoulders and steered her away from the table, "You never lasted until the last with me as your partner."
"Where are we going?"
His deep chuckle tickled against her temple, "The last dance is done. We must adjourn to the manor and allow our people to continue on without us"
Eryndes sighed, "What a pity. This has been a wonderful evening."
"And tomorrow is another day," he paused their steps, looking around. "Come, melloneg," he called to the other side of her, "I believe the women have hidden a secret stash of brandy somewhere."
Eryndes gasped.
"You didn't think I'd not noticed?" he nudged her. "You've been nipping at it all night. The time has come to confess and give up your source."
"I may have seen a few flagons . . . somewhere. But where, my lord?" she playfully nudged him back, "I will not give up my secrets. You will have to torture me."
Eventually when evening was done, Eryndes wearily trudged her way up the manor's three staircases to her bed.
Half of the dances she'd danced with Sindar, the other half with Aragorn and a few scattered others.
Nestdôl and his cronies of so called elder Masters be damned.