The sun was still below the horizon when Eruthiawen and Almárëa rode out from Annúminas. Together with a group of young Dúnedain women, they followed the lake shore northwest. The Hills of Evendim rose sharp and rocky to their left, their mantle of black pines creaking softly in the morning breeze. In some places, the shale rose so steeply from the shore that gnarled tree roots protruded from its face. Tiny waterfalls trickled here and there, down through the hills to the lake, slicking the stone and making it shine like polished glass. The scent of old forest, dark soil, and calm water surrounded the women as they rode, so rich and full of life that they could practically feel their skin tingling.

It was slow going in places; the pebbly beaches crunched and shifted under the horses' hooves, and once they even had to navigate a channel cut through the hillside where a proper waterfall met the lake. Come sunrise though, they had found the place they sought.

Here, on the northwestern corner of Lake Evendim, the steep hills and thick forest peeled back a ways, leaving a stretch of open shore. The rocks were smaller here too, thinning out into a fine grey gravel nearly the texture of sand. Large logs of driftwood lay scattered along the shore, twisted in sun-bleached, serpentine shapes that piqued the imagination to look at.

One of the young women of Annúminas pointed along the beach. "Look there! The bears have been down to the water already this morning."

Sure enough, a mirroring set of heavyset prints could be seen meandering away toward the tree-line; one large and the other small.

"Yes, a mother and cub no doubt." Eruthiawen smiled. "A shame we missed them, but perhaps for the best."

"Come on Eruthia!" Almárëa called, already down off her horse and halfway out of her kirtle. "I've been waiting for a swim since yesterday!"

So far away from the city and any prying eyes, the older girls were only too happy to follow Almárëa's example. Horses were loosely tethered to nearby driftwood, outer clothing was shed, and shoes were kicked off, left to lie where they fell. Shrieking with delight and cold, the seven of them raced to tumble into the shallows of the lake.

They passed a wonderful morning there on that beach. Some, like Almárëa, swam out as far as they could and dove down for the bottom. They surfaced sputtering, repelled by the dark and cold. Others were content to wet their feet at the shore, searching for pretty rocks and other curiosities as they waded. A lynx stuck its head out of the trees briefly, drawn in by curiosity and the clamor. It permitted the girls only a brief glimpse though before darting away back into the forest.

By midday they were all tired, chilled and hungry, and so they built a small fire hollow on the beach. Almárëa and one of the Dúnedain caught a pair of trout further down the shore, and these they roasted for an early lunch. While they ate, the girls unbound their wet hair and spread it across their shoulders, the better to be dried by the fire. There they sat, picking little bones from their meal and chatting amongst themselves.

"Haaa..." Eanna, a short girl with dark curls and freckles, sat back and sighed with contentment. "A pity summer is so short; I could spend every morning year-round like this."

Almárëa hummed in agreement as she licked her fingers clean. "A pity we aren't here more often! I think Annúminas might just be my favourite place in all of Middle-Earth."

"If Your Grace were to spend a winter here, you might not say as much come February, when the windows are all frozen shut and flowers seem but a distant memory," said Selwyn, Eanna's taller, more pessimistic cousin.

"I wouldn't mind!" protested Almárëa. "Snow is beautiful, and we see so precious little of it in the south. No sooner has it blanketed the hills at Yuletide then it seems the thaw begins."

Eruthiawen stretched out her legs, the better for the fire to warm and dry her still-damp shift. "Snow or not, the Hills of Evendim are truly unlike any other place I know in Middle-Earth. I would dearly love to stay and see the turning of autumn come over these lands."

"As would I."

One of the girls, a young woman by the name of Galieth sighed. She was a lanky creature, with narrow hips and shoulders and long sheets of straight black hair. Her eyes were small and smile awkward, as if she were aware that her teeth were not entirely straight and trying not to display them overmuch. In short, the only thing extraordinary about Galieth was how ordinary she was. She was also, however, the quintessential picture of a Dúnedain, with her dark hair, fair skin and keen grey eyes. Eruthiawen and Almárëa liked her, in part because she reminded them strongly of their father and Eldarion from to time.

"I do not understand, Galieth." Almárëa frowned in confusion. "Annúminas is your family's home, will you not here to greet the fall even after we have departed once more for Gondor?"

Galieth looked down, biting her lip and poking at the now-empty fish skin which had held her lunch.

"No, I fear I will not, Your Grace. My family wishes for me to be sent to Minas Tirith...to acquire poise and polish in the courts of the White City, you see."

It was a common practice, for the nobility of cities such as Osgiliath, Dol Amroth, and Annúminas to send their youths to Minas Tirith in hopes of setting them up for advantageous marriages amongst the circles of the capital. Almárëa and Eruthiawen exchanged a glance. Galieth was clearly unhappy with the thought of leaving the northern hills and forests, and they could easily sympathize with her. They had been born and raised in the White City, and so were well versed in the ways of its social circles. For a daughter of rangers, coming fresh from the wilds of Evendim, it would be a hard transition.

"Your family is quite set on your going?" asked Eruthiawen gently.

Galieth nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Selwyn and Eanna, along with the other girls in their group, did not seem to notice Galieth's unhappiness.

"Oh, I wish my parents were of the same mind as yours!" exclaimed Selwyn. "They feel I ought to wait another year or two, so that my younger sister and I might travel to Minas Tirith together."

Eanna chimed in. "How lucky you are, Galieth! You'll arrive just in time for the Harvest Festival! Oh, promise that you'll write and tell us all about it, especially the champions! I hear the Prince of Rohan is quite handsome..." she added with a sly grin. Almárëa snorted briefly at that, even as Eruthiawen raised an eyebrow at her sister. That was when Almárëa had an idea.

"Eruthia! You ought to make Galieth your Lady-in-waiting! Then she could travel with us to Minas Tirith, and we'd be able to ease her introductions to the nobility!"

From the look on Galieth's face, one might think that Almárëa had suggested they crown her queen of Gondor and Arnor right there on the beach. Her mouth fell open, and she flushed a deep scarlet right up to the roots of her hair. The other girls seemed to think so as well, given the utter astonishment on their faces. That was quickly replaced by thinly veiled envy though, which only seemed to make Galieth more befuddled.

Eruthiawen's first instinct was to remind Almárëa that - as per the custom of their mother's people - she was perfectly capable of waking, dressing, and otherwise grooming herself, the usual duties of a Lady-in-waiting. The idea was a kind one though. One could hope for no better introduction to the courts of the White City than to arrive in the entourage of one of its princesses. Eruthiawen had never had a Lady-in-waiting before, but perhaps they could come to a suitable arrangement.

"Well, what say you to that, Galieth? If you are willing, I would be happy to take you into our household for the length of your stay in Gondor."

Galieth seemed to struggle with finding an answer for the longest time, in no small part because of the many eyes upon her. Eruthiawen and Almárëa did not press her though, and at length she spoke.

"I...I would be honoured beyond words, Princess Eruthiawen. I fear though that you will find my manners rough and skills unpracticed in such things as dressing hair and choosing wardrobes. Long have I preferred the outdoors, and spent my time hunting and riding alongside my brothers."

Almárëa grinned. "Not to worry then! Our sister Túrien is much the same, and I'm sure the two of you will get along famously when you meet. Eruthiawen often goes along with Eldarion and Elboron when they hunt, and so you'll likely not be entirely without sport. And..." Almárëa spoke very deliberately now, as if savouring the effect her words with have on the other girls. "...when Elfwine comes to visit, I'm sure he'd be happy to join us for a ride in the hills of Emyn Arnen. He is, as the Prince of Rohan after all, a very fine horseman and fun company."

Sure enough, Selwyn and Eanna looked just about sick with longing. Eruthiawen narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly at Almárëa, warning her not to go so far as to be unkind to the other girls. Almárëa only smiled with such surpassing innocence that one could never have imagined her to possess ulterior motives. Eruthiawen knew her youngest sister though. Sweet and charming though Almárëa may be, she was also wickedly clever when it came to getting what she wanted.

Yet again, Almárëa had her way. Seeing others yearn so obviously after what she had just been offered, it only took Galieth a brief moment more to make up her mind.

"If Your Grace will have my company though, I would be glad to act as your Lady-in-waiting," she said to Eruthiawen.

"But of course, Galieth. Assuming your family can bear to part with you sooner than planned, there will be a place for you in our party when we depart for Minas Tirith after midsummer."

As if by magic, Galieth's elevation to Lady-in-waiting to the eldest princess of Gondor likewise elevated her status within their little group of seven. Galieth was instantly bombarded by pleas to write at every chance, and tell the other girls everything she did and everyone she met in the capital. Eruthiawen and Almárëa meanwhile sat back, giving Galieth the chance to squirm under her newfound popularity. She would have to become used to such attention if she was going to travel in the company of royalty.

Leaning over, Almárëa nudged her sister's shoulder. "Did you see which way the menfolk rode out this morning, when they went hunting?"

"No...as a matter of fact I did not," said Eruthiawen evasively, not falling for Almárëa's attempt to get her to admit to watching for Elboron and Hakon's departure.

"Ah well, no matter. We'll see them all again at the banquet tonight. And of course there will be dancing afterward...."

Eruthiawen laughed, the musical sound momentarily stealing the attention of the larger group. "Oh Almárëa, I do not know what you are up to now, but please, leave me out of it!"

Almárëa had no intention of doing any such thing.

OoOoO

They buried the fire and left the beach behind shortly after, the sooner to make the ride back to Annúminas. There was indeed a banquet to be held in honour of the royal family's presence that evening, and all the notable personages of the northern realm would be in attendance. Eruthiawen and Almárëa disappeared into their apartments the moment they arrived back in the city, there to be joined shortly by Arwen following the queen's morning engagements with various statesmen. Together the three of them worked wonders, and by the time they emerged come the dinner hour, neither Eruthiawen nor Almárëa would have been recognizable as the girls who had spent their morning diving amongst lake weeds and eating hand-caught fish.

Annúminas was by no means as large or magnificent a city as Minas Tirith. In one respect, however, it far surpassed its southern counterpart; the grand ballroom. Built on a jetty of rock at the northern edge of the palace, the large oval building was ringed almost entirely in glass windows. Spanning easily twenty feet from top to bottom, these windows were masterpieces in and of themselves. Edged in delicate patterns of smoked glass, they seemed to be encircled by a fresh winter frost even now at the height of summer. Through them Lake Evendim was clearly seen, and the light of the setting sun upon its waters cast the entire ballroom in a bright golden glow. Such light played upon enormous chandeliers of silver and gold, and highlighted the rich carvings of the oaken wood panels that lined the southern edge of the room. The floor was of a rare blue marble, the white veins of which brought to mind the icy face of a frozen lake. Round tables large enough to seat twelve each were set out across the ballroom for now, set with white linen tablecloths and centerpieces crafted out of silver wire. Candles flickered from the chandeliers and upon every table, more decoration than function for now while the northern sun still lingered on the horizon.

As per usual, dinner was an excellent affair. Roast venison hunted from the Hills of Evendim was served as the main course, with sides of pheasant, sage grouse, potatoes with herbs, and savory butter tarts. Aged cider and wine there was also, although at sixteen Almárëa was not yet allowed to indulge in these. She sipped her spiced milk with nutmeg thoughtfully while watching the others seated at the high table.

Arwen sat in the place of honour at the center of the table, Lord Derufin on her right and Faramir on her left. Next to Derufin sat Prince Hakon, who as a guest was of course given highest consideration after the lord of the city. This also happened to place him between Derufin and Eruthiawen, a happenstance which seemed to please the prince of Dale very much. He was animatedly regaling Eruthiawen with a retelling of the day's hunt, while Eruthiawen ate from a plate laden with the well-roasted fruits of said labour. Meanwhile Elboron sat next to Faramir, with Almárëa beside him. It seemed to Almárëa that Elboron was making a concerted effort not to look at the other end of the table where Hakon and Eruthiawen were sitting. Instead he and Almárëa made rather listless small-talk, the quality of which was vastly improved when Legolas took it upon himself to tell them about the mannerisms of the trees in this part of the Middle-Earth.

When at last the dessert plates were cleared, Almárëa felt she might even be too full for dancing. As the tables were folded away and musicians tuned their instruments, she felt a brief moment of yearning for Túrien, Gimli, and Elfwine. Parties at which the three of them were present instantly became an event, and Almárëa could always count on Elfwine to humour her with at least one dance even if she was still too young to be courting. The lords of Annúminas were already beginning to elbow their sons meaningfully in her direction though. For some reason they did not seem thus eager to engage Eruthiawen, and when Hakon was the first to claim her hand for a dance Almárëa saw why.

To any eye, the princess of Gondor and prince of Dale were practically a foregone conclusion. They danced together with practiced ease, even though it had been nearly a year since Hakon had last been in Minas Tirith for a Harvest Tournament. Eruthiawen's gown of silvery grey shimmered like moonlight on ice, perfectly complimenting Hakon in his high-collared doublet of black and gold. Like the moon and sun they turned, revolving around one another even as other couples took to the floor. Hakon drew her close and dipped her, and said something only they could hear. When Eruthiawen laughed, Almárëa knew then that, if her sister did not love the prince of Dale yet, she soon would. She also knew that Hakon - charming and chivalrous though he was - was not the brother she would first choose.

Ignoring a stammering young nobleman trying to work up the nerve to ask her for a dance, Almárëa stalked along the edge of the crowd encircling the dance floor. Arwen thought to catch her youngest daughter as she passed, but some sense of fate stopped her hand. Instead she exchanged a look with Faramir, who had also been watching Eruthiawen and Hakon. Neither of them had any objections to the heir of Dale's suit of Eruthiawen, so long as she herself had none. Thus far though Eruthiawen had yet to show any strong preference one way or the other. Perhaps it was this very lack of reaction that stayed their hands as Almárëa marched up to where Elboron stood.

With no further ado or hesitation, Almárëa stomped smartly on the instep of Elboron's foot.

"Ai!" Elboron yelped, drawing sideways glances from several Dúnedain lords nearby. "Whatever was that for?!"

Almárëa spoke firmly. "Whatever opportune moment it is that you've been waiting for, the time for subtlety is long past." She flashed a meaningful look toward Eruthiawen and Hakon at the center of the dance floor before adding "Every moment you delay now only hastens that which you most fear."

Elboron stood thunderstruck, his face contorted in some mixture of pain and uncertainty. Then, suddenly and without explanation, a determined look settled across Elboron's face. It was the strongest resemblance to Éowyn that Almárëa had ever seen from the steward's son. Then he was on the move, leaving behind the spectators on the sidelines to make his way through the dancers.

So en-rapt were they in their dance that Hakon and Eruthiawen did not notice Elboron until he was tapping Hakon on the shoulder. The surprise was evident on Hakon's face though when he turned to find the young lord of Ithilien standing there.

"May I cut in?"

It was less a question than a statement, and a quiet murmur of shock went up from the crowd at such nerve. Hakon recovered himself admirably well, and bowed to Eruthiawen as he withdrew.

"If my lady wishes it so," he said. There was a certain light of expectation in Hakon's eyes though, a light which turned to dismayed surprise when Eruthiawen did not call him back.

Face-to-face with Eruthiawen now, Elboron never once looked away as he bowed deeply before her. The musicians were just now beginning a new song, one which began with a solo entrance by the lone cello. The other strings joined in, and as they did Elboron stepped forward. Still holding Eruthiawen's wide-eyed gaze with an intensity that made even Almárëa shiver from where she stood, he reached out to wrap a hand around the curve of Eruthiawen's waist. That was when something remarkable happened.

As Elboron's fingers tightened upon her and drew her close, Eruthiawen melted. The relentless perfection of her posture softened like a willow bending in the wind, her whole being seeming to curve and twine around Elboron when he embraced her. His hand found hers, and for a moment they stood transfixed even as the dance began around them. Then Elboron began to sway with the music, and Eruthiawen followed him.

Hakon for his part rejoined the watching crowd of nobility unnoticed, all eyes now on the new couple at the heart of the other dancers. Almárëa felt a little bit sorry for him, especially when she saw the bittersweet smile on his handsome face. Then she noticed all the other unmarried maidens of Annúminas stretching to catch his eye and felt significantly less sorry. Hakon would have plenty of romantic opportunities awaiting him in the future, of that Almárëa had no doubt.

Meanwhile, Arwen, Faramir, and Legolas had been watching all of this unfold with wonder. Arwen had always suspected that her eldest daughter might prefer Elboron to Hakon, but it seemed that she had been waiting all along for him to act upon his feelings first. If the misty-eyed smile on Faramir's face was anything to go by, Almárëa was not the only one who had been silently hoping for these two to find their way to one another. Even Legolas was looking somewhat pensive as they watching the young people dance.

The melody of the violins and cello deepened, taking on a rich, evocative tenor. All across the dance floor men drew their ladies in and led them into a long, deep dip. When Elboron did so, there was such a searing intensity to the way in which he leaned over Eruthiawen, the gentle firmness of his grip beneath the nape of her neck, the curve of her back as she trusted her weight entirely to Elboron, that some of the watching nobility blushed and looked away as if they were witnessing something too intimate for public eyes. Then Elboron brought Eruthiawen back to her feet, and she spun light as air around him as lifted her hand to the painted ceilings.

Someone tapped Almárëa's shoulder, and she nearly squeaked with surprise when she realized that it was none other than Prince Hakon at her side. Although there was still disappointment in Hakon's brown eyes, his smile was genuine as he offered her his hand.

"Princess Eruthiawen is lucky to have such a sister as you, Lady Almárëa, as is Lord Elboron fortunate to have such a friend. Perhaps you might also consent to one day be such a friend to me as well?"

Momentarily befuddled, Almárëa gaped at Hakon. There was no resentment or ulterior motives that she could read in the prince of Dale's face though, and so she smiled tentatively at him.

"I like to think myself an excellent judge of character, Prince Hakon. Yes, I think we could indeed become friends, especially if you have more tales of your ancestor, King Bard, and the dragon Smaug to share."

Hakon chuckled. "There are so many tales of dragons and dragonslayers in Dale, my lady, that one could hear them told for years and scarcely know which are even true." Again he offered Almárëa his hand. "May I have this dance?"

Safe in the understanding that Hakon - being nearly fifteen years her senior and therefore unlikely to be attempting to transfer his suit from one sister to another - was asking purely from a gesture of friendship, Almárëa accepted. They joined Eruthiawen and Elboron and the other dancers on the floor, this time for a lively melody with quick steps and much excitement. Song after song, Eruthiawen and Elboron remained on the dance floor, seeming never to tire even as others began to retire for the evening. They seemed to know only each other, gazing upon one another as if for the first time. Never once would they suffer themselves to be parted, then or any day thereafter.

And thus, the son of a Shieldmaiden and the daughter of a Dúnedain rewrote a story that their parents had once began, so many years ago even as shadow fell upon the world.

OoOoO