Four months was not so very long, not when so much could and had happened within the space of a week. To the people of Gondor, it felt like a shock when they awoke one crisp morning to realize that it was not just autumn, but October, the month of the Harvest Festival. After so much chaos, such fright and uncertainty, how could anyone possibly be in a fit state to celebrate? The royal house of Telcontar was adamant though; the Harvest Festival would go on. 

There were, of course, a few minor changes to be made this year. With the siege of Minas Ithil still so fresh in everyone minds, it was by unspoken agreement that the tournament was forgone, at least for one year. Although - thanks to the efforts of Sufyan and the Haradrim - the loss of Gondorian life had not been so very great, most if not all of the tournament's usual champions possessed little appetite for even a mock battle. Instead, all planning and resources were focused upon a grand Harvest Feast. Every guest house, gathering hall, and tavern throughout The White City would of course host their own dinners, but up in the Citadel plans unfurled all throughout September for a banquet of such magnificence as had not been seen since the end of the War of the Ring. Cooks planned their career's finest masterpieces, the great feasting hall of Merethrond was trimmed with garlands of golden wheat and red leaves, and beyond the city walls the harvest crops were reaped. It was a time of rich earth, colorful trees, and long, fiery sunsets watched from porches and hilltops alike. 

 Just such a sunset lingered over the rooftops of Minas Tirith on the eve of the Harvest Feast, making the White City glow in the fading light. Eldarion stood upon a balcony of The King's House, watching the tell-tale party lights spring to life throughout the city below. He could hear the eager clamour of many voices in the Citadel, and sure enough; a steady stream of guests poured into the open doors of the Merethrond. Spacious though the great feasting hall of Gondor may be, there was only room enough for invited guests to attend the King's Harvest Feast. Seven hundred lords and ladies of Gondor had received such a coveted invite, and the mood amongst the guest as they crossed under the eves of the White Tree was merry. There were also, of course, the king's honoured guests from Rohan and Harad, most of whom were already inside. Soon the royal family themselves would make their entrance and join the festivities. 

Eldarion was dressed for the occasion. He wore a beautifully brocaded tunic; silver silk over blue, with patterns of flowers, stars, and swans scrolling across his chest, shoulders, and cuffs. On his brow he wore a silver circlet, and at his waist was a belt inlaid with such semi-precious stones as sapphire, moonstone, and pearl. Eldarion had seen himself in a mirror earlier, and wondered that he could possibly be the same man who had curled up and slept, exhausted, on a bench in broad daylight beneath Minas Ithil's smoke-filled sky. Such was the wonder of life. It was not upon his own appearance that Eldarion waited with such anticipation now though. 

Earlier that afternoon, Eruthiawen, Túrien, and Almárëa had disappeared into the queen's apartments, taking Galieth as their hostage. When Galieth had tried to insist that she could manage her own preparations for the banquet, her protests had fallen on deaf ears. Arwen, Éowyn, and Lothíriel had been no help; the family matriarchs even joined in on the fun, offering up suggestions and choice tidbits from their own collections of jewelry and other accessories. Only the reminder that her parents - Lord Suiledir and Lady Gwynnis of Annúminas - would be in attendance that evening had at last succeeded in subduing Galieth, and from that point onward there had been only mysterious laughter and whispers from behind closed doors. It was on the adjoining balcony outside the royal apartments that Eldarion now lurked, despite the knowledge that Elfwine and Elboron were probably waiting on him. 

A soft 'harrumph' from the far doorway caught Eldarion's attention. Straightening up from the railing where he'd been leaning, he was pleasantly surprised to see a short, bearded figure leaning upon a carven cane. 

"Are we overdue downstairs, Gimli?" he asked. 

Stumping across the balcony, Gimli waved a calloused hand dismissively. "Nah, don't ye worry laddie, Elfwine and Faramir have got everyone well looked after. After all, it's not like dinner is about to be served without you lot at the table!" 

"All the more reason that we're going to be unpopular," chuckled Eldarion. "With so many wonderful smells coming from the kitchens, our guests will be feeling their appetites sooner rather than later." 

A roguish gleam came into the old dwarf's eye. "As I said, don't ye worry. I took the liberty of bringing a few casks of malt beer with us from The Glittering Caves. That'll keep all those noble appetites in check for a little while yet." 

"Gimli!" Eldarion couldn't help but laugh aloud. "With dwarvish beer on tap, this Harvest Feast is sure to go from a dinner to an event before the first course is even served!" 

"Good! I've always said that all these Gondorians ought to loosen up a touch, perhaps learn to make-merry a little more like your horselord neighbors! A pity you missed Yuletide in Edoras last year, what a party Elfwine and his folk put on..." 

Eldarion and Gimli enjoyed a moment of friendly bantering over beers and other finer points of holidays before lapsing into comfortable silence. With a flick of his cane, Gimli tossed his head and indicated the balcony doors into the royal apartments. 

"The lassies getting themselves all ready in there?" 

"Yes, it's been something of a secret lair for the past hour now. Almárëa even drew the curtains and latched the doors...as if I would come barging in!" 

Gimli raised a greying eyebrow. "You wouldn't, but others might not be above a little mischief, eh? Remember Eruthiawen and Elboron's wedding?" 

"Ha! Indeed! I daresay Elfwine has matured a little past stealing garters and the like by now though." Eldarion smiled fondly at the memory; he had watched the entire scuffle between Elfwine, Galieth, and Almárëa from the window of Faramir and Éowyn's home in Ithilien.

"Aye..." 

"Something the matter, Gimli?" 

Gimli gave a start and blushed, clearing his throat. "No, just thinkin' is all..." 

"About...?" Eldarion prompted. 

"Just about you children, and how - in no more than the blink of an eye - you've all gone and grown up on us. Wasn't it just only yesterday that you, Elfwine, and Elboron were playing games with your sticks and your apples? Where is Eruthiawen, mothering after her 'little brother' and sisters and fussing over her lessons? Where is Túrien, swingin' about with swords in her boys' clothes, and wee Almárëa trying to sneak braids into my beard? Now, I look up at you all, and I see tall men and women, strong and wise and noble like yer parents. When did thirty years slip away so sudden?" Again, Gimli harrumphed, and Eldarion got the sudden, distinct impression that the dwarf was trying very hard not to get choked up. 

The sight of moisture glimmering in the corners of Gimli's eyes gave Eldarion pause. Should he try to comfort and reassure the nostalgic old veteran? Or perhaps would the prickly sensibilities of a dwarf prefer a more light-hearted approach? Knowing very well that Gimli could still inflict incredible damage to one's shins with that cane of his, Eldarion opted for the latter. 

"Why Gimli, I do believe you're going soft on us!" Leaning in, Eldarion gave him a wink and an elbow. "We could always ask Almárëa to braid a ribbon or two into your beard for old time's sake? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to oblige." 

With a splutter and a huff, Gimli delivered the expected sharp poke to Eldarion's leg. They both knew very well that it wasn't annoyance that had him red in the cheeks though.

"Pah, keep your ribbons! I reckon the lassies will have need of them all tonight anyways." 

"Oh, I'm sure we could find a few to spare for you, Uncle." 

Eruthiawen's melodic voice from behind brought both Eldarion and Gimli spinning about. How she had managed to open the balcony door without them noticing, Eldarion could only imagine. The Lady of the Vale was a vision in grey, with the Evenstar at her throat and pearls threaded into her long auburn hair. Eldarion couldn't help but crane his neck, trying to glimpse the other women in the royal apartments, and Eruthiawen smiled knowingly. 

"Oh no ye don't, lassie! It's high-time we were all gettin' downstairs for dinner. So how's about you put your poor brother out of his misery and show him what you've been up to in there?" 

"Do you think we were born yesterday? No, here Myriam...not your fingers." Túrien, trailing silks of poppy-red and sunset yellow, appeared behind Eruthiawen with Myriam in her arms. The little girl took her fingers out of her mouth just long enough to wave at Eldarion and Gimli, flashing them a smile that was still more gums than teeth. Túrien caught Myriam's hand halfway back to her mouth and popped the bracelet of wooden teething beads onto her wrist instead. "If we let Eldarion see Galieth up here, we'll never get the two of them downstairs for the Harvest Feast. We took the liberty of sending her out through the hallway instead, to meet us with the others at the main stairwell." 

"We aren't half as bad as all that!" Eldarion protested. "...Are we?" 

Almárëa stuck her head out from inside. "Worse," she gleefully confirmed. 

Now it was Eldarion's turn to blush and squirm under amused eyes. Gimli graciously took pity on him though. 

"Alright now lassies, ye've had yer fun! Time to stop neglecting your guests - and their stomachs - and take this here party downstairs." With a wink right back at Eldarion, Gimli tapped his cane on the ground and tossed his head toward the balcony door. "The sooner the better; I reckon there's someone waitin' for ye at the stairs, Eldarion." 

"I reckon so," said Eldarion with a smile. 

OoOoO

Sure enough, the rest of the House of Telcontar was waiting at the top of the main stairwell when Eldarion, Eruthiawen, Túrien, Myriam, Almárëa, and Gimli arrived. It was by custom that the arrival of the royal family signaled the beginning of the feast. A nursemaid was also waiting; with a kiss, Túrien handed over her yawning daughter, that she might join little Barahir upstairs for bedtime. The Harvest Feast would stretch long into the night, and every child anticipated eagerly the day when at last they might be old enough to join in such festivities. Eldarion had his own memories of sneaking out of bed as a boy and listening to the sounds of revelry from the topmost stair.  For now though, the next generation would dream in peace. 

 Halfway up the stairs, Elboron and Sufyan leaned against the balusters, chatting in the slow, fledgling beginnings of Elboron's attempts at the Haradrim tongue. They were the first to notice that the latecomers had come to join the feast. They could not have been more different in appearance; Elboron tall and slender, with his golden curls and sea-blue cape, and Sufyan, dark of hair, eye, and face and clad in the desert finery of his people. Despite all their differences, the smiles the two men turned on Eruthiawen and Túrien respectively were identical in every way; so warm and filled with delight, the very air around them seemed to brighten.  

Below Elboron and Sufyan, Legolas, Éowyn, and Faramir were gathered. Faramir and Éowyn stood poised, relaxed, as if they had already been down in the main hall mingling with guests and were ready to return again anytime. The two of them cut a regal pair in contrasting cream and navy; a stranger to Gondor could be forgiven for mistaking the Lord and Lady of Ithilien for a king and queen in their own right. Éowyn's white-gold hair sat braided and coiffed atop her head beneath a circlet of golden flowers, and her hand rest in the crook of Faramir's arm as if it belonged there. Legolas must have said something amusing, because Faramir tossed back his head and laughed such as had once been rare to the steward in his days of youth. 

Toward the bottom of the stairs, Lothíriel and Elfwine lingered on their way out to the vast, golden clamor of the Merethrond, caught up in conversation with Na'Man. All the other southrons had since returned to Harad before summer's end, leaving Na'Man (and the ever-faithful Qufar) behind to wait upon Sufyan's recovery. Although Sufyan was not perfectly healed yet, Aragorn had at last pronounced him fit for travel. After the Harvest Feast, Sufyan, Túrien, Myriam, and Na'Man would at last be returning home to Sawda, who patiently awaited them amidst the graceful aqueducts and cool gardens of Harmindon. 

Elfwine and Lothíriel were resplendent in all the finery of the House of Eorl; Elfwine in fur-trimmed green and Lothíriel with a net of sapphires binding up her silvery hair. After their journey back from the borders of Rhûn, Elfwine had returned to Rohan. There, he had spent the remainder of the summer doing what kings do best; ruling. Together with Gimli and his folk, official plans had been drawn up for the refurbishment of the Dimholt Road. Aragorn and Lord Elphir continued to look toward the possible settlement of the vast, sparsely populated lands of Anfalas. Lord Gerantar, son of the late Lord Golasgil of Anfalas, was now enthusiastically on-board with the capital's designs upon the region. When the day came that Gondorians spread far and wide along Middle-Earth's southwestern-most edge, Elfwine dreamt that Rohan would be there, passing through the mountains at the Stone of Erech, to greet them. Together, their two peoples would build a shared realm of such prosperity as to rival the beauty of the western elf-harbors of old. Who knew? Elfwine dared to envision a day when even horselords might take up the craft of sailing. Lothíriel, daughter of a seaside people as she was, looked upon her son's ambitions with whole-hearted approval. 

At the very foot of the stairs, ready to lead their friends and family out into the feasting hall, Aragorn and Arwen were pure majesty. The King and Queen of Gondor, in white-trimmed sable and red of the deepest rose, could have stepped straight off the pages of a text of Old Númenor. Threaded with silver were the heads beneath their crowns, and the wisdom of years was in their eyes. Quiet pride there was also, as they gazed upon all those gathered together on the grand staircase. This tapestry of individuals, woven together into one family, was all that the two of them had hoped and struggled and sacrificed for, so many years ago in the flames of war. When their gazes rose to see their children atop the highest step, the happiness of Aragorn and Arwen was complete.

A stranger waited at Arwen's side, or so it seemed upon first glance. When Eldarion recognized Galieth though, he nearly faltered upon the stair. Almárëa - ever one to notice when her brother was making a fool of himself - giggled with satisfaction. 

Galieth's long, jet black hair - usually contained in a single tidy braid - had been brushed and set free. It flowed like a river of darkest night, spilling over her shoulders and past her waist, except where it was held back from her face by a circlet of silver stars. Her gown was of a rich, dark violet, with tailored sleeves and a wide neckline, the better to show off the unexpected delicacy of her throat and collarbones beneath a necklace of moonstones. The color of the gown did more even beyond bringing out the clearness of Galieth's skin; it highlighted the grey in her eyes, bringing to mind the crystal depths of Lake Evendim. 

It was more than just the finery that had kept Eldarion from recognizing Galieth at first though. Whether from all the time spent amidst the royal household, all the attention from its princesses, or simply looking like a princess herself, the entire way Galieth carried herself was foreign to the flustered handmaiden who had first entered Minas Tirith two years ago. There was a quiet confidence about the Dúnedain woman now, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. No longer did Galieth try to hide her smile - crooked teeth or no - when Eldarion came down the stairs toward her. 

"Galieth..." As usual, words did not quite serve to express Eldarion's heart in that moment. "You look...different." 

"I feel different," Galieth admitted with a tiny blush, this time betraying a hint of her natural shyness. "You are no orc either, Eldarion." 

Understanding one another perfectly - even as Elfwine rolled his eyes at their atrocious excuse for romance - Galieth and Eldarion beamed. Aragorn sent a sideways look of amusement to Arwen, which she returned. To see their son finally in love brought them no end of satisfaction. 

"Our guests are waiting," said Aragorn. "Shall we join them?" 

"The sooner the better!" Almárëa exclaimed as she took the steps two-at-a-time, hiking up the hem of her wheat-yellow gown. "I haven't eaten since breakfast to fit into this corset!" 

"I second that," said Sufyan. He laid a hand upon the chest of his embroidered jacket, beneath which he still wore light bindings to support his ribs. In an absolute deadpan, he added "I too, have had to pass up lunch to fit my corset." 

Túrien snorted with laughter so violently, she had to momentarily hide her face in her hands. Mirth rang out from the top of the stairs to the bottom, made all the more sweet because it was none other than Sufyan who was alive to make fun of himself in the first place.

"Enough delay then, let us go to dinner!" 

With a wave, Arwen beckoned everyone to follow her and Aragorn. They all streamed down off the stairs, chatting and laughing in eager anticipation of the Harvest Feast. Eldarion offered his arm to Galieth, and she took it.

"Are you ready?" he asked her, suddenly sober. "This will be a big moment for us." 

The sudden reminder of the many watching eyes that awaited them in the Merethrond made Galieth bite her lip. She drew nearer to Eldarion's side, half-hugging his arm to her subconsciously. This would be the first time that the two of them appeared together in public, not just in one another's company, but as an obvious couple. The knowledge that her family would be among the guests further brought the blood to Galieth's ears. She had of course written to her parents months ago, informing them of her courtship with the prince and inviting them to make the trip to Minas Tirith for the Harvest Feast. Lady Gwynnis's reply had been nearly illegible with excitement. Eldarion still had to suppress a chuckle at the memory of trying to wrestle a page or two of the letter away from Galieth for a glimpse of her mother's reaction to him. For all that she was slender and narrow, Galieth was astonishingly strong. Eldarion had managed to catch the words 'Valar-sent' and 'majestic' before his beloved had nearly wrenched his arm from its socket. 

"Your mother is a frightfully extraordinary woman to be entering after...How can anyone ever hope to live up to her stature, let alone me?" 

"My mother is a daughter of elf-kind, over two-thousand years old," said Eldarion matter-of-factly. "And my father is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the man who reclaimed the throne of Gondor and defeated the armies of Mordor. I daresay no one expects us to match their public stature, least of all them...and thank the Valar for it!" 

Galieth gave a weak chuckle. "Yes, well, that is all very well and fine. But did you know that my father once won Annúminas's annual fishing competition?"

"Annúminas has a fishing competition?" 

"Oh yes! Every July! His record still stands to this day; no one had ever caught a four-and-a-half foot salmon during the Summer Games before!"

Eldarion was genuinely impressed. "You know, I daresay that my father has never caught a fish that large before either. The House of Telcontar humbly concedes the title of Best Fisherman to Lord Suiled-." 

"Oh for Eru's sake...Eldarion!" Elboron stuck his head back in from the hallway with a knowing grin. "Eruthiawen says that if you do not hurry up, we shall enter and start the feast without either you or Galieth." 

"Ai! Coming! Are we ready?" Eldarion looked to Galieth. 

Galieth drew in a deep breath and squeezed Eldarion's arm. 

"We are." 

OoOoO

The great feasting hall of Merethrond was a sea of warm candlelight, bright faces, and cheerful voices. Gimli's gift of dwarvish beer had indeed gone far toward livening up the festivities, and laughter could be heard freely and often amongst the tables. The hall was arranged with ten long tables, set in rows of two by five the length of the Merethrond. There was enough room for seventy to be seated at each, with room to spare for elbows and knees. The head table at the front of the hall seated twenty-five; the entire royal house of Telcontar and their guests, plus a few extra places of honor. All seats were needed tonight though, what with there being guests present all the way from Dale and Annúminas

For a time, the main focus of Eldarion's mind was the excellence of the feast. The womenfolk (and Sufyan) weren't the only ones who had been fasting in anticipation of tonight, which only served to make every dish more enjoyable. Seated at the head table with Galieth on one side and his father on the other though, it wasn't long before Eldarion found himself taking advantage of the view afforded by his position. He spotted Ohtar and his wife at the far end of one of the tables, enjoying an evening's respite from the full-time duty of parenting five-year-old twins. At the opposite end of the room nearest the head table, Lord Elphir and Lady Meluieth chatted intently with two of Gimli's folk. Legolas had managed to entice a handful of his folk out from Ithilien, and here and there throughout the Merethrond a shining elvish face could be seen amidst the many mortals. Elves, men, and dwarves feasted together in the White City tonight, their mingled voices echoing banquet halls from ages long past, once upon a time when the world was young. 

When the dishes from the main course were at last emptied and cleared away, Aragorn stood, goblet in hand. All rose following the king, and servants were quick to top up any dry wine goblets. Amidst the shuffle a quick, subtle movement from Túrien almost went unnoticed. Eldarion saw though how his sister covered her cup with her hand, preventing a servant from pouring any wine into it. Eldarion stared at Túrien along the head table, and she met his questioning look out the corner of one eye. A wink, a secret smile, and a quick flutter of fingertips across her midsection was all the answer Túrien gave...and all the answer that Eldarion needed. He beamed with delight at Túrien's secret even as he took his own goblet in hand. 

"Tonight," Aragorn began, speaking out across the Merethrond to all gathered "we celebrate and offer gratitude for all with which we are blessed. This has been a year of many trials for our peoples, but also many gifts. I speak not only for myself but for all the House of Telcontar when I say that you - your trust, support, and fealty - has always been among the greatest of gifts. Without the united friendship of Gondor's people and its allies, we could not have hoped to weather this summer's challenges half so well as we have. Thus to all - both within these walls and beyond - I give thanks." 

  A round of applause went up from all the tables, and many quaffed their wine, thinking that the king's toast was complete. Aragorn was not finished yet though. 

"Many have been the deeds of this summer, for both good and ill. Among the count of good deeds, the actions of some individuals must even be called great. It is these individuals whom I would like to honour now. Lieutenant Malbeth, please rise." 

From halfway down one of the middle tables, sitting between Jeddah the Haradrim seamstress and another of Gimli's folk, Malbeth rose. It was a rare occasion to see the lieutenant out of uniform, dressed for fine company with his brown curls loose across his shoulders. Although Malbeth kept to the crisp posture of a soldier when he stood, a tell-tale flush still crept up his neck at being under the eyes of so many. 

"Malbeth, son of Medlithor, you have conducted yourself with the highest honor in your service to Gondor. You fought bravely at the Siege of Minas Ithil, placing the safety of others above yourself on the battlefield. You have proven yourself a loyal servant to the House of Telcontar, most especially during the events of The Black House. It was by your quick-thinking and foresight that the life of my son and heir, Prince Eldarion, was saved." Aragorn raised his wine goblet. "I give thanks to you, Lieutenant Malbeth, as does all of Gondor. Hannon le." 

"Hannon le." 

All echoed Aragorn's gratitude and lifted their cups to Malbeth. None were more heartfelt in their thanks though than Eldarion himself. Meeting Malbeth's wide, somewhat-flustered gaze, he smiled sincerely and offered him a toast. 

Aragorn continued. "To express our appreciation, The House of Telcontar offers you the title of Lord of Erynos. I am told that your father's father hailed from that valley ere he moved his household to Pelargir. If it is your wish, lordship of all the lands from the mountains to the mouth of the river Sirith shall be the mantle of you and your heirs." 

Erynos, once a humble farming town in the southern foothills of Gondor, had grown since the War of the Ring into the foundations of a city. Known for green, peaceful mountainsides and a view that stretched nearly all the way to the Anduin, Erynos was a fiefdom of enormous potential. Lordship of such a place was a kingly gift, and Eldarion had no doubt that devoted, reliable Malbeth would see Erynos into a bright future. To everyone's surprise though, Malbeth hesitated. 

"Your Grace...truly, such an offer humbles me beyond words. If I may though, I would ask to delay my acceptance. For now, at least." 

Speaking over the wondering murmurs spreading throughout the hall, Aragorn's reply was patient and without reproach. 

"Certainly, Malbeth, you need not accept our offer at this moment. I am curious though as to why?" 

A little sheepish under all the intense scrutiny, Malbeth smiled. "Please my lord, I would very much like to continue to serve Gondor and its royal house as a lieutenant of the City Guard. No soldier could wish for a better captain than Prince Eldarion, and I would not end my service under his command until such time as my years demand it. Besides..." he added "I do not feel that I have the necessary wisdom yet as befits a Lord of Gondor." 

Aragorn chuckled approvingly. "It is for that very reason that I know you do. Very well though! Consider the lordship of Erynos a retirement gift, awaiting the day when you eventually find yourself better suited to a quill than a sword. Until then, Lieutenant Malbeth, Gondor looks forward to many more years of your devoted service." 

"Thank you, Your Grace." Bowing once more amidst hearty applause, Malbeth sank gratefully back down into his seat. 

"And now, there is another person here tonight whom I would like to honour." Once more Aragorn raised his cup. This time though, he turned from the main hall to look down the head table. "Sufyan, son of Sawda and Na'Man, rise." 

Wondering silence fell upon the Merethrond as, carefully, Sufyan rose from his seat between Túrien and Na'Man. Far indeed had the relationship between Gondor and Harad come, even in the few short years since peace had been formally declared. Even so, there were still some who had scoffed disbelievingly at the rumors of Haradrim valor at Minas Ithil. No one was scoffing now though as Aragorn, Arwen, and indeed all seated at the head table smiled warmly at the chieftain's son. 

"There was a time, very much within living memory, when our two peoples were bitter enemies, son of Harad. Forever will I bless the day though when fate brought you into our lives. Were it not for the selfless bravery of you and your fellow drivers, the city of Minas Ithil would surely have fallen. Thanks to your deeds that day, the lives of Lord Elboron, Princess Eruthiawen, and all their folk were saved. The House of Telcontar and the Stewards will forever honor the sacrifice of the Haradrim, and remember that night always as a pledge of deepest friendship between Gondor and the City of Many Waters." 

Many of the Haradrim in attendance at the Harvest Feast that night may not have spoken perfect Westron, but the meaning of Aragorn's words was clear. Quiet pride shone in the faces of Na'Man, Qufar, Jeddah, Yetka, and many others, standing out like desert flowers amidst the crowd in their colorful silks and shawls. Many eyes were upon them, but the weight of the Westerlings' gazes was - perhaps for the first time - entirely welcoming. 

"Perhaps less known but no less deserving of gratitude are your actions in The Black House." Aragorn spoke now, not as a king to an ally, but as one man to another. "You saved my life, Sufyan. Never, even if I live a thousand years, shall I forget how you placed yourself between me and a fatal enemy. As I said to you then and say again now; though as my daughter's husband you already had my love, know that you also have my undying gratitude. Though I do not know what greater gift I could give you than what you already possess - my daughter's love - you and your family may now ask anything you desire of the House of Telcontar, and if it is within my power to grant, I will do so gladly." 

A silence laden with anticipation filled the Merethrond. Sufyan looked to Na'Man, then to Túrien. Túrien reached up and took Sufyan's hand, and the two exchanged a knowing smile. Then, with everyone hanging on his every word, Sufyan spoke. 

"I have everything that my heart desires, King of the White City. Peace between our two nations has brought my people peace and plenty, and Túrien's love has given me a family. What more could any man want in one lifetime? You ask me what I would have from you now though, and so my answer is this; one seed from the White Tree." 

"A seed of the White Tree?" Aragorn raised his eyebrows curiously. "And what would you do with such a seemingly small thing?"

"Give it to my father, for him to plant and tend in Harmindon's gardens." 

Na'Man nodded. "The time has come for me to retire. I will hand over the reins of my Mûmak to my son and devote myself to the care of growing things in the gardens of Harmindon. As I grow old though, and watch my grandchildren grow, it would please me to know that they play in the shade of the same tree as their cousins in Gondor. Two cities, two trees, two peoples...but at their heart, the same." A wistful, slightly homesick note came into Na'Man's voice. "I would also very much like for Sawda to be able to see a piece of the land which bore her daughter and heir."

The White Tree was as much a symbol of Gondor as it was a symbol of the royal house. For some reason though, not a single disapproving voice was raised at the notion of a sister tree growing in the gardens of Harmindon. Many in fact smiled openly at the thought. And so it was that Aragorn, as he had said he would, gladly granted Sufyan's wish. 

"And so it shall be. When you return to Harad, you shall go with a seed of the White Tree, to plant and tend with all the warmth I have come to cherish from the Haradrim people." With a smile and a nod, Aragorn raised his cup to Sufyan, Na'Man, and Túrien. "Hannon le." 

"Praise for the Golden Serpent!" a voice rang out from the crowd. 

"The Golden Serpent!" 

Others took up the cheer, and all throughout the Merethrond applause broke out. It took Sufyan half a moment to realize that the people of Gondor had not all suddenly converted to the sun-faith of the Haradrim, but were in fact cheering for him. A vivid blush of pure mortification darkened his cheeks, and he and Na'Man both looked to Túrien for explanation. It was not every day that one found themselves being hailed by the name of a deity. 

 Túrien could only shrug helplessly, while Almárëa and Elfwine tried only half-successfully to hide their mirth at Sufyan's predicament. The proper thing to do would be to correct everyone on their inappropriate if well-meaning term of endearment. Seven hundred folk of Gondor and Rohan alike were all cheering and beaming up at Sufyan though, and even the Haradrim amongst them looked more befuddled than distressed. 

"I fear you may have a new nickname, hezkir," said Túrien apologetically. 

Na'Man and Sufyan both groaned as they sank back down into their seats. 

"Nobody tells Sawda," whispered Na'Man in the Haradrim tongue, to which Túrien and Sufyan both emphatically agreed. 

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After Aragorn sat down, there was still one more toast of thanksgiving to be made. This time though, it was Elfwine who stood and raised his cup. 

"There is one more story of heroism left to tell this Harvest Feast, and it proves that one need not wield a blade to save a life. On behalf of the House of Eorl, the people of Rohan, and my mother and father, I would like to honor the Lord of the Glittering Caves. Please stand, Gimli son of Glóin."

Slowly, reluctantly, Gimli rose from his seat at the head table. Elfwine hadn't even began to elaborate, and already a rosy glow of embarrassment was about the old dwarf. He jammed his thumbs into his jeweled belt and pursed his lips, giving Elfwine a look that warned him against daring to get too eloquent. 

"Long have you been a friend of my family, master dwarf, and long have I considered you akin to family. The House of Eorl watches over one another, even from afar. Because of your foresight and generosity, combined with my lady mother's keen notice, I was saved from the treachery which claimed the life of my father." Laying a hand upon the baldric - its diamonds, red topaz, and emeralds all aglow in the candlelight - Elfwine bowed. "Forever shall your gift be an heirloom of my house, and may it be always known that the friendship between the dwarves of the Glittering Caves and the people of Rohan is a bond unbreakable. To that end..." Elfwine had to hold up a hand to forestall any applause just yet. "...I want your folk to always know that they have a home in the caverns of Aglarond. From this day forth, the fortress of Helm's Deep shall be a shared city, belonging to both the folk of Rohan and the dwarves of the Glittering Caves. The Lord of the Glittering Caves will always be welcome within the councils of Rohan, and their word shall carry the same weight and authority as any lord of the Mark." 

For a nation as notoriously mistrustful of outsiders as the Rohirrim, this was a grand gesture indeed. To give the dwarves of the Glittering Caves and their lord such authority meant that they were as much citizens of Rohan as any child of Men born to the rolling hills of the Mark. Clearly all Rohirrim present in the Merethrond that night understood as much, and they eyed their dwarvish companions seated beside them at the tables in a new light. 

Gimli, clearly moved, cleared his throat several times before answering. "Yer father was a great man, and he would be proud to see the king that you've become after him. My folk and I would be honored to call ourselves brethren with the people of Rohan." Balling a hand into a fist, he struck it soundly against his breast; a gesture which the other dwarves in the hall mirrored. "Let it be known that the dwarves of Aglarond stand beside the people of Rohan, now and always." 

"Now and always, Uncle." Reaching out down the table, Elfwine offered his wrist to Gimli. The old dwarf clasped it, and a bond between dwarves and men was forged forevermore. 

And so it was that many bonds - forged in the fires of peril and uncertainty - were sealed by ties of love and friendship. The feasting went on long into the night, and after the last dishes were cleared the tables were moved aside and music began to play. Musicians set fingers to strings and voices to song, and the Merethrond was filled with laughter and dancing. 

Eldarion was pleasantly surprised to be approached by none other than Prince Hakon of Dale as the evening wore on. Hakon was just as affable and imposing a presence as ever, and Eldarion proudly introduced Galieth to him. Hakon had his own introductions to make as well; at his side was a vibrantly beautiful woman with a wealth of golden-brown curls and a broad smile. She was also nearly as tall as Eldarion with the build and posture of an athlete. Eldarion got the distinct impression that the Lady Ragna could handily place top-three in the Harvest Tournament melee, if she were ever to enter. It turned out that she and Galieth were both avid enthusiasts of the northerners' sport of snowshoe-running, and the two were soon vigorously debating the prospects for the next Winter Games. That left Hakon and Eldarion to catch up, and Eldarion noticed Hakon watching Eruthiawen with Elboron and Éowyn across the hall. 

"Why do Captain Bergil and his men call Eruthiawen 'The She-Wolf of the Vale'?" asked Hakon suddenly, interrupted Eldarion mid-question. "Such a name hardly seems to suit a lady of her gentle graces." 

The memory of Faramir's face as he retold the aftermath of the Siege of Minas Ithil came back abruptly to Eldarion, and he couldn't help it; he laughed. Hakon frowned, his dark brows knitting together in confusion. 

"I have met wolves in the wild, Prince Eldarion," he insisted. "When they snarl at you, you can feel your very blood run cold." 

Looking across the dance floor at Eruthiawen, it was hard to disagree with Hakon. She stood with her hands clasped elegantly before her, her gown perfectly smoothed, a peaceful smile curving her lips as she listened to Elboron and Éowyn talk. Eldarion imagined though just how quickly that picture would change if anyone were to so much as suggest harm to Barahir, sleeping peacefully upstairs in his cradle. 

"My friend," said Eldarion. "You have clearly never been snarled at by Eruthiawen." 

Hakon, to his credit, took the remark in good humor. With a chuckle, he reached out and lightly tugged at the ribbon lacing up the back of Ragna's gown. 

"No, but I have been snarled at by this one. Let me tell you, it would take a braver man than most to provoke the wrath of a Dalish woman!" 

Slowly, calmly, Ragna turned her head. Her smile was both beautiful and absolutely terrifying. "Undo my laces in the middle of this hall, my love, and Prince Eldarion will discover firsthand just how brave you are." 

Hakon laughed, but he also made no further moves to tug at his lady's laces. 

Later, after parting ways with Hakon and Ragna, Eldarion slipped his hand into Galieth's and shook his head. 

"With a pair like that on its throne, Dale will be a force to reckon with for generations to come."

"I like them," said Galieth. "They remind me of home." 

Eldarion turned to consider his beloved's thoughtful expression. "Are you ever homesick for the north?" 

"Sometimes. There is much of Gondor that I would like to see though. I would particularly like to see the ocean...never before have I seen a body of water larger than Lake Evendim." 

"We will see the ocean and more besides," promised Eldarion. "When our duties permit, we will travel as often and as far as you like. We could even make a trip Annúminas to visit your family next year?" 

Galieth suddenly spied something past Eldarion's shoulder, and her expression turned to both chagrin and anticipation. 

"No need. My family is here. Are you ready to meet my mother, father, and brothers, Eldarion?" A squeal of excitement cut the air behind Eldarion, and Galieth winced. "Because I assure you, they are very, very ready to meet you." 

With a laugh and a nod, he kissed Galieth's hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. Galieth leading, Eldarion crossed the floor to meet the soon-to-be newest branch of the House of Telcontar. 

OoOoO