The Winter of Discontent. Shadow over Rhudaur V

[Eryndil]

Eryndil and Caelen breathed a sigh of relief together. That had been close. Daurendil had addressed them and clearly begun to ask that Caelen dance with him, when the King’s servant Orefim had intervened and drawn him away, affirming clearly the word ‘immediately’ associated with Daurendil’s father the King. Eryndil and Caelen laughed lightly now and agreed that they might have to stay around a bit longer, but would try to keep out of sight a little better.

But just then they were accosted once more, this time by Eryndil’s companions Lastorion and Rondaran, who had clearly begun their evening of merriment with drinking rather than dancing. Each held aloft a freshly-filled goblet from which they drew occasional refreshment.

“Hello there, Sir Eryndil,” said Lastorion with a deep bow.

“And who is this with you now, not your new bride, is it?” asked Rondaran, with a grin.

Eryndil hastily made the proper introductions, while looking for an avenue of escape.

“Say, wasn’t that the Prince Daurendil I just saw speaking with you? Come to pay ‘is compliments to the happy couple I presume!” added Lastorion, with a wink and an even bigger grin.

“Called away awful sudden-like though,” went on Rondaran. Then, looking off in the direction he thought the Prince had gone, he asked, “Say – Eryndil! Is that your folks?”

“Eryndil! You have a sister!” exclaimed Lastorion, his mouth agape. “Or is it TWO sisters? Why… you’ve never introduced us to them neither!”

“The one dressed up so fine,” said Rondaran, “she must be a cousin. From the weller-to-do side o’ the fambly. That so? Say Eryndil, is she related on your mother’s side?”

The two men shared a laugh. Then Lastorion continued a bit more seriously, “I think the younger much prettier – and she seems so shy.”

“My, but the brother keeps a sour look about him,” countered Rondaran.

“Surely the King would never allow us to dance with Tarniel, but would your father let us dance with your sisters, Eryndil?” asked Lastorion. “Eryndil…? Well, where did he get to now?”

“I danced a time or two with the Lady Gimilbeth,” offered Rondaran almost contritely. “The King wasn’t so protective of her as he is the younger.”

“Well, I suppose he must want quite terribly to marry her off” interjected Lastorion.

“Terribly…” muttered Rondaran.

“It must be up to us to introduce ourselves to Eryndil’s family then. After all, are we not his very best friends here in Cameth Brin?”

“Why, indeed we are Lastorion, indeed we are!”

And off went Lastorion and Rondaran toward the small knot of people gathered together by the entrance to the Great Hall.

[Gildurien]

Gildurien bit her lip and sighed in exasperation. What a fool her father has been to decline the rich reward offered by the King! He never thought about Vilyandur at all! And herself…She wouldn’t have minded to become one of the Queen’s ladies!

She looked at the Queen, searching her face for some signs of acknowledgement. The Queen had to know who was providing her information as Gildurien had signed her letters in full. Now Lady Eilinel was looking at her kindly, but like one looks at a total stranger, and didn’t return the knowing smile that Gildurien had addressed her. If anything, the Queen managed to appear slightly bewildered. Blasted hypocrite! That was offensive, to say the least.

Everything was frustrating that woeful day! Not only had her brother married a conniving slut, far beneath himself, not only had Caelen’s dress surpassed hers by far, but the crowd at the ball was most fashionable, and Gildurien saw quite a few outfits better than her own, without counting diamonds and precious stones adorning the others. And, to top it all, Gildurien had missed the opening dance!

Gildurien’s spirit almost sank into the black pits of despair, when she noticed two young men approaching their group. They bowed most politely, claiming to be Eryndil’s best friends. One of them lost no time to invite Hendegil to the next dance. The other one, Rondaran by name, bowed before Gildurien. He was a nice-looking young man, about a decade younger that she, clad in rich dark-blue velvets. Gildurien was pleased – she was fully prepared to dance with Vilyandur as usual, for lack of decent suitors. She put her arm on Randoran’s sleeve and followed him to the dancing floor.

[Caelen]

Caelen looked up at her husband's face as he led her rapidly away from his two friends, but his expression made her decide against speech. As the music of the next dance started, he pulled her firmly into position, his body tense and his face preoccupied. But as the dance progressed, Caelen saw him slowly relax again, and eventually smile down at her with the sparkle in his eyes that made her feel a myriad of emotions all at once.

The dance ended with curtseys and bows and smiles to partners. The other dancers drifted off; some to pursue food, some to pursue politics; some to pursue love. Caelen just stood there and gazed into her husband's eyes, and the smile on her face brought answering smiles from some of the older couples in the room.

Finally she came out of her reverie with a little shiver. "It's a little cold in here," she said, hugging herself for warmth and hoping that her husband would pick up on her hint and embrace her. She loved when he pulled her into his arms and held her tight up against his body. He was so tall and strong and comforting, and so warm, and he smelled so good ...

"That's because you're not wearing much," said Eryndil in a whisper, when he recovered from admiring how she looked with her arms crossed tightly in front of her.

"Do you mind?" she answered coyly, moving in a little closer to him, and remembering how he looked that day in his room with his shirt off, and wondering what he might look like with the rest of his clothes off. The thought of it was exciting and frightening at the same time ... what had she gotten herself into?

(note - prob. delete this post - I just wrote it to write something)

[Eryndil]

The musicians had only taken a short break before starting again. They began with another traditional Numenorean couples’ dance – of the sort that were popular (because they were acceptable) in the northern lands from the beginning of Arnor. The partners parading past one another in a very regular, formal manner, passing one another, briefly holding hands at arm’s length as the men turned the women around. Eryndil hadn’t done a lot of this, so he had to concentrate rather intently. From looking at Caelen’s face, Eryndil guessed it was so for her as well. He wondered, with a slight smirk, if she would feel more at home with the old-style Eriadoran country dances. Those styles had endured all the hundreds of years of the Dunedain Exile, but had never been considered quite proper enough for a royal Dunedain court.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Caelen as they passed, with a mock sharpness in her voice.

At their next pass, Eryndil smiled even more conspiratorially and whispered with a wink as he went by her, “I’m thinking about when I finally get you back home…”

“MY FOOT!” exclaimed Caelen loudly - and this time with a real sharpness.

Eryndil stopped in mid-step, stunned by her demeanor. The couple to their left stopped dancing for a moment as well, looking intently at the newlyweds. The couple to the right tried to continue, but the girl was giggling too much to keep up with the music (perhaps she had overheard Eryndil), and they finally fled from their spot on the floor.

“But Caelen… we’re marr…” he began.

“No… I mean, my foot! You… you… you just stepped on it!” and she looked up at his face and tried to smile through the pain.

“Oh. I’m sorry Caelen. Here…” he put his right arm about her waist and held her right hand with his left, leading her away from the dancing area. Once they were clear of the others he steered her to an open seat and helped her to sit down. Then he began his apologies once more, bending down and trying to feel how intact her very small foot might be through her elegant new shoes.

“I’m so sorry Caelen. I didn’t even realize it. I hope I didn’t break anything.”

Looking around, he saw Sarador just two tables down, and he was looking in their direction. For only half a heartbeat he thought about calling the doctor over to examine her foot. But he quickly decided against it, preferring to allow Caelen to keep both feet intact.

“Here, let’s try to go somewhere else,” he said, helping Caelen up and leading her away in the opposite direction from Sarador.

“But why?” asked Caelen. “Or, do you need to sit down too?”

“Yes, yes that’s it precisely!” agreed Eryndil. “There was only the one seat open there and…” the thought of Sarador sent his mind in another direction. “And, maybe I’m still not all the way back. You know… from the poison?”

“Oh, I seeee…” responded Caelen, with her own brand of mischief. “Well then… maybe we should just let you get some more sleep once we get home.” She thought for just a second how odd – and how exciting – it was to say that phrase… ‘get home’.

Eryndil smiled once more. “I’m not that bad!”

As they worked their way through the crowd, Caelen noticed they had passed more than one place with enough room for them both to sit down. “Say,” she chided, “weren’t you in the middle of apologizing to me?”

“How bad is it?” he asked, stopping to look at her gravely.

“Oh – not very,” she laughed. “But I think I like it when you tell me you’re sorry.”

“Good. Because right now I’m looking for a better place to do just that!” he replied, leading her onward once more.

They had just reached a discrete door to a back stairway. Looking around and seeing that few had marked their passage, Eryndil turned the latch and opened the door. They were both a bit surprised at what they saw, but slipped on in. This little passageway was boldly decorated with sprigs of mistletoe and dimly lit by a few candles, and about a half dozen couples were already gathered together to share in the blissful seasonal obligations due to the one who accompanied them beneath those celebrated leafs and berries. One couple was the pair who had left the dance just before them.

“Now about that apology…”

“Yes… oh yes!” said Caelen.

And they quickly joined in the celebration of the season.

[Daurendil]

With his eyes, Daurendil anxiously followed Caelen and Eryndil disappearing in the secondary hallway leading outside. His heart skipped several beats - were they leaving already? It would be a disaster to his plans. And he did have plans for the night, plans carefully laid out and agreed upon with the musicians - something to show Caelen how deeply he cared for her.

After a moment of hesitation, the Prince rushed after the couple, but was stopped in his tracks by his mother. He was not sure what Eilinel wanted with him and he hardly listened - something about the Ball in general and how pleased she was - but then she put her hand on her son's sleeve and herded him to the dancing area. Ohh.. now of all times... he had to dance the Yule carole with his own mother!

Carole was a traditional Yule circle dance, accompanied not only by flutists, but by singers as well. Despite his attention being elsewhere, Daurendil danced reasonably well out of long practice and kept the Queen's feet out of harm's way.

The dance was nearing its end, when Eryndil finally reappeared, leading his wife Caelen - all flushed and happy as if after... was it kissing? Daurendil stumbled, but thankfully, it was already time for the final bows.

Now or never... Daurendil rose his hand and waved to the musicians giving the pre-arranged signal. They started a new dance-tune, merry and vigorous, but totally unfamiliar to most present.

It was a dance of Caelen’s countryside, commonly known as Nothva Swing – fast, cheerful and quite a bit immodest, because a man was supposed to put his arms around a girl’s waist and hold her tight, while swinging her around in circles. Such a practice would be frowned upon in the rest of Rhudaur, and most certainly in Arthedain as well, but Nothva was a border county, full of mercenaries and wanderers of all sorts that would come along the Great road. The proximity to the easy-going Cardolan was also a factor: Nothva was full of rather exotic customs, songs and dances that would make a prim Arthedain matron blush in indignation.

Daurendil spent the last two weeks practicing the Nothva Swing under the directions of his rather upset dance teacher and a knight born in Nothva Rhaglaw, who served in the Royal guards. The royal musicians were bribed to learn to play the tune. Now everything was ready and he had only to make Caelen dance with him. No one else would know the steps – certainly not Eryndil, Daurendil thought with glee. He approached the newlyweds who were unobtrusively making their way to the exit. He placed himself square in their path and bowed before Caelen.

“My fair Lady, he said, “may I ask the boon of a single dance with you?”

“I..” Caelen blushed and seemed at a loss. She glanced at Eryndil seeking counsel, but Daurendil pressed the matter.

“Do you recognize the tune, Caelen?” He smiled. “It is played in your honor.”

Caelen frowned, listening, then her face lit up: “Why… Isn’t it the Nothva Swing?”

“Indeed it is, my lady! And I beg to dance it with me.”

“But my wife has hurt her foot” said Eryndil morosely. “I doubt she is able to dance anymore.”

“Come on, Sir Eryndil, replied Daurendil cheerfully. "Lady Caelen doesn’t even limp! Don’t be so possessive, man. You can dance with someone else for a change… why not with my sister Tarniel? See her sulking there in the corner?” the prince pointed, grinning.

With that, Daurendil grabbed Caelen’s elbow and led her to the middle of the now empty dance floor.

His heart almost stopped when he put his arms around his love’s waist – there in the sight of all people. Blushing and very much conscious of curious stares directed at them, Caelen hesitantly placed her hands on Daurendil’s shoulders. She had danced the Swing lots of times, but she had never felt so awkward before. For a brief moment, feeling the aghast eyes of the company focused upon her, she hoped the floor would open and swallow her, but the merry tune soon brought a smile back to her face as she and the Prince started the lively dance.

Round and round they went, the heady music filling their ears and the room rotating around them in mad circles. First right, then left, then right again they turned, while slight dizziness was slowly overtaking their brains.

[Eryndil]

Eryndil stood still for a moment, listening curiously to the music. Was that… the Nothva Swing? He would never have guessed to hear THAT at a Royal Ball in Cameth Brin. What would be next, the Springle-ring?

Caelen had already left his side and was beginning the dance with Prince Daurendil. Eryndil didn’t exactly know this one well – not by any means. But he HAD been stationed in Nothva for one year. What was it now… eight, maybe ten years ago? Watching his Prince and his Bride brought it all back. In fact… Caelen now sort of reminded him of… he would have to ask her later, he thought with a smile, though from what he had supposed, he didn’t think her father would have been too keen on her attending a Fall Festival like that one. Especially not at the age she would have been at the time. But still, he would have to ask.

The Prince danced it remarkably well, so it must be a common dance here at Cameth Brin. Others on the floor mostly stood around, watching him swing Caelen around. He wondered why the others didn’t join in though. Still, there was no question about him approaching the young princess Tarniel, as Daurendil had suggested.

Just then he looked in Tarniel’s general direction and saw that she was only four or five steps away, approaching him with Daurendil’s roughish friend Raglas just behind – half walking, half pushing her toward Eryndil. He didn’t take her to be at all sulky, as Daurendil had described. But she seemed a bit perturbed, perhaps trying to remain haughty, and possibly embarrassed at being paraded forth and almost forced to dance with a man of Eryndil’s station.

Raglas had left her now, and she stood her ground. Eryndil could not dishonor her with anything like a dismissal, so he bowed, inviting her to dance. Tarniel seemed to smile ever so slightly, but then looked around, rather wide-eyed, at the few couples who had begun to join in the dance. Ah… Tarniel had not before been introduced to the Nothva Swing, thought Eryndil. That, at least, was wise of her parents.

“Here my lady,” said Eryndil, reaching out to take her hands in his, and draw her near. “I do not have this dance mastered, but I have danced it before. Follow my lead.”

He then drew her close, as close as he dared – for he was newly married, and she was his King’s daughter, and still quite young. They began to dance.

Eryndil would have liked to watch Caelen a bit more during the dance. He saw her now and then from the corner of his eye, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. He wished they could have danced this dance together themselves. She sure knew it by how she danced – not surprising since she was a native of that region. But he couldn’t watch her very much. Since he didn’t know this dance particularly well, and his partner was new to it, he had to keep his attention on his own dancing. He sure didn’t want to step on Tarniel’s foot, as he had accidentally done to Caelen.

Eryndil tried not to let his mind go there, but he couldn’t help comparing his dance partner with his new bride. The Nothva Swing was especially good for sizing up a young lady though, and he could hardly help it. Tarniel was clearly taller, and more slender. She moved more lightly, and with more grace… though maybe not so swiftly, perhaps just hesitant because unused to this dance. Though young, her form was becoming quite feminine. And rumor was that she was offered in marriage - to an Heir of Arthedain! He wondered what sort of man he was.

Eryndil swallowed, as the dance brought Tarniel in close once more, and when they separated at arms’ length, he brought one her left arm over her head with his right and with her arms crossed in front of herself, drew her in close and spun her around in time with the music. Then he switched hands, held her apart from him, she facing away, then spun her back to face him and drew her near. He was a little jealous, as he saw Daurendil and Caelen perform the same maneuver.

The thought made him wonder if onlookers would think him over-bold, even outrageous, for daring to dance this way with the young Lady Tarniel. The two of them had never even spoken before this evening, never been formally introduced until he passed into the hall this night and was greeted by the royal family. Before that, he had only seen her at a chance meeting in the passages of the palace, where he would stop, stiffly bow, and let her pass. And now… they were dancing the Nothva Swing.

At last the dance ended, as they parted and his left arm released her right, his right hand holding on to her left, fully extended and he dipped into a deep bow and she, quickly following the example of Caelen and the few other female dancers on the floor, dipped into a curtsey. Eryndil released her hand and bowed to her more formally.

The music began again, this time with a more stately tune, a higher ballroom dance. Eryndil saw the Queen standing close by the musicians, nodding her approval. Daurendil was already bowing to Caelen, inviting her to join in with him on this dance as well. One couple dancing a pair of dances together was considered a standard, so Eryndil felt he could hardly object this. Nor could he abandon Tarniel without a similar invitation.

“My Lady Tarniel,” he began with yet another bow. “If my rendition of the Nothva Swing has not dissuaded you from dancing, would you assent to honor me by joining in something we will both find a bit more familiar?”

She blushed slightly and extended her hand to Elyndil for the next dance.

[Caelen]

Caelen had not had the time (or the breath!) to look around much during the lively Swing, but during the following dance, a slow, elegant courtly promenade, she had had ample time and opportunity to look around, and what she had looked at (at first to avoid Daurendil's soulful gazes, but after because she couldn't help it) was her husband dancing with the Princess Tarniel.

They were well-matched, she had to admit - both tall, dark (she thought of her auburn hair with a blush), and elegant - and the doubts sprang up again in her mind. It had all been so sudden; she had had no idea that Eryndil had even cared for her. And her family was so clearly beneath his, as Eryndil's siblings (except Hendegil, thankfully!) took every opportunity to hint at. Yet he had been so insistent in his proposals! Pressing her again and again; overcoming each objection; appealing to her brother's wishes - and she had relented and accepted him. He was so tall and strong, and so good and noble, and he had saved her and her brother - and her heart did rather skip a beat when he had held her close, and when he kissed her - that had been a revelation! She blushed and smiled at that memory.

Yet she wouldn't have accepted him if her brother hadn't made his wishes on the subject known to her so strongly before he left, and after in his letter. And then those ugly thoughts again ... "He just wants you off his hands ..."

And she was definitely beneath Eryndil - why didn't he want a lady in his own station? Yet whenever she brought it up, he reminded her that he was only the third son of a Thane. "Yet we are rich in lands, and he is not, and my family, except my brother, is dead - and he is on a perilous journey, and Eryndil knows he might not return ... or might arrange for him to not return ..." said something ugly inside of her.

And in the following months, once he had secured her betrothal, she had often felt so abandoned by him. She had charged him with it that time in the marketplace when Daurendil had urged her to break her betrothal to be with him, and Eryndil had responded in a way that had assuaged her fears for a time, to be sure! But then that distance, that formality, that politeness again - and Caelen bit her lip in frustration.

Yet the ceremony this morning - he had seemed so sincere ...

But not passionate.

But the kisses just a little while ago, under the mistletoe ...

Caelen missed a step in her frustration and confusion, and blushed furiously, vowing to pay more attention and not look like such a country simpleton. Yet soon she looked over at Eryndil and Tarniel again. They were both so perfect - not a step, not a hair out of place. And during the Swing, the one glimpse that she had been able to catch of Eryndil and Tarniel's faces had clearly shown their distaste of the country dance, while Daurendil had thrown himself into the dance with his usual passion...

Passion ... yet Daurendil's passion had also caused her a lot of grief ...

But so had Eryndil's lack of passion.

Which was better? or worse? Did everyone have such doubts on their wedding day?

She looked up at Daurendil, a troubled expression on her face. He looked down at her with a passionate (there's that word again!) expression in his eyes, just like the day she met him and then went riding. Riding ...

Daurendil was such an expert horseman ... far better than Eryndil ... She remembered the wild, exciting ride with Daurendil's party, and thought with regret that things like that would never happen with Eryndil. "Yet Eryndil is the better swordsman, and the King himself set Eryndil as a teacher over Daurendil, and no one can be the best at everything," objected the fair side of her heart. But horses meant so much to her ...

She looked over at Eryndil again. He was looking at her, and his face was expressionless ... Troubled, she looked back at Daurendil and again encountered his dark, passionate gaze.

She liked it.

Daurendil saw what he had been waiting for.

He suddenly stopped, his hands gripping Caelen's shoulders. The Prince was oblivious to the hundreds of attentive ears, to the hundreds of eyes watching them, immobile in the middle of the dance floor while the tune continued on.

He had to get it through to her - at all costs.

"Caelen", he said, his voice taut and raspy from emotion, "if you EVER feel unhappy, if you EVER need help, I will be there for you. Just send me a word and I will come to you, be it day or night, be it at the top of the highest tower in the realm or at the bottom of the deepest dungeon. You can count on me, Caelen - I am yours to command."

Caelen blushed and looked down at the floor, all too aware of how odd the Prince's actions must look and afraid that others might overhear his impetuous words and read things into them that were not there (at least on her part...) Her reputation had suffered enough already at Daurendil's hands, and she didn't want to bring shame on her new husband and his family. And yet, something in her responded to his passion ...

"My lord Prince," she said urgently in an undertone, "the dance ..."

But with a last elegant flourish, the music stopped.

Looking down at Caelen, Daurendil's heart skipped a beat. She was still smiling up at him - so sweet, so innocent - and so lovely! His tailor had done a magnificent job with her dress - she outshone everyone else in the room. And she didn't know that he had let every square inch of that fabric run though his hands and over his lips before he had taken it to Eryndil's house to present it to them. He had enjoyed watching her in that dress ... knowing that indirectly, at least, his hands and lips were on her skin ... and probably (knowing Eryndil's prudish, old-fashioned ways) before her husband's hands had touched her!

And his sharp eyes had not missed her glances at Eryndil, and the conflicting expressions that had shown themselves so clearly on her face. And how she had now moved much closer to him than she had allowed herself to be previously ...

But he had to act quickly - Eryndil was notoriously alert to his suroundings, especially when it concerned Caelen. He worked his face into the pathetic, forlorn look that worked so well with his mother.

"Caelen, would you just - would you just do me the honor of sharing one last drink with me to celebrate the season and your marriage? It would mean so much to me..."

"Certainly!" she responded, and then wondered if it was right to feel guilty. She thought desperately of something civil and polite and appropriate to say. "You have been so kind to me and my husband - and we both wish you all the best and hope to dance soon at your wedding!"

He forced a smile and then turned to wave his manservant over. Everything was working perfectly - the man was right where he had been told to be, holding a tray with two golden cups on it. The size and shape of the cups were the same, but one was worked with figures of hunt scenes, and the other with a floral motif - clearly a matching set intended for a man and a woman.

"Oh, those are lovely!" exclaimed Caelen as she took the cup obviously meant for her and suppressing the slight uneasiness she felt. The pair of cups looked suspiciously like a couple's cup set, but one could hardly turn down the Crown Prince, could one ... could one?

"Yes, aren't they?" returned the Prince, glad that she had taken the right cup on her own without his prompting her. "Now here's to the season, and to true love!" he said, and raised his cup.

"And to dreams come true!" added Caelen in a trembling voice, thinking of Eryndil and wishing that he would look at her as Daurendil did. She touched her cup to Prince Daurendil's, and drank.

"Dreams come true, dreams come true," mused Daurendil as he drank the liquid in his own cup. "Odd, that's the same words that the old crone used ..."


This goes after my last post

Eryndil nodded his head impatiently as Raglas droned on and on. Suddenly he realized that the music had ended - the few dancers that knew the Swing (and had dared to dance it!) had dispersed, and the musicians were starting the strains of the next dance - one that he had particularly wanted to dance with his new bride. He quickly put an end to the conversation and turned his head, looking for Caelen.

What he saw irritated him immensely - the audacious Prince had the nerve to be sharing a couples-cup with Caelen, right in front of everyone!

"I'll kill him!" he muttered under his breath in exasperation as he headed over to where Caelen and Daurendil stood.


Just an idea to get things looking dark against E. I had the idea of something like a couples-cup - a pair of cups clearly meant for a man and a woman, and something that you don't do lightly. IOW, Dau is very clearly (and publically) overstepping his bounds with another man's wife. Also, I was thinking that Dau obtained something that he was told was a "love potion" and that's what he gave to Caelen. Maybe she'll get briefly faint or something. Anyway, any or all of this can go if you guys don't like it.

[Eryndil]

The end of the dance had taken Eryndil and Tarniel to the opposite end of the dance area from Caelen and Daurnedil. He bowed to his partner and then stole a quick glance in Caelen’s direction as he prepared to escort Tarniel the short distance back to her waiting family and attendants.

The next thing he knew, he had taken about ten hard steps in Caelen’s direction – leaving an abandoned Tarniel to find her own way back to her station. He had probably not excused himself from her, he realized. He didn’t remember exactly what he HAD said, but hoped it wasn’t TOO bad. What was this meant to be... a "couple's cup"?

From long habit, his self-control began to exert itself. A part of himself reminded him that evil – not good – came from release of a man’s temper. This time his self-control did not quite win out, but the effort probably saved the Prince from getting a good punch in the nose – at his own mother’s Yule Ball.

He brushed past a couple of twittering servant girls – among those circulating with refreshments after each pair of dances – and right before his future King and his new bride.

Eryndil bowed stiffly, “Your Highness does us too much honor,” he said, then turning to look into Caelen’s eyes as he lifted the cup away from her he continued with a smile, “but now it is time for me to bring my new bride home, that she may share from MY cup!”

He then turned abruptly back toward Daurendil. Too abruptly, it seemed, for Caelen’s cup struck against Daurendil’s chest and Eryndil lost his grip on it – the contents spilling down the front of his garments.

“How clumsy of me, Your Highness!” exclaimed Eryndil. The Prince began to curse, looking down at his now-stained finery. “Ah – control now, Your Highness!” Eryndil continued. “Remember the words of the philosopher, ‘oh - that a man could change his ways as easily as his shirt’ – and now you have but your shirt to change, do you not?” Then he glared hard at Daurendil, daring him to escalate things further. But this time – Daurendil backed down.

Disregarding the rule about not turning one’s back on royalty, Eryndil turned, and turning Caelen with him – leaving a fuming Daurendil in his wake – began making his way through the stunned onlookers nearby, then the rest of the crowd. As they neared the entrance his father and mother stepped up to greet them – with Hendegil, holding their cloaks out to them. As Eryndil helped Caelen on with her cloak, Hendegil told him that their father had just called for their carriage, which had already been on the alert to leave before the others.

Caelen avoided meeting his glance, he realized. Was she embarrassed at being caught up in the Prince’s tricks once more? Or was she ashamed of his reaction? Or… was it something else? He couldn’t be sure, but once their cloaks were on, he led her on to the door, looking mostly ahead, except to acknowledge the joyous well-wishes of the friends they happened to pass.

- - - - - - - -

The good Queen Eilinel was certainly embarrassed at her son’s hijinks. With Tarnendur’s age, Daurendil would be King of Rhudaur before too many more years passed. Good men were hard to find in Rhudaur these days. Eryndil had the makings of one of the best – and Daurendil could ill afford to lose what goodwill he may still have with him. And encroaching on his wife, on the very eve of their wedding… it was just too much! She would simply have to draw Eryndil’s mother and daughters into her circle of friends. Maybe she could find a way to make things up with them, and balance out her son’s crude misbehavior. Meanwhile, she really felt like having another drink right about now.

- - - - - - - -

The first part of the carriage ride was conducted in silence. Eryndil inwardly cursed Daurendil for his boorish behavior, while he inwardly cursed himself for responding as he had. This could make things even more awkward when Daurendil became King. Then he thought, ‘or would it… maybe as King, Daurendil would have learned to keep his distance from Caelen, and work on what was best for the Kingdom with Eryndil.'

‘Best for the Kingdom’ – bah! That would be the least of Daurendil’s cares. Eryndil caught himself having an almost treasonous thought – reassuring himself that the Kings and Heirs of Arthedain would certainly behave better toward the wives of their loyal retainers. Then he checked himself. Eryndil’s allegiance to Rhudaur would not yet be swayed. But he did begin to wonder once more if the Rhudaur of his ideals and dreams – the Rhudaur that aspired the be the best of what the Numenoreans could be, at the height of their culture, and living as The Faithful – with all due respect to the Eldar and Valar, and a true understanding of Eru Iluvatar over all. But that… that ideal of Rhudaur seemed so remote… and Rhudaur kept drifting further from it all the time.

He looked then upon Caelen, sitting bolt upright beside him, gazing straight ahead. He upbraided himself with equal parts of shame and regret. Here he sat, cursing the past and future, while he deprived this woman he had just taken to himself – this self-professed love of his life – depriving her of the joy due a bride on her wedding night. He pulled the corner of his cloak up, and placed his cloak, and arm, around her shoulders, drawing her lightly to himself. She resisted at first – a little, but then relaxed and let herself be drawn in. He recalled a thought from earlier that evening.

“Caelen… that dance – the Nothwa Swing. I danced it before, at a Harvest Festival once when I was stationed out there. In fact, one of my teachers was a young lady I didn’t even know. But tell me now… your father… he wouldn’t have let YOU go out and dance that way with the young soldiers, would he? Why… let’s see now, I don’t recall exactly when that was, but you were certainly less than 20! Did your mother and father take you to those Harvest Festivals, and let you…?”

Caelen’s face had slowly – ever so slowly, broken into a slight smile. Then she looked upon him, her eyes twinkling and at that last, she threw her arms around his neck, and grasped his head with one hand, pulled herself close and kissed him.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, “but first I’ll make you tell me everything you remember about that girl.”

The remainder of their carriage ride continued in silence as well – though it was a much warmer silence for sure.

- - - - - - - -

Then a little whirlwind of activity. They arrived home, welcomed by the household servants who were conducting their own Yule festivities. They forgot to tell the coachman to return to the Ball and await the rest of their family, but he remembered his duty anyway. Then it was up the stairs to Eryndil’s room. The fireplace was blazing, the bed was warmed and waiting, and their nightgowns were laid out for them. Each retired to change their clothes, just a bit embarrassed, but also somewhat eager (likely more so Eryndil).

Then they settled down together, agreeing what a relief it was to get out of their formal wear, and to be alone at last. And at last they began to turn their certain, but untrained, attentions to one another for the rest of the night.

[Gordis]

Edelbar the Page


Cameth Brin, late evening of December 31, 1347

They rode hard up the King's Road, the hooves of the horses unsteady on the paving stones slippery with melting snow. The lights of the city upon the hill loomed high above. The crescent moon was setting, and the roadbed was hardly distinguishable in the gloom. The two Elves, Tyaron and Alagos, rode in front, as the eyes of the Firstborn were able to detect pits and puddles on the treacherous path even in complete darkness.

Young Edelbar, Gimilbeth's page, rode right behind the Elves, flanked by Callon and Aegnor, the ambassador from Cardolan.
They set a reckless pace, striving to come to Cameth Brin in time for the Yule festivities. A detachment of twenty mounted guards followed behind, having hard time to keep up with the impatient front riders.

Glowing with pride, Edelbar fingered again the letter in his breast pocket - he still could hardly believe that such an important message and the command of 20 men were entrusted to one such as he - a lowly page barely turned fifteen. Well, his Lady's trust was not misplaced: he brought the men home safely all the way from Amon Sul - not a small feat to achieve in December with icy winds howling and snow covering the land.

Up and up they went, the weary horses panting from exertions. Here was the Great Gate at last, still open despite the late hour: the city was celebrating the Yule. The glow of bonfires in the streets and sounds of merriment welcomed the travelers. The cavalcade sped on towards the fortress. In a few minutes they dismounted in the main court.

The doors of the Tower stood ajar, the sounds of music and the hum of many voices floating outside. An usher informed Edelbar that the Yule Ball was in progress in the Tower Hall and that the King and all the court were there.

"Will you follow me?" Edelbar asked his companions eagerly, his eyes gleaming. He would have loved them all to come with him and see his moment of glory - how he delivered Gimilbeth's letter to the King himself and gave the account of his mission and maybe later told the story of the ambush and the fighting.

The Elves nodded smiling, Aegnor also accepted the offer, but Callon declined "Sorry, I have to go see my wife". Now, so close to Caelen, his misgivings must have returned full force. Edelbar nodded his assent and watched Callon hurrying away towards the Palace. Then he turned, adjusted his helm and fur cape and strode purposefully towards the Great Hall.

[Aegnor]

"Thurisind, make sure the horses are taken care of, and then you are free for the evening. We can speak tomorrow." With these instructions to the enormous northerner Aegnor walked off, following a few steps behind the eager young page.

He found the two elves walking beside him. They slightly unnerved him; they had spent much of the journey telling him of their memories of his Elvis namesake from the First Age, whom they seemed to have known personally.

Bursting into the great hall, they came upon a large company of dancing Rhudaurian nobility in various states of drunkenness. Brushing past the revelers, Edelbar made his way towards a tall, very noble, rather tipsy looking middle aged man. "The king, certainly," Aegnor noted to himself.

"Your Majesty," the Page cried out. "I arrive from Amon Sûl bearing an important message to you from your eldest daughter, the Lady Gimilbeth. Allow me to present it to you." the young page held out the letter.

The King looked surprised, but quickly mastered himself as he took the letter, which he slipped into a pocket. "Thank you, young Edelbar, you have done your duty well. Now go, and rest and be merry for this fine Yule celebration."

Aegnor, who had come up beside the young page, coughed meaningfully. "Sire, thank you for your kind words, but before I go, I must introduce to you the Lord Aegnor. He is steward to the Prince of Baranduin in Cardolan, and has a most important mission here."

Aegnor was relieved that the young page had managed to introduce him without undue embarrassment. Now he found that the king's eyes were upon him. "Sir, I am pleased to make your acquaintance," the King said, pausing briefly. Before Aegnor had a chance to respond, he spoke again. "From Cardolan, you say? Steward to a Prince? That is most unusual, we rarely have visitors from the other kingdoms here in Cameth Brin, and those that do come are not normally from the highest orders. So, tell me, what is your business here? What message do you bring to me?"

The King looked at him, awaiting a reply. "Sire, I have a most important message to deliver to you from my master's only son, the Lord Galphant, but it would be best if I could speak to you of it in private."

"In private? Is it a happy message, or a serious one?"

"I hope, sire, that it will be a most happy message indeed, but if you will grant me an audience, I can explain it to you yourself."

"Well, if it is a most happy message indeed, then why should I wish to deprive my people of such joyous tidings on the day of Yule? Speak your message to all!" The King drew himself up now, looking somewhat forbidding even in his half-drunk state.

"Sire, I believe that it would be better if I might tell it to you in private."

"In private? Who is this stranger who comes into my hall in the midst of my festivities and presumes to tell me how to run my own affairs? Out with it, man! I'll bear no more delay."

Aegnor saw it was no use to argue any further - anything more would only antagonize the king. It would be best to come out with it. "If you wish it, Sire. I am to bear the message to you that my lord Galphant has come to know your daughter, the Lady Gimilbeth, at Amon Sûl, and has fallen deeply in love with her. He has sent me to ask your permission that he may take your daughter's hand in marriage."