29 FA

"Do you know what the absolute worst part of being a princess is?"

Elfwine suppressed a groan. Would she ever stop talking? Sunsets were meant to be enjoyed in peace, alone. Not with some prattering girl. "No, I do not," he said.

"Everyone is scared of me!" she said, passion filling her voice. "As if I could order their executions. Gods, why would anyone think that I would want the death of anyone who approached me?"

Because you are insane, Elfwine thought, feeling uncharitable.

"I have never met a man who does not defer to me like, like...a squirming toad," Gilræn's voice had quieted now, and her bottom lip was stuck out. "Even my maid has been flirted with and kissed, and she is four months younger than I!"

"Perhaps men simply think you are unapproachable," Elfwine ventured. "They see you as...unwelcoming, or cold. It is not at all pleasurable to kiss a statue."

"Do you know that from experience?"

"No," he snapped. "I have only kissed women who wish to be kissed. I can only assume that trying to romance a woman who acts lofty or arrogant is a fate worse than death."

"Braggart."

"Oh, give it a rest, you wench. I did not escape the party to listen to your complaints."

Gilræn mimicked him, and he glowered in anger. "Then go away," she said. "This is my hiding place, not yours."

"I was here first."

"Fustian!"

"Wench."

She stilled, and stiffened. But instead of goading him further, she said, "Perhaps I am simply bad at kissing."

"Probably." Elfwine watched her jaw tightened, and felt a sense of sick satisfaction. "If you are so concerned, you ought to find a gullible boy to practice on," he suggested, knowing somehow that she would not like that idea at all.

To his astonishment, she considered this with a serious expression, biting her lip in deep thought. A pit of dread filled his stomach: what would she do? And would it cause her father to search out Elfwine - the instigator of bad ideas - to thrash him for whatever nonsense Gilræn got herself into? She turned to him, steeling herself. "Teach me, then. If you are so experienced as you claim, which I doubt."

Elfwine scowled. "I am not a liar, and I do not appreciate being termed as such," he said, his tone hard.

"Then prove yourself."

He hardly had a choice.

34 FA

Elfwine felt sick as he remembered their conversation long ago. How easily duped he was — indeed, playing so willingly the gullible boy — by the silly princess. Why should she have cared about kissing, anyway? She had only been sixteen. When he was sixteen he had still picked his nose; he'd cared little for the female sex.

He watched Gilræn and Friede from the rim of his mug of ale, to where they were chattering closely, looking very much like bosom friends. When had that happened?

As he cast his thoughts back, he wondered how he could have forgotten the princess at all. He remembered how her dark eyes had glittered with a thousand stars after he'd kissed her; how her cheeks and lips had turned pink, bringing a most attractive flush to her skin. The frizzy, dark curls that hung over her shoulder, begging to be touched. He remembered that her mouth had tasted somehow of lavender, although he had been fairly certain supper had not been served yet. Even the curves of her body, still somewhat angular, had felt strangely magnetic pressed against him. Was it elf magic?

He reddened as Gilræn suddenly turned her head towards him, giving him a most deathly glare. This one he was certain he did not deserve, unless she had somehow read his thoughts. Had she? Could elves do that? How elven was she, anyway? Not too elven, he guessed - she had been a horrible kisser just as he predicted. But she had learned quickly enough. He felt his color deepen.

Friede saw Elfwine too, and waved. He returned it, motioning to ask if she was ready to dance with him yet. She brightened, and Gilræn tugged on her hand, looking ready to deliver some sort of scathing remark. This lead to a minor argument, and after a few interesting moments Friede turned from her friend and walked to Elfwine. Gilræn glowered in the distance.

"I think she hates you," Friede said with her customary, adolescent forthrightness.

"I appreciate your honesty," Elfwine said, setting down his ale. "Dance?"

"Most certainly."

He led her to the square, shouldering through the crowd which seemed to be multiplying. It was still about two hours to midnight, and already tables were being set up for the feast. After the feast, which began at midnight, there would be singing around large bonfires and the less hearty folk would retire to their beds. Then the dancing would start again, and continue until dawn when another meal would be shared from the feast's leftovers. Elfwine recalled a particularly hairy year when he and Eorl had accidently fallen asleep outside the front gate until noon, when their father had found them in a rather foul mood, kicking them awake with a black expression. You should be back at the hall!, he'd bellowed. Your mother is worried sick! Drink all the blasted ale you need to feel like men, but come home, damnit!

Friede was watching him. "Gilræn has an ink drawing of you in her bedchamber," she announced.

"What?"

"I think she only pretends to hate you."

Elfwine was struggling to process this information. "Where would she obtain a drawing of…of me?"

Friede scoffed. "At nearly any market, dunderhead!"

"But…"

"I tell you straight," she said, as if she had been blundering before. "You are very popular with women, Elfie. Anyone with any drawing talent has capitalized on it somehow. I found Gilræn's when I was searching for a comb."

"Does she know you found it?"

"No. I was alone at the time."

"You rummage through her belongings so casually?"

"She sent me for the comb!" Friede snapped.

"But..why would she have it?"

"For combing her hair."

"I was referring to the drawing."

"Oh," Friede shrugged. "I think she has tender feelings for you. I know that at least two housemaids have your portrait as well."

"You said that she hates me."

"Those are one and the same," Friede said mysteriously. "You really know nothing about women, brother."

"I am beginning to agree with you," Elfwine was feeling dizzy, which may have been in part because of the ale. Gilræn liked him? And she showed it...how? "Say, Friede," he said slowly. "How could I, erm, attract, or...ask Gilræn, or even just have a non-confrontational conversation with her…?"

Friede grimaced. "Béma! I do not know that much about it."

"Never mind; please do forget that I asked. And do not tell her!"

"Tell her? I would not! I am an excellent secret keeper."

Elfwine eyed his younger sister. "But you told me that Gilræn has my portrait."

"Gilræn never told me it was a secret…"

He threw his head back and laughed, and Friede giggled. "You, my girl, would make an excellent counselor," he said, still chortling. "I think you could win us half of Gondor's lands, if you wished to."

"That might make Gilræn very unhappy," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "We would not want that, would we?"

"No," he smiled. "I think she will be distressed enough when she discovers you have told me her secret."

"She never said…"

"Nonetheless," Elfwine continued. "It was a secret, as I assume she has not spoken of it."

"Do you like her?"

Friede's question took him aback, and he choked. "Like her? She and I have never exchanged a kind word!"

His sister shrugged this away. "I do not know very much about love, but I do not think that immediate success or failure signifies anything. Did Father not pine over Mum for almost two years before she agreed to marry him? Life is full of obstacles."

Elfwine stared at her. Friede was an odd one; hugely contradictory but surprisingly wise for her age. He suddenly regretted losing the last eighteen months without her. "We shall have to wait for the outcome then," he said. "Now, about you giving up your archery…"

"I am not giving up archery," Friede assured him. "Gilræn already convinced me otherwise."

The music ended with a final twirl. Elfwine smiled again at his sister, and asked, "Would you care for some refreshment?"

"I think not, I already promised Giraen I would -" Friede's eyes shifted to his left before hardening, and she muttered, "Shit."

"Oi! That's no language for -"

"Look!"

Elfwine swung about, and saw. Gilræn, having been left alone with Ísond gone and himself monopolizing Friede, had apparently become a target for some of the more intoxicated youths. One was pulling at her skirt, another tugging her hair. Her face was beet-red as she tried to slap their hands away. Elfwine felt as if he had been punched in the gut, and he growled under his breath.

"Why did she not leave?" Friede said, hurrying to follow Elfwine's stalking form. He did not hear her; his ears rung with a hazy anger that seemed to distort his vision. He clenched the tunic of the grabbiest of the youths in one hand and landed him such a blow in the face that the youth fell senseless to the ground, blood spurting from his nose. The other two boys scrambled to run away, but Elfwine caught one on the back, lifting him from the ground by the scruff of his neck and his trousers to send him hurtling through the air. Elfwine spun about, ready to dispose of the last one, but Friede had already done so. The final youth was crumpled on the ground, holding his knee and moaning.

"Did you kick him?" Elfwine asked Friede, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, yes! Went down like an anvil!" she said with a massive smile.

Gilræn whimpered. Elfwine turned to her, and saw two big fat tears running down her cheeks. She caught his eye, and burst into sobs.

The princess was shaking, even with Friede's cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Elfwine could not see a shred of the offensive, complaining, and obstinate woman he knew, and studied her as she sipped slowly from a cup of ale.

They were sitting at one of the feast tables, Friede with her arm around Gilræn's shoulders and Elfwine sitting across from them. He tapped his fingers on the table, only half-listening to Friede's murmurs. "I should not have left you alone, it is not your fault! I should have warned you; this happens most often at festivals, I am so very sorry…"

"It is my fault," Gilræn croaked. "I should know how to defend myself."

"No, it is my fault," Elfwine said. "You are my family's guest; I should take better care of your welfare."

"We all share the blame," Friede said firmly. Gilræn's eyes rose to meet Elfwine's, an openness and wistfulness reaching out to him. His heart thumped.

"I am sorry," she murmured, lowering her lashes as she traced the rim of the cup with one long, slender finger. "I have been a bother. I have always been a bother, I should -" she swallowed. "I should return."

Elfwine reached across the table, unclenching one of her hands from the cup and enclosing it in his own. "You should stay," he said gently. "You may not have another opportunity to enjoy a Rohirric Midsummer again." The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

"The feast has not even begun yet!" Friede joined in cheerily, either oblivious or uncaring of the tension between the others. "You cannot let a bad situation ruin your fun!"

Gilræn smiled, albeit wobbily. "I suppose...I could stay a little longer." Elfwine squeezed her hand.

Friede now looked back and forth between them, appearing pleased. "Elfie," she said slowly. "I think I will find Éomund and see how his axe-throwing competition is going. You can stay with Gilræn."

"Thank you for the order, Mum," he teased. "Should I seek your permission before I eat my supper?"

She stuck out her tongue and left, disappearing into the night. Elfwine turned his attention back to Gilræn, whose head remained bowed. "Before you say anything -" he began.

"Thank you," she said, her voice surprisingly strong. "Thank you for, for...your help. I do appreciate your gallantry, even if I complain about it…"

"Complain all you like," Elfwine said lightly. "I shan't take it to heart."

She took another sip of ale. Elfwine felt his mouth go dry at the sight of the princess licking the droplets off of her lips. "I feel better," she said at last. "I do not want to spoil your evening, I truly should return…"

"You are not spoiling anything," he said. "I have been to many Midsummer's nights. Come on then, I will show you one of my favorite sights."

Gilræn hesitated, staring at his offered hand as he stood. Then she frowned. "You should be dancing with pretty ladies."

"There is only one lady I wish to dance with, and I imagine that after our last dance she is not eager to repeat the experience."

She started at him. "Not m-me, surely?"

Elfwine grinned, a thrill going through his body. "Yes, you, you little widgeon."

"But...I have been so rude to you…"

"Your behavior has not been unwarranted. Do please stop this nonsense. We are adults now, no?"

29 FA

"Who're you?"

Elfwine startled out of his moody reverie, looking through the twilight to see a pair of dark eyes glaring at him from the edge of the library roof, exactly where he had climbed up. "Who're you?" he repeated rudely. The person sniffed, a decidedly feminine noise.

"I am the princess, you dolt. This is my place; go away!"

"And I am a prince. You cannot demand my cooperation, wench."

34 FA

Torches had been set up all around the barrows. The white blossoms that grew on them were pale in the light, fluttering in the breeze. Elfwine choose one of the least lit barrows, smoothing out the cloak for Gilræn to sit on. She tucked her legs under herself rather stiffly, and he flumped down beside her. "The summer constellations are my favorite," he said, motioning towards the sky. "Mostly because I can admire them more."

"I did not take you for a lover of stars."

"You know very little of me, princess. Yet somehow I have earned your disregard."

"And you know less of me, if you think that I dislike you."

"I have no reason to think otherwise."

She let out a breath in a huff, looking away from him with her fists clenched in her lap. "Stupid boy! I was in love with you for years after that night."

Elfwine stared at the back of her neck. "I beg your pardon?"

"You really did not know?" Gilræn turned back to him, looking confused.

"Well…I -" he fumbled. "The way you treated me did not conform to my ideas of, ah love."

She groaned. "Gods! I was sixteen."

"I remember." Silence fell, and Elfwine sighed, leaning back to look better at the stars.

"It was because you did not defer to me," Gilræn said.

He felt himself stiffen. "I did not ask."

"I am telling you whether you wish to know or not!" she snapped. "You ought to know the misery you caused."

"Then by all means, rail away at me."

Gilræn sighed. "I think it is common that a girl often falls deeply in love with the first man that looks her way, especially if she is young."

"I hardly looked," Elfwine protested.

"You kissed me."

"You asked!"

He groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I still do not understand why I have earned such infernal treatment. Béma, woman! I did nothing wrong."

"I know. I know, I know, I know! But I liked that you spoke plainly to me. Arguing with you made me feel...giddy, really. I was a complete goose."

Elfwine opened his eyes, watching for a moment as a breeze tugged at the curls that hung down her back. Even in the dim light, they glittered. "You were no worse than I," he said at last, voice hoarse. "I was horrible to you."

She smiled at him over her shoulder, and his stomach lurched. "You truly were," she teased. "I smarted for weeks. I still cannot believe you called me such names!"

"Let us forget about it," he said hastily, sitting up straight. "Truce?"

Gilræn eyed him, and his breath caught as he saw her eyes sparkling. A side of her he was unfamiliar with...but wished to know more. "If we truce, I cannot hold what I know of you over your head," she said, her lashes fluttering innocently.

He bit back a smile. "That can go both ways, wench. How embarrassed would you be if I let it slip that you begged me for a kiss?"

"Truce it is," she relented, holding out her hand for him to shake. He took it, feeling her pulse underneath her fingertips. She was awfully lovely in the moonlight, with her face turned upwards. His hold on her hand tightened...was she leaning towards him? Her eyes closed.

A clatter and a cheer sounded from the festival grounds, echoing into the night and breaking the spell. Elfwine cleared his throat, dropping Gilræn's hand like a hot coal. She wrapped her arms around her, as if trying to protect herself. "It is very pretty," she blabbered. "The stars, I mean. And the barrows are nice too."

"Very nice," Elfwine grunted, falling back down onto his back.

Silence descended between them, the noise from the feast sounding in the distance. Elfwine was feeling awfully uncomfortable, both with what had been revealed between them and for his own burgeoning feelings. If he did not take more care, he was likely to have a five-year heartache just as Gilræn had experienced. "Are you hungry?" he asked after several minutes. "The feast is well under way now."

"I have rather lost my appetite," she murmured. "But you should go, if you wish."

"I am not leaving you alone again."

"I should hate you for that, you know. I am perfectly able to care for myself. But I -" Gilræn stopped, and groaned loudly. "Gods, I am still a goose!"

He sat up, feeling brave enough to pull her close to him in a half-embrace. "I will take the blame if you need me to, in order to sort out your feelings," he said. "I suppose that makes me a perfect cake."

"You should not be so understanding," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because...if you persist I may never fall out of love with you."

Elfwine thought for a moment, the smell of her hair wafting close. "I shall persist in my behavior," he decided. "For it would be a terrible inconvenience if you were to fall out of love with me right when I was falling in love with you."

Gilræn made a choking noise, and she shuddered before withdrawing from his embrace. "Oh, gods! I do not think I deserve such cruelty from you -"

"If you think that my returning your affection is cruel, then we shall have a very serious problem, m'dear."

"Stop taking me for a fool - "

Deciding that it would be much more of a hassle to attempt to convince her with an argument, Elfwine drew her close once more, capturing her lips in a kiss he thought far superior to their first. She did not - or could not - resist, and a shiver went up his spine as she positively melted into his arms. He could not quite withstand the temptation to touch the inviting skin around her neck and collar, and her skin was warm and silky underneath his fingertips. He could feel her heartbeat, and felt his own hasten to match hers. Béma, this was league different than on the library rooftop!

A small whimper sounded in her throat, and with great regret Elfwine felt Gilræn draw away and effectively end the kiss. He took that as an invitation and moved his lips south to her neck, pulling her closer with his fingers in her luscious hair.

"You should stop." The words vibrated in her throat, and Elfwine ignored her. There were goosepimples across her skin; he doubted she much wanted to stop. Then she shuddered, and said more firmly, "Stop!"

Elfwine drew back. Gilræn's cheeks were very red, and she was biting her bottom lip. The neckline of her frock had been pulled down on her shoulder somewhat - was that his doing?

"Elfwine," she said. "Elfwine. You must not tempt me so -"

"I could say the same to you," he smiled, brushing back her hair.

"I cannot be dallying with immature princes! I am of an age to marry, and I must consider my future."

"Immature? I am five years older than you!"

"And you act like you are five years younger, sir," Gilræn scowled at him.

"Then what would be an appropriate age for me to marry?"

She studied him, tapping her chin with a finger. "Well, Father married Mother when he was eighty-seven, so…"

Elfwine laughed, also noticing that her eyes were sparkling. " will be long dead before then, I fear," he chortled. "Let alone able to, ah, conceive an heir."I

"You have plenty of siblings to see to that small detail."

"Let me make sure I understand you: you will marry me when I am eighty-seven? - for then you will be eighty-two. Do you truly wish to wait so long?"

Gilræn shrugged. "It may take that long for us to stop fighting."

What a sense of humor this girl had! Elfwine chuckled again, liking very much the blush on her cheeks. "Well, you may have nerves of iron to wait," he said. "But I do not. Perhaps we can compromise."

She was biting her lips again, deep in thought. "Perhaps you ought to kiss me again," she suggested at last. "That may help me to decide."

Elfwine liked these negotiations.

The dewy grass was wet and cold on his hands, but it was worth keeping Gilræn from feeling it. She was tucked up against him, lying on poor Friede's cloak, breathing small, warm, and sleepy breaths on his face. He liked it very much, and in fact had refrained from dozing as she had, simply so he could enjoy it longer. They probably would not have such a chance to be alone for quite some time, and he meant to make the most of it. Negotiations had gone very well, and despite their rather rocky start, Elfwine felt confident that he and Gilræn would rub along with each other quite happily. Of course she had insisted on a long courtship, but he thought they could manage that too. It would certainly be worth the wait.

The sky had begun to turn grey a few minutes earlier, the still of dawn making the barrows an exceptionally peaceful place. Even the dancing had quieted much earlier, and soon breakfast would be served. Elfwine's leg cramped from lying still for so long, and he shifted.

"Is that Elfie?" A small voice sounded in the air.

He felt his insides freeze as his eyes flew open. Gilræn shifted, mumbling something inaudible.

"Oh, it is! Elfie! Elfie!"

He lifted his head so that he could see a sight which he truly did not wish to: his family; Father, Mother, Synnifa, Léofwyn, and even Ísond, Friede and Éomund - all presumably on their way to the festival grounds for the morning meal. They all stared at him, with varying expressions: Mother was horrified; Éomund awed; Léofwyn and Friede both joyus; Ísond exasperated, and Father began to roar with laughter in the stunned silence. Gilræn jolted awake, and sat up with a gasp as she saw their audience.

"Béma, boy!" Father said as he calmed, pulling Mother close even as she clenched her jaw. "I hope I am present when you tell her father about this. Aragorn is going to whip your ass! I cannot wait!"

END

I hope ya'll liked it! This was very fun to write and I just might visit these poor creatures again. Thank you to everyone who had read and enjoyed this little story - and most of all thank you to funkytoes for the art trade! I love you forever and ever! :)