* Thanks to all those who reviewed, favoured, followed and kudos-ed.
** Thank you for your patience. Part 3 has been the thorn digging into my side for months. I hope it's worth all the blood, sweat and near constant sobbing.
*** As always, thank you to Fran for being my writing buddy and your honesty. Danke fur deine freundschaft.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
YES! I have fixed the formatting issue, changed some of the irritating dialogue and reloaded this chapter! Does this mean I'm back to writing. It does – after many months, work/family/life has finally settled enough for creativity to once more reign. Does this mean the next chapter is coming? It does but as everyone knows, my chapters do take a while to write. Please continue to be patient and I thank everyone for their continued support and patience.
PS (Please skip – Author's thoughts ahead):
One reader posted a review claiming this story was 'an ignorant bias against women'. I understand we each have our opinions, however as a strong believer in equality amongst all genders, orientations, and races, I was horrified, so much so that this comment has been playing in the back of my mind for almost half a year now.
A lot fanfics in this fandom would also suggest that yes, Legolas must have a warrior woman as his mate. Not just a warrior either, but also exceptionally beautiful, coming from a known bloodline and with an overabundance of confidence, yet sexually shy.
Another has suggested that there is nothing 'special' about my heroin apart from a pretty face.
My answer to all this and question to you all: How do you quantify love? Does one have to be extraordinary to be loved? And is it more about getting what we lack/need from another that makes us whole?
Dramatis Personæ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion, Sindar's horse, 6yo
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, 86 yo
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Elite Ranger Scout, 27yo
Bregol/Web - Male, Ranger, 23yo
Camaenor/Vice - Male, Master of Arms, 79yo
Cordoves/Swan – Female, Elite Ranger Scout, 63yo
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal & Apothecary, 47yo
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master & Elite Ranger Scout, 81yo
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores, 184yo
Gueniel – Female, Midwife, 61yo
Gell - Male, Commander of Rangers, 56yo
Laeron/Wren – Male, Elite Ranger Scout, 17yo
Lobordir/Joust – Male, Master of Stables & Elite Ranger Scout, 59yo
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping, 175yo
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen, 193yo
Sindar/Master Elf /Legolas – Sinda Male, Prince of the Woodland Realm, 2976yo
Trîw/Jester – Male, Elite Ranger Scout, 35yo
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command, 126yo
"Dare I ask?"
Eryndes grinned up to the elf standing next to her, "Deep fried chook feet. They are for the children." It was just passed the serving of the midday meal and the hall was mostly empty. The kitchen, earlier packed and noisy with scores of women preparing for the nights celebration was once more quiet.
With her duties no longer necessary, Eryndes flitted about, finding something to occupy the time before the ceremony.
"Deep fried chook feet?" He looked closer at the contents of the bowl with disdain, those endearing creases coming out of hiding with the gathering of his dark brows, "Could you not just send them to sleep without feeding them?"
"It is not punishment!" she protested with a laugh.
His face soured even more, "Are you certain?"
"They are salted and crispy. The children love them. You will see their faces light up when they come in for afternoon lessons."
Slyly she held up a bowl to him, giving it a little shake in encouragement.
His expression darkened. "Do you expect me to eat that?"
Eryndes picked up one of the spidery-like feet with exaggerated care, "Shall I go first? Make it easier for you to work up the courage?"
She knew precisely how to tug. Predictably, Sindar gritted his teeth and plucked the foot from her fingers. He brought it to his mouth. Grimacing, he slipped it in between his teeth and bit down. The toe broke off with a crunch.
He chewed, blinking, pained and Eryndes bit down on her lip. If she let a laugh slip he'd pout and sulk, and it would take an offer of something sweet before he'd forgive her. "Are you alright?
You look as if you are about to be ill." She bit down harder, her shoulders threatening to shake.
Swallowing, he breathed in deeply and swallowed again, forcefully this time. He let his breath out slowly, testing, then gave the remaining half a foot to her, "There. I have tried. Never again. Sometimes I think you do this deliberately."
Of course she did. "Find different delicacies for you to try? Not very hospitable of me," she popped the rest of the foot into her mouth. Regardless, Elves were mad; it was delicious.
"Your delicacies would sour milk."
"I cannot wait for you to try the snails," she said dryly, ignoring his barb. "We stew them with mushrooms, leeks and finish with a dollop of soured cream."
Sindar stared at her, waiting, perhaps hoping she was simply teasing him. But she wasn't and he shook his head. "I do not think even trolls could keep down Dúnedain delicacies."
Eryndes beamed, "I am educating your palate in the wonders of foreign cuisine. None other has been so fortunate."
"Fortunate? Tortured if far more truthful."
She held up the bowl closer to his face and gave it another little shake, "More? Before the children gobble all of them?"
He raised his chin, elevating his stature into an imposing figure. Sindar was intimidating; tall, haughty, with eyes that could pierce your soul.
Eryndes simply raised her own chin to match with a ready smirk.
His lip twitched, but remained stoic. "One day I shall enjoy educating your palate in the true wonders of fine elven cuisine. Dishes and delicacies so extraordinary you will dream of nothing else."
"Is that what you dream of, food?" Her grin grew, "Hard to imagine the Woodland halls filled with fat elves walking around, eating, eating, eating. And when not eating, they are dreaming of food."
"Now who is teasing?" He stepped in closer, the vivid silver of his eyes brightened with amusement, "when faced with stewed snails, rotten tongues, and feet, who could blame an elf for dreaming?"
He smirked when she finally gave in and laughed. Sometimes she wondered if he made her laugh by design.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Eryndes turned to see Gell striding up to her side. "Chook feet?"
"Gell," she reprimanded, taking the bowl out of his eager reach, "These are for the children."
"Don't want to be wasting them on an elf then. You know they only eat fairy dust and duff."
"Gell!" Eryndes' felt her face go red.
Gell smirked in Legolas' direction, "I meant the pudding, of course."
"This was a private conversation," Sindar growled low.
Gell looked around them pointedly, "Doesn't seem private."
"I am making it private," Sindar pressed between them.
"For pity's sake," Eryndes' exasperated sigh come out a little louder than expected, "Can you both not get along?" She walked away, tossing the bowl of chook feet on the table, "Come, Master Elf," she coaxed, "There's something cooling in the kitchen I think you'll appreciate better."
"You should not favour his attentions-"
"Attentions?" she snorted. "I would hardly call them that." Yet.
They were seated at one of the kitchen benches, by the fire and large window overlooking the southern end of the embarkation loop. The afternoon was fine, sunny and the ground covered in a luminous sheet of fresh snow.
"He is not honourable," he stressed, his careful manner enough to give her pause. "Every night he tells of his scandalous trysts-"
"What man does not?" She put in quickly, really not wanting to hear about Gell's transient habits, and spread jam thickly over the scone; just the way Sindar liked it. After placing a good dollop of cream on each scone, she felt his hard stare and glanced up in question.
"Do you . . . favour his attentions?"
Cradling the teapot, she filled his mug before filling her own and set it back down. Quietly she told the truth, "I do not." It was hard for her to admit. Gell was very likely the man she was going to marry, but he just . . . wasn't . . .
No matter the amount of affable charm, Gell would never compare. With forced concession, she slid the plate of scones closer to Sindar, "Yet he is a good man. What woman should not find his attentions welcome?"
Sindar scoffed loudly.
Eryndes sighed, "You must tell me the manner of your disapproval."
"He might be good," he conceded reluctantly, then covered her hand with his, "but he is not good enough. Not for you."
A while now they'd grown accustomed to each other's company, moods and touch. Yet this time his touch left her paralysed, his long fingers trailing over hers and she was unable to move for fear it might end. Her stomach fluttered and she focused on drawing breath. "Few men could ever meet your measure."
The sudden loss of his touch and following silence suggested just what she dreaded. She spoken foolishly.
Rallying her courage, Eryndes lifted her head.
Yet she didn't find concern or rebuff . . . What she saw in his face made her wish Sindar was not an elf, but a man.
What would this situation be if he were human?
Picking up her mug of tea, she broke from his hypnotic grey eyes and took a sip. It was a daily wish and completely pointless. A daily wish that by the day's end brought nought but grief.
"What troubles you?" his gentle question broke the silence.
She took another sip but this time slower. "Do you think the weather will hold? Would be an injustice for it to snow on tonight's celebration."
"Eryndes?" his tone still gentle, but this time prodding.
"Aragorn has high designs for Gell," she told him, prevaricating further. "He may well become second to Aragorn amongst the Dúnedain."
"I see."
Eryndes frowned at the rigidity of his jaw and hardness around his eyes. "You befriended Joust," she reminded, "You cannot be so set against Gell when he and Joust are just as bad as each other."
"You courted Joust."
"What of it?" Her face reddened. He'd said that like an accusation.
He edged back from the sternness of her answer with eyes wide. He looked away, "I am sorry. I should not have pried."
The knot tightened in her belly. Reaching out, she lay her hand over his wrist, then slid into his, their fingers intertwining. "Men aren't like elves. They cannot deny their . . . needs. If maidens expected their husbands to be pure, none would ever marry." She tried to laugh but it came out flat and let go of him to take up her tea again, "as they say, beggars cannot afford to be choosy."
"Even beggars need not choose Gell. There are others."
Eryndes could only smile. Gell was, well, he was a good man and if he would have her, arranged and with no love to offer, then that would be the end of it.
Sindar's head tilted, his eyes drifting. He sighed irritably, his hand leaving hers. "Midwife."
Eryndes searched around them, "Midwife?"
Before he answered, the main door to the kitchen swung open and emitted her friend, and midwife,
Gueniel. "That's funny. I'd thought I'd find you here. But with Gell, not Sindar."
Eryndes glowered at her but kept her voice neutral, "I suppose it is time?"
"Time?" Sindar asked.
Gueniel answered first. "For the women to make themselves pretty as if they too could share in the bride's glory."
Eryndes gave Sindar's questioning look a tiny shake of her head, 'do not to ask'.
His eyes gave the slightest nod. Message received and understood, Sindar busied himself with a scone as Eryndes disentangled herself from the table and bench seat to join Gueniel at the door.
"Is it not a little early?"
Gueniel's long face hardened and taking Eryndes by the arm, she pulled her through the door before she could even look back at Sindar. It wasn't until they reached the hallway leading to the stirs that Gueniel spoke again. "Must I guard you at every moment?" Her tone left little to be interpreted.
"I wasn't doing anything wrong."
"Then why won't you look at me?"
Eryndes disciplined her eyes to meet her friends, "I didn't do anything."
"And next time?" Gueniel took her arm, marching her quicker up the second set of stairs, "Do you want this to end in misery?"
Eryndes flinched, the hollow abyss in her chest widening. "Has it not already?"
Gueniel sighed-
"Will you help me quickly dress?" Eryndes ploughed ahead. Gueniel was right; the time had come to put away this childish fantasy once and for all. Perhaps in the future she would be happy. Perhaps they could remain friends . . . "I will speak to Aragorn immediately."
"I wished to say, to tell you," she announced quickly, fumbling over her words which was never a good sign. Aragorn waited, patiently for her to release the words stuck in her throat. Barging into his private chambers on the third floor after a single knock, Eryndes came forth prettily dressed for the ceremony but wearing a face so grim he felt his shoulder square in trepidation.
Were the food stores feeling the pinch of the extra hundred mouths? The sheep had footrot again? The bride was having second thoughts? Someone was grievously ill? Foruyndes perhaps?
Eryndes took in a deep breath and Aragorn tensed.
"I wish to make a match with Gell."
His arms dropped from across his chest. "I beg your pardon?"
Her eyes dropped to his chin instead of his face. "I ask your blessing and to enter into negotiations on my behalf," she descended hastily into a ramble, "He has your high opinion and no doubt he would take on the role of Master of Carthal with honour and once it's explained, the benefits of being married to me, he'll accept. I believe he may find me likeable and in time may come to affection. He already has the esteem of the rangers and it won't be long before the rest of the Dúnedain come to see that too-"
"Hold," Aragorn ordered, loudly, holding up a hand to stop her tirade, his voice grating against his throat. "Do you expect me to take this seriously?"
Her chin rose and she met his gaze again. "I am serious."
Aragorn took a moment to consider his words, carefully. "All these years you've resisted the very idea of marriage for duty-"
"Well, that was then-"
"Have I not always encouraged you to find love? Not once have I ever pressured you. All the times you've resisted the very idea of marriage. What is changed?"
Her attempt to smile sweetly only deepened Aragorn's suspicion.
"Nothing is changed," she tried valiantly to show complete indifference, complete with a careless wave of her hand. She tried to laugh, "Or well perhaps my years. Unmarried at forty-six surely is disgraceful for a woman in my position."
Aragorn crossed his arm back over his chest. "I forbid it."
"You forbid it?"
"Until you prove to me you have affection for Gell, if not madly in love, I won't be party to it. Nor will I negotiate as your brother. You may do as you please but you'll do so without my blessing."
She gaped. "Y-You never -"
"And perhaps that's been my mistake. Had I taken a tougher way with you, you wouldn't be coming to me with ideas of arranging marriage."
"Forgive me brother," she snapped, "but you've been advocating Gell's name for years-"
"There were times I had hoped to encourage a match," he stood over her, peering down into her eyes, judging, searching. It was true; he had long helped Eryndes would consider Gell. But now, facing his sister speaking of marriage as if it were a business . . . "But a match of love is what I want for you. Not to marry at the expense of your happiness. You come to me in a few weeks to either explain yourself and this sudden change of heart, or you prove your affinity for Gell is genuine. Months even." He held up his hand to stop her coming argument, "Forty six is not an age for concern. Were you seventy-six, I might concede."
She took a long, long breath, "Aragorn, I am quite resolved-"
"Little sister," he silenced her again. "There is time. Will you not trust me, my guidance? I only wish to guide you toward a happy life. I'd never want to see your impatience lead you to a loveless marriage." He continued, "Gell may one day make you happy but I do not think that time is now. Nor should you lower your eyes to the other possibilities."
"What possibilities?" she growled.
"I," he started, "wish you to seek love. There is a whole world out there. Are you certain there is none other?"
"No," she held herself firmly.
A little too firmly.
"No?" he pressed.
Whatever doubt he'd seen on her face vanished with the stiffening of her jaw. "If you require a month to know the strength of my resolve, than let it be. We shall speak of this again at the fall of a new moon." She hastened a bow, "If you can forgive me, I must see to the ceremony."
"Wait," Aragorn stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Let's go together. I won't have you angry at me on this day of celebration."
"I won't be swayed-"
His chuckle, measured and deliberate, stopped her. "Indeed. I understand. You are resolved. However I've found your anger at me dissipates greatly with proximity. Today of all day I would have you love your brother, not be shooting evil stares at the back of his head."
He imagined he could hear her teeth grinding as he lead her out of his chambers. "Eryndes?" When she didn't answer, he nudged her. Then again.
She growled to cover a laugh, "Very well. You have my love but only for today."
This time he grinned victoriously. "You're too generous. Come, tell me; was I wrong in thinking you preferred tall men? Gell is a little short by your standards-"
"Just because I've given you my love for today does not give you leave to mock me," she hissed from his side. "Besides, Gell is tall."
"There are taller." He held his breath, the quipped, pushing further for an answer, "Or is it Gell's dancing sways your heart to this decision?"
"I have not seen him dance."
She was wise to his ploy and they fell into silence as he led her down to the hallway. A whole mess of noise hundreds of people came from ahead of them in the great hall. Coming to the last curve, they came to the doors leading to the hall. In front of the doors was Legolas and Foruyndes, the younger fussing over the formal tunic draped over his friend.
Aragorn got Foruyndes' attention, his eyes narrowing at the frail woman. "Take off the coat of arms, Foruyndes. Lord Sindar is 'not' a subject of Carthal."
Sheepishly, Legolas began, "I do not mind-"
"Foruyndes," Aragorn cut in. What was Legolas thinking?
"Does he not command alongside you and Úrion?" Foruyndes pouted, "Besides he has no formal robe of his own."
"Aragorn," Legolas put lightly, "it is of little concern-"
"Would your father agree?" Aragorn let go of Eryndes and marched over. "Seeing his son attending a formal ceremony, wearing colours not of your king?"
Legolas tilted his head, quite amused, "My father would say naught since even with his many talents cannot see this far."
"You wouldn't be so careless if this were Minas Tirith"
"Indeed, I would not," Legolas agreed, still carelessly. "Yet this is Carthal, friend and ally to my realm and the wearing of its symbol an honour for a simple wedding ceremony."
"And he has 'no' formal cloth!" Foruyndes cried in outrage. "What would you have him wear?"
Aragorn looked between the two of them, like partners in crime. What was Legolas playing at? He was not foolish, he understood; symbolism was potent, exceedingly important in the places of kings and allegiances.
And for goodness sake, he was the prince of the Woodland Realm! Was this a gesture to Carthal? For the Dúnedain. Aragorn saw Eryndes standing quietly to the side. Was it for her? Aragorn's shoulders sagged with a huff and started pulling off his own robe. He could already hear Thranduil's exasperation over the folly that was his son.
With a long drawn sigh, Legolas did the same. "I believe you make too much of this."
"I won't have your father's ire, melloneg. No sane man would."
Swapping the robes, Aragorn held the tunic up, twisting it the right way around.
"Yet you wonder why he favours you?" Legolas sniggered, allowing Foruyndes to help dress him.
"That is because I don't deliberately try to antagonise him." Aragorn pulled it over his head, he felt assistance coming from behind him. Pulling his head through, he saw Eryndes was the one aiding him, silent, her cheeks reddened.
She was blushing? And too avoiding his gaze.
His forehead lowered. She'd never been uncomfortable seeing him half clothed before . . .
Aragorn shot a look at Legolas; Foruyndes was finally pulled the robe down over his shoulders, covering his naked torso and begun plucking and tucking at the fabric like a mother hen.
"Come, come," Foruyndes fretted, reaching up to smooth at the elf's hair. "Now we shall be late."
"Peace," Aragorn soothed, swiftly running his fingers through his own hair, "The ceremony cannot start without us." Discreetly, he took Eryndes' hand from the fabric. She finally met his gaze, her face slowly fading back to normal. He questioned her without words but she gave him no answer.
"Did your sister never show you how to use a comb?" Legolas snorted, then grimaced when Foruyndes started attacking his customary braids.
"One can only try so much," Eryndes answered wryly, recovering determinedly from her discomfort, yet still not looking in Legolas' direction.
Aragorn laughed at their combined jib at his expense, but his mind was focused elsewhere, calculating. Walking over, he removed Foruyndes' hands out of Legolas' poor suffering hair, "Enough, old woman. Come. The time has arrived. Let us go and be merry!" He wrapped Foruyndes' arm around his own, "Shall I have the honour?"
Foruyndes looked at him like he was the crazy one. "I haven't had the honour of your arm since you were a babe."
He smiled charmingly at her, "Then it is long overdue. Sindar? My sister if you please?" Without waiting, he yanked open the door to the great hall. The noise inside came to an abrupt halt; hundreds of eyes turning towards him and Foruyndes as he led her through the door.
He assumed rather than saw Legolas leading Eryndes to follow.
For the entire length of the hall, Aragorn bore an irrepressible smile.
The great hall was profusely decorated. The Carthal folk did weddings well. Using what little winter flowers were available, herb, and cloth, the hall glittered with candle light. For poor people, the hall was handsomely adorned.
And although packed to capacity with just over six hundred Dúnedain, silence reigned; all eyes watching Aragorn. Already standing to the side was Úrion and his family, Celegeth's family and his family; both families joining together is support of the blood relative poor Baradon. Poor yet rich, for both families had taken him in as one of their own.
Arriving at the dais, Aragorn took his position in the middle. Legolas delivered a muted but smiling Eryndes to the back of the dais went to join the group standing behind a nervous Baradon.
Legolas glanced at his young student. He was standing closest to Celegeth's father, who spoke loud enough for only Baradon's ears. And an elf's. "Do I need to prop you up?"
"No, sir."
"Then stand straight."
The boy snapped to comply, pulling his shoulders back and chin proud. He still looked a little green though. "Breathe."
Baradon took in a long, long breath and took just as long to exhale. "I can't help this nervousness. I don't know why."
Legolas caught Eryndes watching the two men whispering. She no longer smiled, her face drawn as if in a great conundrum. There were some elves who could speak into the minds of others. Hear each other's thoughts. Share dreams.
Alas, Legolas would never know what Eryndes was thinking at that moment. Or earlier in the kitchen. Or any other time where her mind was lost, like smoke of a stiff breeze.
Celegeth's father continued, "If you didn't I'd doubt the sincerity of your heart. This is a momentous occasion and only a few will ever come to surpass it."
Baradon shifted on his toes. "What do I do?"
"Stand tall. Look proud. Keep your attention affixed to your bride."
Just then the doors once more opened at the other end of the hall. Celegeth, pretty in a dress of pale yellow.
Legolas remembered many weddings, all those older than him, those he'd grown with, then so many more younger. Those times he'd watched and wondered, wonder why it should be he who was so forsaken to spend eternity alone.
Elves were not meant to be alone.
Legolas sought out Eryndes again and found her vivid blue eyes staring back at him. Her face softened and gently smiled. But then her gaze was taken by the approaching young woman.
Alone she walked, looking just as nervous as Baradon, yet walking to a perfect pass as though she'd practice this walk all her life. Coming to the dais, she stopped and bowed low to Aragorn. "I am Celegeth, my lord."
Aragorn looked down at her, his face emotionless, regarding her sternly. "You have come to seeking union with this man?" he pointed at Baradon.
"I have, my lord," Celegeth's feminine voice rang true and loud around the hall.
"You do this of your own free will, without fear or coercion?"
"I do."
Aragorn kept her waiting a pause, then waved Baradon forward, "If you are worthy of this woman,
Baradon, you will stand with her now and pledge yourself so."
Baradon, tall, proud and still a little green, walked to Celegeth's side, taking her hand within his. "I am Baradon, my lord. Here beside me attesting to my character are both our families and friends. They stand with me because they judge me worthy, to have the great honour in becoming this woman's husband. I pledge her all that I own and all that I am. I vow my life to her happiness and prosperity."
Aragorn looked from Baradon to Celegeth, "Do you accept his worthiness? Do you accept his pledge?"
Celegeth broke into a smile, then forced it back down. She spoke her answer clearly, "I do accept. I ask my lord to name us wed."
Aragorn stepped down off the dais to stand in front of the young couple. He took both their free hands in his, and brought them together. "Let it be known to all, this woman and this man are wed."
"We are so wed," Celegeth and Baradon declared together.
"They are wed," Legolas joined in the chorus of six hundred Dúnedain.
Aragorn broke into smile, "It's my privilege to be the first to wish you both every happiness."
"Thank you, Strider!" Baradon blurted, then stammered when his wife elbowed him in the side, "I mean, my lord."
Celegeth beamed. "Thank you, my lord."
Aragorn gestured to the hall and folk around them, "Then let the celebration begin."
Due to the large number of people, the celebrations were held outside, in the same place on the grass where the Day of Games had been held. The snow had been cleared away for the tables, all set up handsomely. Around the ground roared dozens of fires, some not only for light and warmth in the coming evening, but roasting whole deer, sheep and boar. Once the great hall emptied, the Dúnedain manning the roasting pits carved and served, huge trays of meats being placed on the tables next to hot vegetables and fresh breads.
Above them the clear blue sky allowed the sun to shine brightly down on the happy occasion.
Legolas sat with Aragorn and his friends, Úrion and Lobordir, his stomach happily filled and this time with no complaints for Dúnedain cuisine.
Cradling his goblet of hot wine made from the last summer's apples, his attention was not on his companions.
She was wearing that dress again. After the ceremony, Eryndes had abandoned the formality of the coat of arms robe, leaving now her in that dress. That dress which inspired a hundred different darling dreams of both day and night.
However, there was something, not right about it though.
His eyes focused in closer. The fit was not nearly as well as last time. Fabric which last time hugged her figure adoringly . . . now showed slackening.
Had Eryndes been ill? Had Legolas failed to see her waning?
From the chair beside him, Aragorn leaned in close. "Sindar?"
"(Has Eryndes suffered sickness)?" he gushed. Or had his defence instruction been too harsh on her delicate constitution? Had he trained her too hard?
"Why do you-?"
"(She has lost condition)." Legolas' eyes flashed anger and shot to Aragorn. "(Why do you laugh?)" Aragorn covered his mouth with a shake of his head. "It's called fasting, melloneg. Women do it to improve their figures."
His jaw slacked. "(I see no improvement)!"
Aragorn chortled again.
"(You approve of this)?"
"Not really. But brotherly influence doesn't hold much sway when it comes to women's beauty. A word from a suitor however . . ." He had the audacity to wink at him.
"(Your race is broken)," he muttered, only now recalling the times he'd seen Eryndes skipping meals and forgoing even her most favourite foods. "(What else do your women inflict upon themselves? Lather poison instead of soap? Drain their blood?)"
"Not everyone can look like an elf." Aragorn grinned, waving across the space at Baradon, "But you seek the wrong question. Ask yourself, why now? I have never known Eryndes to endure so long fasting as these months." Baradon, his smile still unmoving since the ceremony, came quickly to Aragorn's bidding. "Come," Aragorn bade to the empty seat beside him. "It is time for us to speak."
Baradon nodded shyly and follow his chieftain's command.
Legolas heard the words the two men spoke, but his attention drew across the tables. Was it Aragorn's suggestion he was the cause of her fasting?
"It is your responsibility," Aragorn and Baradon's conversation continued, "You must ensure her and your children's happiness."
"With my life I swear it," Baradon swore from the other side of Aragorn.
Unlikely. He'd never made any suggestion her figure was not pleasing to his eye. Admittedly he'd not complimented her either; it was not polite for elves to do so outside formal courtship; overall beauty for sure, but within certain boundaries and never anything as specific as physical attraction. Was that his error? Was it an essential part of human courtship to be more open? Should he have told her how lovely he found her? Admitted to how he would watch her from afar, most times when she wasn't doing anything more sinister than walking. How a fever would warm his blood whenever he held her during their lessons. Would she have been more reactive, giving him at least a hint to her heart-?
"Baradon."
Aragorn leant in closer but their secrecy was lost with Legolas. "It is for her to invite you."
"I-I know."
Now she was sitting with the loathsome Gell. All of her attention was on the man. Was this fasting an indication she actively seeking to marry? To mate? Was already her heart set on Gell, as Aragorn always hoped?
"If she does not, you must wait."
"I am prepared, my lord. You can trust I'll wait as long as she chooses."
Was Legolas too late? Had he already lost before he'd even made his heart known?
A throat cleared at his other side. Glancing away from the possible 'couple', he found Úrion and Joust quietly watching him.
Without words he asked the question with a raised brow.
"Perhaps you might listen in a little more carefully," Úrion nodded to Aragorn and Baradon's very quiet conversation.
His back went rigid. "I do not eavesdrop intentionally. My hearing cannot be darkened at pleasure. I do not even understand of what they speak-"
Joust slashed the air with a chuckle, "We're teasing."
"It is the right of the lord to bestow wisdom to a husband the night of his marriage. Wisdom but also caution." Úrion pressed in closer to his side to whisper, "A Dúnedain bride chooses the moment of their first . . . coupling. It is her right and a husband's duty to wait until she will have him. If not, the lord may seek vengeance on the bride behalf."
A frown had grown on Legolas' brow. "Such a respectable tradition I can understand-"
"In the legend of Keflion, his wife forced him wait a whole year."
Legolas still frowned. "An easy discipline for an elf; we do not give in to lust," he agreed, feeling awkward he looked sideways at Joust, "but surely such a wait would have killed you."
Úrion snorted behind his hand, "One night would've killed Joust."
"No woman'd make me wait," Joust sniffed. "She'd be tearing at my breeches before they'd laid the feast."
The question needed to be asked; his friends' banter aside, it seemed more like an offer of counsel. He opened his mouth to point this out-
Then closed it with the appearance of Baineth, the young beauty eyeing her rumoured betrothed with cold disdain as she walked along the table. Stopping in front of their table, she instead smiled at Legolas, "May I beg a dance tonight, my lord?"
"Baineth," Úrion reproached before Legolas could respond, "It's not our custom to promise dances beforehand. You know very well."
"Aye, I know but-" her flawless skin reddened, her delicate features dropping and she stared at him for help.
"You may," Legolas announced, more out of pity than pure civility, "however you must wait as I am promised to another for the first dance."
Baineth fiddled with the sleeve of her fine dress. "Eryndes?"
He eyed her sternly. "Briel."
Joust laughed into his ale, and he came up coughing.
Baineth however looked relieved. "Then until the second?"
When he inclined his head in acceptance, she dipped a curtsy and floated away, a pleased smile on her lips.
"Perhaps it's not wise to encourage-"
"I am certain she seeks only to elicit jealousy," Legolas pointed out, cutting off Úrion and glaring at Joust. The girl wouldn't be trying so hard with him if she was otherwise engaged. "Perhaps what should be encouraged is an unbreakable vow of commitment."
Joust's face lost all mirth. His handsome face turned bitter. He slammed his ale down, "On what day of doom should I take advice from you about women?"
"Joust. Sindar."
Úrion's warning fell on deaf ears.
"It was not your hand Baineth sought for a dance," Legolas pointed out hotly.
"I care not," Joust lurched to his feet, "You're welcome to my 'seconds'."
"Seconds?" Legolas' eyes went wide, poised ready to burst forth in the name of Baineth's honour.
Úrion's hand took his forearm, and allowed Lobordir to stomp away from them. "He doesn't mean it like that. Joust's a charmer, but he'd never go after virgins."
Legolas brushed his hand off but didn't move to follow Lobordir. "Can you be so sure?"
"Utterly, I can. And so are you. He's your friend." Úrion leaned in closer, poised in secrecy, "Eryndes has long dismissed ideas of him. You've no need to feel threatened."
He darted back from him. It took quite an effort to hold his tongue against telling him to keep to his own business. Instead, he clenched his fists, "What do you know of it?"
Úrion held his stare coolly, "It is for Gell, is it not? Your anger? Joust's just the buffoon who got caught in the battle?"
"The time for music is here!" Geledir's booming voice cheerfully announced across the gathering.
"Strider?"
Aragorn waved them forth, "Indeed. Begin. Baradon, gather your wife and try not to embarrass her."
Úrion started to get up, "The battle's not lost, my friend. But it will be if you allow four tables to remain between you and the other man's eyes on your prize." Without further word, Úrion slapped him affectionately on the shoulder and went to join his wife on the dance floor, the tiny woman beginning to show the beginnings of a ripe belly.
Couples joined and begun moving to the centre. Baradon took Celegeth into the very centre of the grass, the young woman beaming just as brightly as her new husband.
Standing, Legolas went to collect his first dance partner for the night. Briel's enthusiasm helped loosen his shoulders. Taking her by her small hand, he found them a spot near the edge.
He was pleased to see Aragorn with Eryndes. He would have hated Gell to have her first dance. She took her brother in her arms, eyes filled in delight when the music began.
"Sindar!"
Quickly, Legolas hefted his dance partner into his arms, and caught up in step to the music. "How many more years will it take for you to dance on your own feet?"
The third dance came and went. The fourth Eryndes danced with Gell. He was capable, and kept away from her feet, but he was no Sindar.
Looking over the grass, at faces and heads surrounding tables, warming hands by the fires, drinking ale and hot wine, she was grieved not to find him.
"Looking for someone?"
Eryndes screwed up her face. "And who would that be, Faron?" Faron was never one to talk to her unless there was a vital reason for it. Most of the time their only interactions had to do with the running of the manor.
"Who indeed?" the man asked smugly. "Until he turns up, shall I have the honour?"
She looked at him doubtfully, "Since when do you find honour in dancing?"
He showed his teeth, "You want to dance or not? Saw Bregol headed this way-"
"Oh, very well," she took his offered hand and allowed him to lead her back on the grass. The music began. Faron wasn't too bad and proved a better partner than settling for Bregol.
He didn't talk though. Silently he went through each step, no thought or feeling. Like a horse running in field.
When the music ended, Faron became smug, "There now. Camaenor owes me a pinch."
Her jaw dropped. "You bet Camaenor two coins I would dance with you?"
Faron's tall, gangly body eased down into a bow, "It was a nice dance, mistress, but what man passes up an easy bet?"
Eryndes tore her hand from his with a scowl, "You loathsome eel."
He laughed, but spoke over her shoulder, "There's gratitude for you. Saved her from having to dance with Gell and that's the thanks I get."
Gell? Not Bregol? Eryndes turned to see who it was Faron was speaking.
Sindar. He wasn't looking at her, but at Faron and not pleased. But he held out his hand to her.
Once more his hand was a lifeline and she took it without hesitation.
"Why do they need to make me a part of their little games?" she shrilled once Sindar and she had taken their positions.
Sindar's hand smoothed over the small of her back and she resisted the need to tremble with pleasure. "Nevermind Faron," he advised as they set off, him ushering her around the grass with ease. "He too finds Gell's company tedious."
Confused, Eryndes was about to tell him about the bet-
"Forgive me," he said softly, his blink-less eyes seemingly growing bigger, "It does me little credit to continually speak ill of your friend."
With Aragorn's refusal to go to Gell on her behalf still ringing in her ears, Eryndes found she didn't wish to speak of him at all. Inching in a little closer, taking a surer grasp of handsome elf, she immersed herself in the splendour of their dance. "I cannot ever imagine enjoying dancing more than with you."
"Yet you wasted half the dances with others?"
One brow rose in perfect imitation of him. "I'd say the same of you. Three dances with Baineth? Poor Joust must be beside himself."
She expected him to laugh but he didn't. "Then promise me the next three and cancel the offence."
"I'd promise you them all if I could," she told him truthfully, boldly, stupidly. Thankfully the music began to wind down to a stop, "But it's too late; the next dances are the bride's to command."
"What dance will you have next?"
Celegeth beamed at Geledir. Three of her five bride dances had been taken. The last she and Baradon would dance together, alone and before the Dúnedain of Carthal.
Waiting, Eryndes curiously watched Aragorn lean towards the young bride seated at his right, whispering in confidence.
Celegeth's sweet rosy cheeks grew and she clapped, "Yes, yes! What a splendid idea! We must have the blind spider! My lord, will you?"
Aragorn barked a laugh and waved negatively, "I beg you, no. But I offer my sister to take my place. It takes courage to dance the blind spider in front of everyone," Aragorn proclaimed. "Eryndes and I long practiced in the privacy of the third floor."
Celegeth looked around, "Eryndes? Will you?"
"Aragorn?" Eryndes choked. "You put me in your stead and leave me without my partner?
Aragorn chuckled loudly, "It's an elven dance. I'm sure Sindar would oblige."
"Just because it's an elvish dance doesn't mean only elves can dance it well," Gell stepped forward, his eyes twinkling in her direction.
Without an escape, Eryndes stood and lowered her head to Celegeth, "Do I have the bride's permission to occupy the dance floor?"
Celegeth beamed and waved her forth, "Please do. You must do well, for I fear Baradon is not ready for the blind spider but is firmly encouraged by his wife to learn by your example." Beside Celegeth, Baradon lowered his head with a groan.
Sweeping her eyes back to Sindar's table, she was disappointed to see his seat was vacated. So was Baineth's.
Resigning herself to dancing with Gell instead, she rose from the table-
And jumped to find Sindar by her chair, hand out to her, his face wickedly smug. "You are either brave or do not care for my feet."
More than a little relieved she slapped her hand into his, and tugged him impatiently towards the grass, "Because only elves can properly dance the blind spider?"
He sniggered, then said with a raised eyebrow, "Aragorn said this is a traditional Sindar dance, but did he not tell of the significance?"
"He did not," she admitted slowly.
He stopped her on the grass and slid his hand out of hers until only their fingertips touched, "This dance is an exhibition of trust and harmony, of two spirits in perfect unity. Close your eyes."
A sneaking root of doubt crept along her belly. She closed her eyes, "As he said, I have danced this many times with Aragorn."
His throaty chuckle only added to her doubt. "He is your brother. I am not."
The first tapping of the drum quietened the crowd and Eryndes waited, refusing to give into anxiety, "And?"
With the addition of the heavier tap of the drum, Sindar lead her off, their feet slipping across the ground in time, their only contact the light touch of fingertips and the sound of the other's breath. "It is a dance of betrothal."
"Betrothal?"
"Close your eyes!"
She snapped them closed, "How did you know?"
"Magic," he chortled, his fingertips guiding her closer to him, each press from his to hers, combinations of fingers, each one a signal of the next part of the dance. The beat became quicker to keep up with their shifting steps. "Pay attention unless you intend to injure me."
"Perhaps it is not I who will do the injuring." Reaching above her, he lead her to turn her back to him.
Their fingertips remained light and fixed, his signals coming in clearly. Eryndes reached her free hand across her belly to her side.
. . and successfully met his. Still blind, she grinned with pride, "See? I am not so clumsy."
"Tell that to the grass."
She groused, but focused on lightening her steps, each placement meticulous given the speed of the drum and Sindar's taller stature, "That was different. This is dancing, not fighting. I don't have a mithril blade in my hand."
"Fortunately for me."
Their second set of fingertips separated. Sindar's warmth left her back. With only five remaining fingertips, a new pattern pressed into hers, and Eryndes stepped out, their arms fully extended. With her heart in her mouth, she walked in the complete darkness. With only the drums to guide her pace and the tentative whispered touch of his fingers to anchor her, she skipped and then let go, twirling about, then, if her movement was accurate, reaching out to where he should've been-
The tops of her fingers met his palm and slid out to his fingertips. A mistake, but a small one. Around them the crowd of Dúnedain cheered. Eryndes had no time for a sigh of relief, she followed his touch, guiding her back to him, turning at the last moment and felt his arm around her waist. Squeezing her eyes firmer, she trusted in him and allowed him to take her weight, lifting her off the ground in a tight spin.
Letting go, she splayed her arms wide, giving over to the slow beating of the drums, the warmth from Sindar's body against hers in the cool night air, and the strong beating of her heart.
It was exhilarating.
The shift of his solid muscle told her to prepare and so when he placed her back on the ground, she kept motion without stumbling. Coming to a stop, she faced him holding her hand out to him, their hands coming together palm to palm, fingers entwining, arms twisting to strengthen the bind.
Grinning widely, Eryndes opened her eyes to the clapping and cheering of the people watching. Sindar opened his eyes at the same time.
But he wasn't smiling. Those incredibly soft grey eyes trained upon their hands.
"I surprised you," she boasted. "You were expecting me to fail?"
His lips twitched and the corners slowly lifted, but he didn't answer. Instead he bent and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand just as he'd done the night of games. "(An honour, my lady)."
The unbidden skip of her heart stole her breath. He straightened and loosened their bind. Walking her back to the tables without further word, he politely aided her back into her seat, the same gentle lift to his mouth, the pleasant warmth in his eyes.
With a private chuckle she knew he was pleased she'd not tripped and embarrassed them both.
When Baineth followed Sindar to his seat, asking if he would dance it again with her, Eryndes listened intently and heard him courteously, but firmly decline.
He told the girl he would not dance again that evening.
"Tell me about Eryndes."
Gueniel eyed him warily, "Strider?"
Aragorn cornered her without delay, just after breakfast the next morning seeking her out once she'd left company to go about her duties. The morning brought many sore heads from ale, wine and apple wine, and wasn't hard to drag Gueniel to a private nook in the manor. "You are a smart woman, Gueniel. Don't insult me by pretending you don't understand. Tell me of her heart. Tell me why she suddenly wishes for a marriage arrangement."
Gueniel wrestled, Aragorn could see it clearly in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders.
"Tell me," he pressed, but a little more gently.
Still the woman struggled. Her lips opened, only to slam shut with a shake of her head. "Strider, you ask me to betray her confidence. She is my closest friend."
Aragorn nodded in understanding, "I understand and I do value your loyalty to my sister." Then he set his stare upon her, "Must I command you?"
Gueniel's face pained and she swallowed. Not even one as strong-willed as Gueniel would refuse him in the end.
That was the power his blood possessed.
"Eryndes is . . ." Gueniel looked away from him with a strong intake of breath. "Besotted. She grieves the loss of her heart."
This he did not quite expect. Not a crush, not infatuated, but love? And it drove her to seek an arranged marriage? His eyes bore into the woman's head, "To whom has she lost her heart?"
She shook her head. "Please, my lord-"
"Whom?"
He heard her sniff. Compassion getting the better of him, Aragorn gently grasped her shoulder and eased his tone, "Gueniel. Look at me."
Raising her head, her eyes were indeed filled and her lip trembling.
"You must tell me."
Her jaw quivered but then she opened her lips. "One she knows she cannot have. She conceals it for her sake and yours. An arranged marriage," she grimaced, "she feels is her only choice, a solution and escape."
"My sake?" Aragorn felt his heart stir. "May I trust it is not a married man?"
Gueniel slowly nodded.
"Then I must conclude. This one for whom she wishes to escape her love for is," he paused, not quite able to believe it. "'Sindar'?"
She nodded even slower.
Pushing down the need to grin like a fool, Aragorn thanked Gueniel for her honesty. Gueniel slumped like a woman who just betrayed her friend's confidence.
Though he did feel for her, he left her and set out to find Legolas.
"Where is Sindar?"
Passing by, Úrion shrugged, "I haven't seen him since breakfast."
Laeron following at his father's wake pointed to the north east side of the manor, "He's out near the pear trees. I think he's teaching Eryndes how to fight again. Hopeless if you ask me-"
"No one asked you," Úrion rebuked, cuffing the back of his son's head.
"Is it not too icy?"
"Do you believe you are safe when the snow has fallen?"
"Not just snow," she countered, holding her great coat over her and looking disheartened at the ground, "this morning's rain turned it to frozen sludge."
Legolas waited for her to ready herself then wagged a finger when she did not, "Coat."
"Oh, very well." She took off the coat and up the knife, holding it in somewhat the correct position. "Though I'm not sure how I can do this at all after the excessive breakfast you made me eat this morning."
"It is cold out here. You will need it," Legolas sort of told the truth. He eyed her dress, her hem covered with brushings from the ground, "You still resist changing your attire?"
Her brow rose, "Do you believe I will not be called upon to defend myself in a dress?"
Legolas had to concede that, "Very well. If you have no more complaints, defend yourself." With the speed of a flung whip, he snatched the blade from her hand. He held it up and waited for her explanation.
"If I move," she told him slowly like he was a dim-witted dwarf, "I will fall over. Why can we not do this on more solid ground?"
Legolas patiently gave her back the knife, "You make the attack and I will show you how not to fall over."
She didn't believe him but sighing, she held the knife in a reverse grip. Setting her feet, she moved.
Her lunge was sloppy, her balance was lost and she tumbled into him. Legolas turned with her collision and caught her, his arms around her holding her to his chest, "You overcommitted."
"I didn't over commit. I slipped," she retorted, "just as I said I would."
He steadied her back on her feet, "You must learn to compensate. Grip the ice more on your toes."
The moment he let go and she tried to step back into her own space, but her feet slipped again. He caught her before she fell too far. Then her boots slipped the opposite way, heading backwards. This time she couldn't contain it and started giggling, "This is ridiculous!"
He had to stop his own laughter. It certainly was ridiculous. He'd trained hundreds of warriors and yet, she was his one failure. "Cease laughing and maybe you will," he scolded, holding in his mirth almost painfully.
She stopped laughing and glowered at him. "I am laughing because I am slipping, not slipping because I am laughing."
Holding her against him again, he started walking them back towards the grassy area, "I find it remarkable you can walk at all without supervision."
"You are laughing at me again!" she accused, pointing at his face, "I thought we agreed you would not-," she lost her footing once more, "curse this!"
Legolas slipped his arm around her waist, the press of her body into his side, slyly enjoying every moment he was forced to aid her this way. He took a steadying breath and said wryly, "Is this my new occupation? Your personal walking stick?"
"Stop laughing at me."
"Then stop stumbling and walk."
"This was a bad idea. If I cannot walk on ice, how might an assailant?" She tucked her head closer into his shoulder.
Looking down at her, he drew in the scent of her dark onyx hair deeply, "Simple, they lack your flair for landing on their backsides."
Her face shot up. "I do no such thing!"
The sun could not be as bright as the fire his jest brought to her eyes. He reaffirmed his grip on her waist for good measure and walked them safely back to firm ground. "You must learn to grip with your toes."
"I cannot, it does not work!"
"Then how is it do I not fall?"
"Elves are the masters of strut and swagger?"
He stopped them. "Truly?" He turned her just enough to face him without releasing her waist, a chuckle rising out of his chest, "Strut and swagger?"
"Aye."
Her jesting aside, the question smouldered, burning to be answered for once and all to know. And so it was asked, "This is how you see me, strutting and swaggering?"
"Aye," this time a little less sure.
The pink blush growing on her cheeks spoke to him with an honesty her lips did not. With all that had happened in the past few days weighing heavily in Legolas' mind, ever present and ever tormenting, he decided the time had come.
They would both answer for their relationship; their close connection, their need and reliance of one another, all the flirtations and teasings, their simmering affection patiently waiting to steam past their defences and shout out in proclamation to the world.
He shortened the distance between them even more, his arm around her waist pressing her in closer and searched her eyes, "Is this all you see?"
"I-I cannot confess to own the eyes of an elf," she trembled with shortened breath.
"And yet . . . you do," he confessed, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
Following the path of his gaze, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.
It had to be a dream.
The touch was featherlike, and uncertain. Waiting. A heartbeat turned into seconds, the touch, no more than a mere brush became a press, tender, caressing. Seconds turned into tens, filled with sweet, sweet caress.
Hers lips moved delicately, seeking a little more. His lips, his mouth, still so soft and yielding followed her, becoming firmer and insistent. He angled his head to the side, his hold on her drawing her closer.
She opened her lips. He followed; a rapt student, cautious, but learning quickly. She tasted him, he tasted her back. Slowly, gently, she led him and let him in. He tasted of wonder; warm and intoxicating, mixing with the earthiness of his scent, a heady assault upon her senses.
Their tongues grazed, timid first, then dancing together in a slow waltz. His breath joining hers as the only noises in her ears, quick but deep and warm against her cheek, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding of her heart.
A moan tickled in her throat.
The pressure eased away regretfully and his mouth left hers. She felt his fingers at her temple, threading caressingly through her hair but she held her eyes closed. "Eryndes," he cooed, his already deep voice dropping even lower.
Part of her wits returned, "Wait," she breathed. "What are we doing?"
"(Is it not obvious)," he answered before bringing her back to him.
She pulled back just enough to whisper, lips brushing his smooth, beardless chin, "We cannot. We must not."
"(I don't agree)," tugging her closer, he recaptured her mouth and fervently this time. Her eyes fell out the back of her head and had to grip his shoulders to stop her falling backwards and the world melted away once more.
It should've been a dream because nothing could ever feel this good. Or this wild, desperate need rise so quickly. Pulling higher and tighter against him, she returned his kiss with equal urgency, the crook of her arm ensnaring his neck; she balanced on her tiptoes and her free hand seizing his face. Smooth, velvety. Her fingers dug into his hair, long silky hair falling through her hands, fallen snowflakes melting against her skin.
But it wasn't a dream.
Eryndes snatched back away from him, the world coming slamming back into shocking focus. "What are you doing?!"
Startled, Sindar looked away, "(I did not think I was kissing so poorly)."
Her jaw dropped. "No, I-," she tried to speak- This was all so very wrong. "No, I did not mean to imply-"
"Then what do you mean to imply?"
She stared at him. He was more upset at his assumed injured pride? Had he not realised what they'd been doing, what it meant?
But he wasn't surprised. Not at all. He knew precisely. "Why?"
His silver eyes slowly traced back to her, his brow raised defiantly, "Why?"
Under the weight of his stare she felt tiny and it took all the courage she had to give a small nod.
Sindar stepped after her, his finger gliding along her jaw, raising her lips to meet his. It was tender but not a long kiss and soon broke to whisper, "Because I have dreamt long enough."
He'd dreamt this?
His kiss deepened making her knees weak. The warmth radiating against her, under her hands spread tentacles of hunger through her lower belly. Tingles broke out from the dull ache in her sex and the realisation what it meant startled her. "But this is wrong," Eryndes gushed, pulling back from him at once. Her cheeks were on fire and her heart banging ruthlessly under her breast.
"Wrong?" The space between his eyes wrinkled, "Why is it wrong?"
She stared at him as if he'd lost all sense. But then he must have. "You are-"
Her words failed when his eyes narrowed. "I am?"
Lordly and far above her station? An elf? Immortal? Those words stuck in her throat, knowing in her gut the anger in him they would bring if spoken. She tried others. "I-I do not dally about with . . . so little care for propriety." It was petty but the best she had in such haste, her mind swallowed by thick fog. Her and Sindar kissed! Kissed, had they ever! Her lips tingled in vivid memory. His were crimson, rosy and plump from their passion. The golden curtain of his fine hair stood rumpled by her appetent fingers.
Was this a tryst? Playing? Nay, not with Sindar. Not when he'd given her the honour of his first kiss.
"Of course. I apologise." Sindar hesitated lowering his eyes, "I did not mean to act so rashly. I beg my actions will not taint your opinion of me?"
"No, of course not . . ." her awkward words ran out. This formality was unlike him and unnerving after what they'd just done.
"Thank you." Sindar lowered his head further. Slowly he touched his hand to his heart, holding it there, stiffly, and her heart stopped.
"What are you-?"
"(Eryndes, I ask you . . . I seek . . . your consent)," he lifted his head, face even paler than normal. "(I seek your consent for betrothal. O-our betrothal)."
All breath left her. She felt hollow but then her hands and chest buzzed and tingled and she was hollow and tingly together. Blood pounded in her ears and couldn't draw breath. If it hadn't been for the sheepishly sweet earnestness to his face, Eryndes would've believed him joking.
He was serious.
All flattery and wonder vanished. Once more reality slapped her across the face. Sindar wanted to marry her!
"(We must wed)," he all but whispered, silver eyes pained. "(Please, will you not answer)?"
No, no, no, this was all wrong! Gell was meant to be the one to marry her, not Sindar.
Sindar belonged to . . . an elf maiden of divine beauty and a lordly bloodline.
With bitter resolve, she turned his words to poison in her ears. She had too. Sindar was being foolish. He was a fool. How soon would his regard for her turn to hateful resentment when she grew old and frail? And when she died? Eru help her! "Have you lost all sense? I am mortal-."
"(I have not)!" he snapped, pained eyes becoming hard, all the vulnerability to his bearing vanishing, "I offer myself and you insult me?"
Air gushed out of her lungs, "I do not mean to insult you-"
"Sense has not escaped me. I know well the limitations of a mortal's life." He closed the distance between them, but made no move touch her again. "Does it not speak of my resolve, my-" he stopped, "my affection? My love? To make this choice?"
Love? Sindar did truly love her! This was no dream or fantasy. These past months had not been a fiction of fancy.
The implications were suffocating. Her lungs refused to draw breath.
No, it was a simple infatuation. Had to be. Her fingernails bit hard into the palms of her hands. "Then when I die, you'll marry another-?"
"(Cursed Morgoth)!" he howled, abruptly, swearing as she'd never heard him. He looked upon her like she'd stuck a blade into his belly, "(You hide a despicably cruel tongue! How dare you suggest such a thing)?!"
She stared at him agog, her own emotions rising to meet his. "Then how do you see this? To watch me wither with age, die and you live on as if I never existed?!"
"Nay," he grounded out, his face matching the fierceness upon his face. "It will end with you."
"What do you mean?" she demanded hotly, "End with me?"
"I will die."
All her blood gushed from her veins to pool at her feet. "You would kill yourself?"
"You know so little of elves." After a moment his regard softened, and so did his terrible temper, "An elf cannot live with a broken heart. A moment, day or years, eventually I would die."
Nausea leapt into her throat, burning bitter at the back of her tongue. She swallowed and drew a shaky breath, "And you would choose this fate?"
"My fate is set." He moved in closer, raising a hand and touched her cheek. "I have chosen."
Horror mixed with sickness, and she shoved his hand away. "You choose death?! Do you think I'd wish that? To be the cause of your demise? You are not meant to die!"
"What do you know of eternity?" Looming over her, his eyes blazed once again, "Endless millenniums, cold, filled with emptiness? Each day as the last? Friends perishing in battle, facing growing darkness, never seeing the end? I decide my fate, Eryndes. I do! My own will, my own mind! My heart!"
Sindar shook his head and much of his deep rooted anger fell away. "I would have your love and pay for it by living your lifetime."
It made sense. She knew it did and her love for him glowed brighter than ever for hearing him say it.
And he loved her!
But she couldn't. She just couldn't. Not to him. What right did she have to end him? Eryndes turned away. "I will not be the death of you."
The air grew heavy in silence.
"Have you so little regard for my wishes?" His solemn tone, so tortured, tore into her heart, "Does my love mean nothing?"
She barely held onto her resolve, "What do you want me to say?"
"Admit your heart belongs to me!"
Her throat swelled and she squeezed her eyes against the pressure pooling in her eyes. By the stars, she couldn't do it. Sucking breath in against the pain, she knew what had to be done. "I have fooled you, played with you for my own amusement. I will never wish to marry you. I don't love you and your love means nothing to me."
"(You lie)!"
Gasping at his sudden rage, she whirled back to him. His face matched his voice, and for that moment he was truly terrifying.
"(Poisonous lies)!"
She stood her ground. "You are a fool, 'Sindar'," making use of the name he loathed her to speak, "for only in children's fairy-tales can an elf marry a woman."
All colour fell from his face. Before her, Sindar's proud stature crumpled.
Eryndes bit the inside of her cheek, hard, tasting blood upon her tongue and she trembled against the choking sobs in her throat. If possible, the agony she'd caused him pulsed through her own veins. But she didn't back down.
"(You trick poorly)," he snarled so suddenly Eryndes took a startled step back. "(I see through your deception. Do not assume I do not. What further insults will you offer to foul my heart and save me from my fate? That you would try stinks of cowardice)!"
Flinching, she stumbled back another step. "Then I too am a fool and yes, a coward! But at least I'm not befuddled by fantasy! And I refuse to be a part of yours!"
Digging her boots into the snow, Eryndes turned from him and strode away. With each step she expected him to stop her. Call out. But even as she reached the manor, Sindar made no further plea. Fortunately, she told herself repeatedly. This was how it should be.
Rushing up the stairs, she didn't look back, or to those around her. She did not care who saw her running through the manor, each moment her uncontrollable sobbing getting louder.
Coming down the stairs a few hours later, Eryndes cautiously looked around the great hall.
Not seeing him there, she went to the kitchen.
Not there either.
Throwing her great cloak over her shoulders, she marched outside and made circle around the manor with no luck. She tried the stables. Closing the door behind her, most of the war-horses ignored her presence. Hastily, she followed the stalls down towards the stallions' end.
To find that not only was Sindar not there, but no Aglarebon either. Her heart heavy with hurt and grief, she rubbed her hand over her tender eyes. Much of the past few hours she'd wept with one question echoing over and over, rattling her brain, her nerves and making her tummy hurt.
She'd done the right thing, hadn't she?
In the end she'd come to a new resolution; first she'd seek Sindar's forgiveness, on her knees if needed after the wickedness her panic drove her to. For the lies too, spoken in a poor ploy to sour his regard for her. Then secondly, she'd at least confess her love. She owed him that much. She still refused to be the bringer of his death, but she would give him her honesty.
"He's not here."
Shrieking in fright, Eryndes jumped and searched around.
"Here," Aragorn called, seemingly unfolding himself out of the walls. He truly was a master at not being seen.
Swallowing, Eryndes faced her brother. There was no need for explanations. Aragorn knew it all. She saw it in his face. In the tragedy of his eyes. "Where is he?"
"Gone," he bit out, coming to stand in front of her.
"Gone where?" Aragorn's hard face left her breathless, her panic of those hours before remerging, "Aragorn, I-we-we quarrelled but I want, I 'need' to speak with Sindar. This very moment. I shall die if I don't."
"You're too late."
The hollowness in his voice swallowed her whole. "Where is he?"
He dropped his head and slowly shook his head.
"Aragorn!" she begged so suddenly, her heart tearing her to pieces. Shattering. "No, please. It's not true!"
"He's left," he said finally, lifting his head to pin her with his stare, "a few hours ago. He's gone home."
"No," she choked, stinging tears flooding from her eyes and streaming in torrent down her face.
"He's returned to Mirkwood."