OoOoO

Almost instantly informal alliances cleaved together, with little clusters of three, four, and five knights fighting in protective formations. Unsurprisingly Eldarion, Elboron, and Elfwine all fought back-to-back, each protecting the other two's weak spots and being defended from both sides in return. All bets were off in tournament, all stations forgotten, and soldiers of both Rohan and Gondor alike were only too happy to try their hand at getting a knock in on the sons of their royal houses. The men of Dale stood allied against their southern competitors though, and the seven of them made a small yet mighty force. Prince Hakon didn't seem interested in letting his men protect him from early attack. If anything he protected the other Dalishmen, the broad swings of his sword knocking opponents back and forcing them to find a different approach lest they take a disqualifying rap on the head or chest.

Officials of the Lists prowled the perimeter of the field, their horseback vantage-points allowing them to spot all hits scored and ensure that the vanquished retired gracefully. When Haleth of Rohan tricked Bergil of Ithilien into turning straight into the path of a swinging mace, two officials even had to wade in to the press to help the dazed Bergil stumble off to one side.

"This ought to be interesting," Túrien commented to Almárëa. "If things whittle down far enough, Eldarion, Elboron and Elfwine will have to turn on each other and fight for the title."

Almárëa took a moment to scream with excitement at the latest elimination before answering. "If that is the case, then I hope Elboron wins."

"What, so fickle?! And after Elfwine just asked to wear your favour only minutes ago?"

Almárëa nodded resolutely. "Elboron wants to win a title very badly this year. Would you like to know why?"

There was something conspiratorial in the way that Almárëa was grinning, lips stained red with apple syrup, that piqued Túrien's interest.

"Alright, why is that?"

Almárëa's gaze slid to the front-most corner of the royal box. Eruthiawen was sitting there, ready and waiting to descend a short flight of steps to the platform where the victors would claim their circlet of gold and a kiss. Eruthiawen was looking her best in gold-embroidered cream silk, her coppery hair elegantly half-woven into a glittering diadem with the remainder left to cascade down her back in a shower of burnished waves. Pretty, perfect Eruthiawen, ever the picture of a princess even when she wasn't trying to be. And today, it seemed to Túrien, she was trying very hard. The set of Eruthiawen's shoulders was unerringly straight, and she sat with her hands folded primly in her lap. It occurred to Túrien that her elder sister looked just a bit nervous; not something that one often saw from Eruthiawen. Her grey eyes were fixed on the melee, following every move of the combatants with intense interest.

"Eruthiawen? Why would that make a difference to Elbor-oooooh."

Lord Elphir taking on both Fulthain and Fasthelm at once captured everyone in the royal box's attention, but Túrien was still digesting Almárëa's bit of gossip when the two Rohirrim were helped off the field. Elboron was practically their brother in all but blood, and as far as Túrien knew Eruthiawen had never treated the steward's son any differently than she would Eldarion...or hadn't she? Túrien suddenly found herself almost more interested in watching Eruthiawen react to the melee than watching the melee itself. Eruthiawen sat as prettily as ever though, cheering with the rest of them when Elfwine dispatched one and then two of Prince Hakon's men.

The melee began to whittle down to only the best contenders, and before long only Elphir, Haleth, Eldarion, Hakon, one of Hakon's men, and Elfwine remained. Elboron had been removed by a well-placed blow to the breastplate from Hakon while Eldarion's back was turned. Elboron now sat on the low benches ringing the field with the other disqualified knights, and Túrien was beginning to think that perhaps Almárëa was mistaken. Eruthiawen had applauded sympathetically along with Faramir and Éowyn at their son's removal, and Elboron seemed perfectly happy to cheer on Eldarion and Elfwine from the sidelines. Eldarion had his hands full though. Elphir and Hakon seemed to have ear-marked Eldarion specifically, and the two older men kept Eldarion constantly on the defensive. Elfwine meanwhile was being similarly targeted by Haleth, who had just succeeded in defeating Hakon's knight with a smart rap about the helm.

"How any of our children can ever hope to win the melee with half the field hunting them especially is beyond me," said Éowyn tartly.

"Now Éowyn, can you blame the others?" Éomer replied, laughing. "How often does one have the blessing of their king to give their prince a good crack?"

Na'Man pointed out where Elphir and Hakon were slowly boxing Eldarion into a corner. "Why does Lord Elphir side with the Dalish prince against Prince Eldarion? I would have thought that two men of Gondor would have fought together against a stranger first?"

"It is just the way of the games, my friend," said Aragorn. "It is all done in good fun, and no one will begrudge Elphir his victory today if-"

"Even if he is a filthy, no-account traitor!" shrieked Túrien when Elphir darted past Hakon to strike Eldarion square in the chest mid-parry. Eldarion doubled over, visibly winded even all the way from the royal box. The folk of Dol Amroth seated in the stands took up a great cheer, their blue and white banners waving excitedly to and fro.

Their glee was short-lived though. Elphir put up a valiant defence against the now-exclusive attention of Hakon, but the son of King Bard II really was a force to be reckoned with. Hakon rained blow upon blow down on Elphir, and the swan lord was tiring. A great "Oh!" of disappointment went up from the Gondorion crowd when Hakon knocked Elphir's sword wide and brought the guarded edge of his own blade to Elphir's neck. His gambit thwarted, Elphir retired gracefully from the melee, leaving Hakon free to go after Elfwine.

Unfortunately, having just dispatched Haleth only moments ago, Elfwine had no allies to aid him against the barrel-chested prince of Dale. Elfwine was young and strong, but Hakon was stronger still. Hakon landed several solid hits on Elfwine's legs and shoulders, making Túrien wince as she thought of the bruises those would surely leave. Éomer and Lothíriel were both on their feet, as was Éowyn. Eldarion and Elboron could both be seen hollering and waving encouragement at Elfwine, as could all of the disqualified Riders. The crowd roared when Elfwine managed to get a strike in at Hakon's stomach, but it was not high enough to be counted. Hakon retaliated by bull-rushing Elfwine. He wrapped his powerful arms around Elfwine's midsection, bringing them both crashing to the ground in a heap of steel and leather. Elfwine had lost his grip on his axe, and Hakon planted the tip of his sword above Elfwine's breast triumphantly.

"Do you yield, Prince of Rohan?" Hakon shouted aloud.

Elfwine really didn't have much of a choice in the matter, straddled as he was by the much larger man. With a huff of laughter, he nodded.

"I yield."

Hakon climbed to his feet and offered Elfwine a hand up. The herald had to bellow to be heard over the commotion of the crowd as their cheers filled the stadium.

"Prince Hakon of Dale is our Champion of the Melee! The victor will now join Princess Eruthiawen on the stand to receive his honours. Prince Hakon, if you will."

Eruthiawen rose from her seat to descend gracefully down the steps. The three victors' circlets were waiting below in a case lined with purple velvet, and she lifted the first crown from its place to await Hakon's arrival. It took Hakon a few minutes to make his way to the stand, surrounded as he was by knights of Gondor and Riders of Rohan all seeking to congratulate him. As he got closer, Túrien was surprised to realize that beneath the strength, armour, and thick black beard, Hakon was actually incredibly soft-spoken and mild of face. The heir to the throne of Dale shook hands with each and every one of his vanquished competitors before turning to mount the stairs. When he reached where Eruthiawen stood waiting he tucked his helmet under an arm and sank to one knee.

"My lady, you do me an honour," he said.

"The honour is all mine, Prince Hakon. Congratulations on your victory, you are undoubtedly a worthy heir to the legacy of the dragonslayers of the north."

A roar of applause went up from all assembled as Eruthiawen placed the golden circlet of the melee on Hakon's head. She then bent and pressed a chaste kiss to his sweaty brow.

Almárëa poked Túrien hard in the side, nearly making Túrien jump. When she rounded on Almárëa though, her sister was making eyes and unsubtly jerking her head toward the crowd of champions gathered beneath the stand. With a huff Túrien followed Almárëa's gesturing. Then she saw Elboron's face and realized that Almárëa may have been right after all. A queer expression somewhat akin to pain but closer to wistfulness softened his eyes and tightened his jaw. Just as quickly as it had appeared though that look was gone, and Elboron cheered as heartily as any other when Hakon stood and raised his arms to the sky in triumph.

OoOoO

The archery competition began immediately following the melee, giving the other champions a chance to rest and regather themselves before the joust that afternoon. Legolas had even refused to enter in the archery lists, but that did not stop him from offering up teasing commentary on the form and skill of those who were shooting.

"Not a bad trick..." he remarked when one of Lothíriel's teenaged nephews managed to strike the inner ring of the target with two arrows in one shot. "..but it would have been more impressive if he had been able to do it with three."

Lothíriel turned in her seat raised an eyebrow at Legolas. "Not all of us can attempt that without slicing off our fingers on the fletching, my dear elf. Or having their shot go wide, for that matter."

Quick on the return as well was Aragorn. "If you are alluding to your slaying of the Mûmak at Pelennor, I do believe you had the added advantage of having a target the size of a small mountain directly beneath your feet. Hard to miss at such a range, wouldn't you say?"

"Why Aragorn, are you implying that I overstate my abilities?" Legolas laughed.

"He's implyin' it, I'm sayin' it!" Gimli snorted, cheerfully clapping Legolas on the knee. "What do you say lad? I reckon next year you ought to throw your hat in the ring for archery, elsewise we're all liable to start forgetting just what you can do with that bow of yours."

Legolas raised an eyebrow at Gimli, a cheeky smile playing about his lips. "Now now mellon-nin, I do believe that would be showing off. I have no desire to spoil the Harvest Tournament for everyone else."

"Pah! Like Aragorn said, so cock-sure of himself! What do you say lassie, should Legolas earn that there ego of his and enter in the lists next year?"

Almárëa looked up from the ribbon that she was rope-braiding braiding into the back of Gimli's hair, an eager smile on her face. "Oh yes! Please Legolas, I've never seen you shoot before, and everyone tells so many exciting stories from the War! Pleeeassseee?"

Túrien laughed as Legolas tried to fend off the now-united pressure from both Gimli and Almárëa. Aragorn and the others were no help, especially when Éowyn looked away from the archers to add her voice to the growing chorus in favour. Turning back to Sufyan, Túrien tossed her head toward the others.

"With family such as this, one hardly even needs a tournament to be entertained. Still, I would have enjoyed cheering for you in the melee, Sufyan."

Sufyan half-smiled and shrugged. "I fear you would not have been cheering for very long. As you saw in the training yards, our strength comes from fighting atop the Mûmakil. A soldier of Harad on the ground is unlikely to be well matched against a Westerling footsoldier. Still, if it had been you awarding the honours, perhaps I could have been convinced..." He winked, and Túrien pinched him for his cheek.

"You are about as likely to have won the melee as I am to have agreed to give out crowns and kisses!"

"Undoubtedly," agreed Sufyan. "Besides..." He leaned in closer, the stubble on his cheek tickling her as he whispered in her ear. "I do not think I need a sword to win a kiss from you. Am I right?"

Túrien could feel a blush coming on, and quickly ducked away lest Na'Man or anyone else should notice. When exactly she had turned into a demurring damsel in the past few weeks Túrien had no idea, but by the Valar if she was going to let anyone see her like that, least of all darling, nosy Almárëa.

"How it is you have not been sent away to the camel herders before with nerve like yours is beyond me," she whispered.

Sufyan grinned. "I am a Haradrim, nerve is practically my birthright."

"Where do you think he gets it from, daughter of kings?" Na'Man smiled sideways at the pair of them, apparently less invested in watching the archery competition than he had previously appeared to be. His dark eyes twinkled knowingly. "Sawda would never have looked twice at me if I hadn't tested her mother's patience on a regular basis."

Túrien chanced a glance toward where Aragorn and Arwen were sitting at the front of the box. A thought had been growing in Túrien's mind ever since her father had brought the Haradrim's treatise before the Great Council last week, and she didn't know how to broach it with her parents. Sufyan knew of Túrien's aims - was delighted beyond words by them - but honoured the promise she had laid upon him to say nothing until she had had a chance to speak to her mother and father first. This was neither the time nor place though, and so Túrien gave Sufyan a meaningful look before rising and returning to her seat. Guthred, one of Éomer's best archers, had just bested Lothíriel's nephew in a final shoot-out, and everyone cheered as the jovial old fellow made his way to the stand to collect his honours. He told jokes to make Eruthiawen laugh before she crowned and kissed him, and all of the Riders waiting below greeted their man with raucous applause upon his descent.

The herald announced a recess for the midday meal, and everyone rose from their seats. Faramir had made arrangements for a grand outdoor feast, and long wooden tables laden with food awaited them beyond the gates of Minas Tirith. It was a warm autumn day, and minstrels played cheery tunes while the king and all his hundreds of guests dined beneath a cloudless sky. There was a definite air of anticipation present though. Even more than the melee, the joust was the most exciting event of the Harvest Tournament, and everyone had a favourite champion to cheer for in the lists. One golden crown still remained to be awarded, as well as one last kiss. Túrien could see it playing about the corner of Eruthiawen's lips when she smiled. Elboron could see it too, if the way he kept glancing their way during the meal was any indication.

OoOoO

Prince Hakon may have been a formidable swordsman, but horses were not the Dalishmen's strong suit. The crowd let out a loud 'Oh!' of surprise when Elfwine avenged himself with a square strike to Hakon's shield. The larger man just didn't sit as easily in the saddle as his young Rohirrim opponent. Hakon lost his balance, sliding irretrievably to one side and falling to the ground before his horse reached the far side of the tilt. He handled his early elimination well though. With a salute to Elfwine, Hakon helped his squire settle his horse before retiring from the field. Éomer and Lothíriel as well as Éowyn and Faramir cheered excitedly for Elfwine, but louder still was Éowyn and Faramir's glee when Elboron managed to unhorse Fasthelm.

"Not bad for a youth born and bred the son of a ranger." Éomer teased his brother-in-law.

"What about one born and bred the son of a Shieldmaiden of Rohan?" asked Faramir with a smile toward Éowyn.

Éomer laughed. "In that case I would say there's room for improvement yet! Perhaps you ought to send Elboron to me in Edoras next summer? I'll have that boy in the saddle from dawn to dusk every day until he doesn't know where he begins and the horse ends!"

"Perhaps," said Éowyn sweetly. "There is still plenty of jousting still to come though."

Eldarion was up next, and when he and Haleth met in the middle of the tilt their lances both exploded on one another's shields so dramatically that splinters nearly reached the stands. Greyhame snorted and tossed his black mane as if that first round had simply been practice. Eldarion's squire hurried to bring him a new lance, and Túrien took the chance to yell some loving abuse at her brother.

"Come on now Eldarion, your horse looks livelier than you out there!"

In response Eldarion's visored helm swiveled toward the royal box, and although Túrien couldn't see she somehow knew he was pulling faces at her. Eldarion raised his fresh lance to salute the crowd, and a roar went up from the people of Gondor. Haleth's horse meanwhile pawed the ground impatiently, and Eldarion spurred Greyhame into a gallop down the field. Lances lined up for impact, and with another shower of splinters neither Eldarion nor Haleth managed to unhorse one another.

It took two more tilts, but when they met for the fourth time Eldarion finally managed to strike Haleth's shield low and hard, upsetting the Rider's tenacious balance and sending him tumbling. The tide of raucous triumph from the crowd was nearly deafening, and Eldarion rode past the royal box on his way back to the gate in a wordless 'Ha!'. Túrien rolled her eyes and chuckled, but joined in the applause anyway.

The joust continued on in such a way for much of the afternoon. Fulthain defeated Bergil but was promptly unhorsed by Elphir, who then went on to go six rounds against Elfwine before falling to the Prince of Rohan's lance. Eldarion tilted against first one and then another of Hakon's Dalishmen, handily winning against both. Elboron meanwhile continued to hang on to Baneth's saddle, eliciting ever-growing excitement from his parents when he survived encounters with one of Elphir's best swan knights and even Elfwine's friend and mentor Éothain.

"Elboron's form is improving," observed Aragorn. "He seems to grow more confident with every match he wins."

"That he does," Éomer agreed. "Perhaps we'll make a Rider of my nephew yet!"

A sudden upset came though when Elfwine and Eldarion ended up paired as the lists whittled down. The two saluted one another from opposite ends of the field with their lances before lining up and charging. Both Greyhame and Elfwine's horse thundered down the list as though a pack of ravening wargs were snapping at their heels. The speed of the charge was such that Eldarion and Elfwine could scarcely keep their lances steady. When they struck in the middle though, it quickly became apparent that Elfwine had not managed to keep his lance entirely on target.

Rather than striking Eldarion's shield, the tip of the lance went awry and contacted Eldarion's shoulder plate instead. A great gasp went up from the arena when Eldarion toppled backward to fall with a heavy thud. Officials were immediately on the move, as was Elfwine the moment he got his horse turned around.

"Is he alright!?" cried Éowyn.

"He stirs," said Arwen, on her feet and concern written clearly across her face as she gazed across the field to the circle gathering around Eldarion.

"Can you see, is he hurt?"Aragorn stood ready and waiting to rush down the field if need be. "Should I go to him?"

Sometimes - especially moments like this - Túrien truly disliked the fact that her father was king. Any other man could have gone running to his son's side without a second thought, but if King Elessar were to do so it would immediately elevate the situation potentially out of proportion in the eyes of all gathered. The people sat in a nervous hush, all eyes on the group around Eldarion. Túrien could see Eldarion still laying on the ground, and Elfwine, Elboron, Elphir, and Prince Hakon were with him.

Arwen watched carefully in silence for a long time, her white fingers gripping the rail of the box and her brow furrowed. Then she relaxed ever so slightly. With a small, reassuring smile, she turned to them.

"No, Aragorn, he is not badly harmed. Elphir has him moving and he looks to be speaking well enough. I think it best that we let those already on the field handle this."

Sure enough a few moments later Hakon and Bergil helped Eldarion to his feet to the relieved approval of the crowd. Eldarion cradled his left arm to his chest as the other men helped him from the field, but he managed a sheepish smile and a small wave with his good hand to everyone in the royal box. Elfwine and Elboron tailed after them as they made their way to the gate exiting the arena. Elphir came jogging over to the spot beneath where Aragorn and Arwen stood, and called up to them from the field.

"Fear not Your Grace, My Queen...the shoulder is out of place, but that is easily enough remedied once the healers get to him. Eldarion wanted me to tell you that he does not want you to worry for him; if he could he would get back up in the saddle and continue jousting in a heartbeat. He also wanted me to ask you, Lord Éomer and Lady Lothíriel, not to scold Elfwine too severely for irreparably damaging the relationship between Gondor and Rohan forevermore."

Despite the worry on everyone's faces Éomer couldn't help but snort in amusement. "He said that did he? Glad to know that the fall didn't knock any of the penchant for dramatics out of the heirs of Elendil."

"Thank you Elphir," said Arwen. "Aragorn, why don't you give everyone a moment to settle and then carry on with the remainder of the tournament? I will go to Eldarion and keep him company while the healers tend to him."

"I'll come with you," offered Lothíriel, but Arwen stopped her from rising.

"No need. If anything I am sure that Eldarion would rather nurse his wounded pride in privacy right now. Still, he cannot escape his mother coming to fret over him. No, stay and cheer for Elboron and Elfwine for me; they will have the final tilt to decide this contest today."

"You are sure, meleth-nin?" asked Aragorn. "I will cheerfully postpone the final tilt for another day if you deem it wise."

Arwen shook her head. "And convince half of Minas Tirith that their prince has taken his mortal wound? No, better not to create unnecessary worry. Resume the joust, and Eldarion and I will rejoin you at dinner tonight to help congratulate the winner."

Once Arwen had left, Aragorn heeded her advice and only waited long enough for Elboron and Elfwine to be called back before having the herald announce the final tilt. Sure enough, that their king had not gone rushing off after his heir seemed to do much to assuage the anxious mood which had descended on the crowd, and a revived cheer went up when Elfwine and Elboron mounted their horses. Still Túrien could see the pinch of distraction at the corners of her father's eyes. Almárëa moved into Arwen's vacated seat though, and when she smiled up at Aragorn and patted his hand comfortingly his answering smile was genuine.

Down on the field, Elfwine and Elboron were lining up their horses at the top of the tilt. Baneth was restless, and the mare shuffled her hooves in the dirt from side-to-side before gathering herself. Elfwine however wasted no time in getting right to it. The moment the signals dropped, his horse surged beneath him and the two cousins were barreling down the field at one another. Túrien held her breath when lance met shield with a crack.

Elboron's lance broke, but Elfwine's held steady. Neither was unhorsed though, and both went circling back around to their starting positions. 

"Lean forward!" Éowyn called out to Elboron.

Elboron and Elfwine put their heads down and charged once again. The plumed mane on Elfwine's helmet rippled behind him like a pennant, as did the white of Éowyn's favour tied around Elboron's arm. The crowd let out excited shrieks and gasps when both lances hit their marks, the tips exploding into showers of splinters. Both Elboron and Elfwine's shields were beginning to look decidedly worse for wear, but both remained in the saddle still. Elfwine shook himself as he returned to the top of the list once more, or at least it seemed so to Túrien.

"I think you may just get your wish of a victory for Ithilien this year, my dear," said Faramir to Éowyn. "Elboron rode well last year, but he's matching Elfwine blow-for-blow today."

"Aim low!" shouted Éomer.

"I can't watch!" Almárëa screamed when Elfwine's next hit almost pushed Elboron full-over in the saddle. Túrien gave her little sister her hand and let Almárëa squeeze it nearly bloodless. Eruthiawen was sitting rigid, nearly breathless in her seat.

The fourth tilt proved to be the deciding one. Elfwine and Elboron's lances both found their mark, but while Elfwine's shattered on impact Elboron's held true. The tip struck Elfwine's shield hard on the upper edge, knocking Elfwine back and sideways. One of Elfwine's boots escaped from the stirrup, and without both feet to brace himself Elfwine could do nothing to stop himself from pitching over. He landed in a heap on the trampled earth.

A great roar went up from the crowd as they realized that they had just seen the victor of the joust decided. The black and white banners of Ithilien waved madly in the stands, and Éowyn leapt to her feet with a cry of triumph.

"So the son of the Shieldmaid pulls one out over the princeling of the Mark," laughed Gimli. "You've got some hearty boys there Éowyn, Éomer, the both of you. Your uncle would no doubt have been a proud old man to see them."

"Yes we certainly do, don't we?" Éowyn beamed proudly as she looked to Éomer, who just smiled. Gimli's comment about Théoden seemed to have put Éomer in a thoughtful mood, and he watched Elboron and the other champions help Elfwine to his feet with a contemplative look on his weathered face.

"And thank goodness for that, because they're the only ones we have," said Lothíriel. "I say we get Elboron properly decorated and call that enough excitement for one day! Eruthiawen?"

Eruthiawen was already long gone, having left her seat to hurry down to the stand the moment Elboron unhorsed Elfwine. She stood waiting with a smile, the gleaming circlet of the joust held lightly between her hands.

His hair all on-end in a golden halo from Elfwine's tousling and his cheeks flushed, Elboron finally extricated himself from the press of well-wishers looking to shake his hand or clap him on the back. He climbed the stairs up from the field one at a time, happiness practically radiating from him. When Elboron reached the platform he knelt before Eruthiawen, gazing up at her with joy in his eyes.

"Congratulations to you, Elboron." Eruthiawen placed the victor's circlet upon his head as though it were the crown of Elendil itself. "A hard-won victory, and one that could be no better deserved by anyone else."

"I faer nîn linna nan glass, hiril vuin (Thank you from my heart, beloved lady)", Elboron answered in accented yet perfectly understandable Sindarin.

Although Faramir was known to speak the elvish tongue passably well, Túrien had never heard Elboron express an interest in their family's second language before. Eruthiawen face lit up with surprise and delight, and she laughed.

"Pedig edhellen vae, thalionen (You speak elvish well, champion)! I can think of only one reward for such a surprise, although it is only what you are already owed. Still, it is mine to give."

Placing her hands on Elboron's armoured shoulders, Eruthiawen leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brow. The men waiting below and the crowd filling the arena erupted in thunderous applause. Elboron rose and bowed once more to Eruthiawen before turning to wave triumphantly at his mother and father. Elfwine was all but waiting to pounce the moment Elboron descended back down to the field, and the men swept their newest champion away in a tide of excitement.

Back in the royal box, Túrien paid Gimli his winnings with only minimal grumbling. It may not have been a very profitable day for her, nor a very successful tournament for Eldarion, but all was well that ended well. Sure enough, that evening Arwen and Eldarion met them in the Great Hall of Feasts, and Eldarion received much fuss and attention for the sling that held his arm, now back in its proper place. Hakon, Guthred, and Elboron all received accolades from Aragorn and Éomer over dinner, and the three winners of the Harvest Festival Tournament had no shortage of admirers eager to seek their attention for the evening. Eruthiawen was also in high demand for her starring role in the day's events, and Túrien was more than happy to leave her to it. Once the Hall of Feasts was suitably full that her absence would not be marked, Túrien left Almárëa dozing against their mother's shoulder and went in search of Sufyan. She found her quarry trying with his still-imperfect Westron to explain the concept of matriarchy to a gaggle of curious Rohirrim. Seizing hold of Sufyan's elbow, she extracted him without explanation, leaving the Riders to blink in confusion at Sufyan's sudden absence. Sufyan looked only too relieved to escape, and gladly followed Túrien out into the star-filled night. Together they secreted themselves away in places known only to one who has made their home in the great citadel of the White City. For how much longer though, Túrien could not say.

OoOoO