Arwen let her embroidery sink into her lap and took a deep breath of the fragrant air. It felt good to be out again after the recent rains, to see the sun unobstructed by dark clouds. The flowers of the White Tree above her were swaying in the breeze, giving off a sweet smell that reminded Arwen of the beauty of Valinor that she would never see. But it was well as it was and she did not regret her decision for a single moment. She had found her home, the place where she truly belonged. And she had come to love the children of the sun that embraced life so much more passionately than her own kin. Here they were, some of the greatest ladies of the realm, enjoying life while it lasted. And they were right; every moment was precious.

“A beautiful spot you have chosen there.”

They stopped their talking looked up to see who had arrived. But Arwen did not need to see his face to know that it was her beloved. Aragorn was standing next to the Tree, one hand lightly placed on its trunk. It seemed to Arwen that the Tree rejoiced in the contact of its lord; the colour grew bolder, the leaves brighter. It was as if it drew physical strength from him.

Arwen placed her handiwork back into the basked at her feet and smiled at him. “Do join us, dearest lord, if you will bear women's talk. We were talking about Lothíriel's wedding.”

“How could I refuse such an offer,” he answered and smiled his dazzling smile and went around the fountain to join them.

Trying to conceal her blush, Lothíriel bowed her head and moved to the side so that Aragorn could sit next to Arwen on the padding that they had laid on the moist grass. He laid an arm around her and drew her against him.

“Now I feel like the only rooster at a hen party.”

Arwen laughed with the other women, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered, “And a formidable one at that.”

“And you are a formidable hen,” he whispered back. Then louder, “I hope that all is well with the wedding and agreed upon.”

“Yes,” Lothíriel said, “I was only disappointed that Éomer did not come for the midsummer festivities. I had hoped to show him something.”

“Alas, a king is seldom free to pursue his heart's desire. I am sure that he is as impatient to see you again as you are, but in his last letter he wrote of trouble on his northern borders. I believe that it is nothing serious, but it requires his attention nonetheless.”

Arwen closed her eyes, leaned against the solid strength of her husband's body and let their talk wash over her. The sun was pleasantly warm on her eyelids and she enjoyed the nearness of his beloved and the sound of his deep voice amongst the high ones of the women. Before she knew it, she had dozed off.

When she woke again, it was to a light kiss on her forehead. She opened her eyes and found Aragorn leaning over her, but she could not see any of her companions. She smiled at him and pulled him down for a real kiss.

His hand was featherlight on her cheek. “I told them to let you sleep and then sent them off.”

“Oh.” She set up quickly and blinked. The last thing she remembered was sitting snuggled against him and thinking how wonderful it would be. “Did I really asleep?”

“Yes, beloved. And I let you sleep until I could no longer refrain from kissing you awake like the prince in children's tales. I hope that you are well rested now, for I have arranged something for tonight.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Do tell!”

He held up a finger and chuckled. “Ah, my inquisitive vanimelda. If I told you now, it would no longer be a surprise, would it?”

She nudged him playfully but, knowing that it would be futile once his mind was set, did not argue.

Hithdol must be a real master of his craft, Arwen thought as a few hours later they were hurrying through a secret passage that led to a dead-end street in the sixth circle. The good man had actually managed to make sure that they would not be missed. She decided that her husband looked very attractive in the uniform of a guardsman as he strode purposefully next to her. She tugged at the scarf that effectively covered her ears one last time and made sure that her hat was in place before they emerged into the night air. Already the noises of the celebrations could be heard: singing, shouting and laughing.

When they plunged into the crowds, it seemed to Arwen that every one of the people that lived in Minas Tirith was in the streets. Everywhere in the city were booths that offered various things; foot, drink, goods, or entertainment.

“Good sir,” someone called and Arwen turned to see who it was. A man of great girth and long beard in a booth had lifted his hand. “D'you want to win something nice for your sweetheart? You've but to prove that your aim's true.” He gestured towards a few wooden blocks that were stacked atop each other. “A tharni and you're game.”

Even though every single prize seemed to be worth less than a tharni, Arwen turned to her husband and batted her eyelashes. “Oh, please, Halbarad win a prize for me.”

Aragorn handed the man a tharni and accepted the three leather balls that the man offered him in return. He took one in his hand, weighed it, then went completely still for a few moments, probably judging arch and force needed. Then he threw. Though he hit the stack, it did only wobble slightly. The same happened at the second and third time.

“Sorry, lad,” the man said after Aragorn had thrown his third ball, “you've go to throw harder. Another round?”

“No, thank you,” Aragorn answered a bit annoyed and drew Arwen away with him.

“What causes the grim look on your face,” Arwen asked when they were out of earshot, “that you did not manage to knock the pieces over or that he called you 'lad'?”

“My problem is that the pieces should have toppled over. He is cheating.”

“And what are you planning to do now?”

“Retreat and lick my wounds. I have other matters to attend to than that. I intend to enjoy myself today. Since you did not get the prize I promised, I will buy you something beautiful.”

She slapped him lightly. “Silly man, we are married for two years tomorrow and still you know me so little? I want nothing more than enjoy myself with you. I would not know what to do with the prize anyway.”

“I just want to see you happy.”

“But I am happy, or would be if I had something to eat.”

Aragorn smiled. “Do not fear, Halbarad of the guard knows a very good place for a soldier and his sweetheart to have dinner.”

Arwen blushed, only just realising what she had called him. After more than two years, it still was a sore spot. He was trying not to show his pain, but Arwen knew, had always known when something troubled him. “I am sorry about the name. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Do not trouble yourself; Halbarad would not have minded. And I do not mind either – it helped me remain serious. Imagine if you had called me Erestor!”

Arwen could not suppress her hysterical giggles at the thought. She was still chuckling when they entered the tavern. The odour of many unwashed men assaulted her senses the moment they passed the threshold. It was hot, loud, and like the streets outside, the tavern was crowded with all sorts of people. Arwen shuddered and had half a mind to turn and leave, when a woman with an apron waved and came bustling over.

“Welcome to the Belling Stag. I am Míriel. A table for two? Let's see; you're lucky. The table over there near the wall has just been deserted. Have a seat and I'll bring you the menu right away. And,” she whispered to Arwen a bit too loudly, “men in uniforms are really eye-catching, aren't they, miss?”

Arwen forced herself to smile at her. “Indeed, they are.”

“She found me attractive,” Aragorn said when they were seated. He looked at her and she saw his eyes narrow. “Are you well?”

Arwen gulped, wondering how to phrase it. She would have preferred a better atmosphere, but she felt that she could not wait any longer, not after he had asked. She took his hands and traced soft circles into his palm. His right forefinger looked strange without his marriage ring, but the mithril band looked as expensive as it was and would give them away if anyone noticed it. She traced her own bare forefinger with her thumb. “Were I to wander through all of Arda, look at peasants and lords alike, I would not find a man such as you.”

The smile he gave her would have made her knees weak had she been standing. “And I have been everywhere, north and south, east and west, but nowhere have I found a woman such as you. I love you.”

She lowered her voice so that none else would hear. “I have been meaning to tell you for some time now, but I somehow never found the right moment. Then you took me out here today and declared your love for me again. I...”

“Hrk. If this is supposed to be a proposal, I'd be so sorry to interrupt, but here's the menu.” It was Míriel again, one hand on her broad hip and grinning. Arwen huffed in frustration. “And besides, such things are better done over a glass of wine. Will you have one?”

Aragorn smiled at her and fell effortlessly into the city-accent. “Oh yes, please.”

“Good, it'll be a moment.” Míriel nodded and left.

When Aragorn took up the menu and read it through, Arwen fought the urge to kick him under the table. It had been nearly perfect; and now his attention had wandered. “Halbarad!” she said through gritted teeth. Aragorn looked up at that, eyebrows raised.

“As I was saying, I am with child.”

He put the menu down immediately. “We are going to have a baby?” Arwen mood lightened again as she watched his expression change from disbelief to wonderment and then pure joy. He rose, drew her out of her chair and swung her around. When he finally kissed her, Arwen could hear all the patrons clapping their hands.

“So she said what you wanted to hear, didn't she?” the landlady called from the other end of the room and came over. Arwen had to laugh; partly because she was amused by the people's reaction and partly because they had drawn the wrong conclusions.

“Oh yes, she did,” Aragorn exclaimed, “I love this woman beyond reason.”

Míriel placed bread, the jug of wine and two classed on the table. “I said after the wine. Anyway, my congratulations. Then the wine's just right to celebrate. D'you have already chosen the dish?”

“Thank you,” Aragorn answered after they had seated themselves. “I'll have the escalope filled with ham and cheese-mushroom sauce to go with it. Gilraen?”

Arwen needed a moment to realise that she was meant and was touched that he had chosen his mother's name for her. “Make it two of them.”

“She really thought that this was a betrothal,” Arwen commented when the woman had gone to forward the order to the cook.

“I fear it did. But your news is no less amazing. When did it happen? How far are you along?”

Arwen ate a piece of bread and sipped some of the wine, sweet and rich. “The day you returned from Isengard.” She blushed as she remembered that afternoon. They had not even made it to their bedroom.

“You gave me a most wonderful welcome. But that was already more than two months ago. Why did you not tell me sooner.”

Arwen took her time answering. She could have told him that very same day, but something had stopped her. Maybe she had she simply needed the time to get accustomed to the idea? She shrugged.

“Keep your secrets then,” he said after a while. “Nothing could spoil my happiness tonight. It is an understatement to say that I am a very lucky man.”

Arwen had to smile at that and raised her glass. “Let us drink to a new life. To the three of us.”

“To the three of us,” he echoed and drank.

Arwen's stomach chose that moment to rumble and she smiled sheepishly. Aragorn smiled back and kissed her tenderly.

“I cannot believe that they did not recognise us even after you drew all their attention to us,” Arwen said after they had left the tavern an hour later, followed by many good wishes.

Aragorn laid an arm around her shoulders. “Sometimes people only see what they want to see. I hope you can understand my reaction. After all, it is my first time becoming a father. But I should have recognised the signs earlier.”

“Maybe, but you had been very preoccupied these last weeks. Subtle signs can be easily missed. You are really not angry that I took my time to tell you?”

He shook his head. “No, I am not. The matter of Saruman and Isengard lay heavily on my mind. But I think it was the right decision to rebuild the Orthanc and take the palantír back there.”

“And it was worth supervising the search yourself, was it not?” Arwen did not know what had sparkled more, the elven gem or his eyes as her husband had shown her the real Elendilmir, apparently recovered from a hidden chamber. He had laughed gaily and taken her in his arms, and Arwen had seen it as a new sign of their fruitful future.

“Oh yes, well worth. But it is nothing compared to what you give me. And this is what I wanted to show you today.” He laughed. “Well matched. Now, would you like to dance, Gilraen?”

She pressed his hand where it lay on her shoulder. “Of course. Lead the way, Halbarad.”

The square before the Great Gate had been turned into a huge dance floor; and when they arrived, the dancing was already in full swing. Arwen tugged at his arm to get him to move faster.

“Dear people,” the chief musician cried from atop his podest, “the next dance is brought to you from the land of Rohan and is called the dance of horses. It is another round dance where we imitate the mating ritual of horses. Stallions, put your mare to your left so that we can begin.”

Aragorn and Arwen, along with other couples, joined the circle. The man began to explain the steps.

“It is as easy as it is fun. The dance consists of three stages. The walk, the gallop, and the pawing.” He clapped his hands and the musicians began to play a soft melody. “Form a circle and take your neighbours' hands.”

Without looking, Arwen extended her hand to the man on the left. He squeezed it tightly for a moment to get her attention and Arwen looked at him. She knew that face.

“Amrothos?”

“Sh, yes. I was quite startled when you put your hand in mine. After all, you are not someone I would have thought to meet here. It has always been my belief that it is more difficult to escape your house than the dungeons.”

“I have been in both,” Aragorn chimed in, “it is just a matter of knowing the right people.”

Arwen was intrigued at that.“You were? You have never told me about it.”

“A story not worth the telling. But surely you are not alone, Amrothos?”

A grin split the young man's face. “No, of course not. My dearest lady Andreth agreed to accompany this humble man.” His companion leaned past Amrothos so that they could see her face beneath the great black beret. She was wearing a dress similar in cut to the one Arwen wore herself, but where Arwen's was of a dark orange, Andreth wore deep red with blue stripes just above the hem, the neckline and the sleeves. It really was a refreshing sight compared to the trousers and tunic she always insisted on wearing.

Aragorn laughed. “Ah, my favourite grandniece. You are looking well after Amrothos, are you not?”

“Of course I am. You know me, uncle.” She saluted, something that looked strange while wearing a dress. “A ranger is always alert. If you will excuse us? We have a dance to dance.”

They made a wonderful couple, Arwen thought, but Amrothos would have to work hard to gain the upper hand in their relationship. He still had not proposed, though. She turned back to her husband. “Do you know this dance.”

“Of course I do. Se totrida éoha belongs to Rohan as much as their horses. It is impossible not to know it once you have stayed in Rohan as long as I did.” Aragorn assured her.

“Good, for I do not. And we have just missed the instruction.”

They began slowly so that everyone could follow and Arwen found that it was indeed easy to learn. It was the funniest dance that she had ever danced, involving prancing, turning and pawing the ground as if they had hooves with their hands on their hips. She felt so free in a place where nobody was watching her and laughed happily. In dance after dance she twirled around with different partners until, when the last note faded, she found herself in Aragorn's arms again. The night had already progressed very far and Andreth and Amrothos had already left long ago. She leaned into Aragorn's arms and listened to his rapid heartbeat until it slowed again. Eventually she looked up at the higher circles many feet above them. This wonderful night could not end in a place of formality.

“I will not be going up there this night.”

Aragorn raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I thought that Halbarad of the guard not only knew a good place to eat, but also somewhere nice to spend the night.” When Aragorn did not respond, Arwen let her smile fade. “You have no idea, do you?”

“My concern is of another kind. If a guardsman of the City asks for a room for himself and a woman, he might be paying for more than just the room that night. We had better not follow their example.”

Arwen stopped short at that. He was probably right; without doubt there would be many such encounters taking place that night, whether money was exchanged or not. And even in disguise, she did not want to be regarded as such a woman. She was just about to consent when she got an idea.

“Maybe we could go back to the tavern where we ate; they offer rooms as well,” she suggested. “At least they know that we are a couple, and now betrothed no less.” She had to smile again at her own words.

So they made their way back to the Belling Stag at the northern end of the second circle. It looked very welcoming with its illuminated windows on the ground floor. But through the bull's eye panes, Arwen could only see shadows moving. A strong breeze picked up and the iron-wrought deer above the door creaked as it swung in the wind. The door swung open, casting a beam of light into the street. A man emerged and stumbled past them.

“Go home, Beleg,” Míriel, standing in the doorway, called after him. Then she turned to Aragorn and Arwen. “Ah, Gilraen and her new betrothed. Did I get your name? We've started to send the drunkards home. That man you just saw used to be a servant of Denethor's. Was one of the poor people that had to prepare his pyre. The healers say that he suffered some kind of trauma. And why not? It must have been a terrible sight to see one's lord burn himself to death and almost his son, too.”

“But why did he not prevent it?” Arwen could not help but ask.

“Because a servant may not decide which orders to follow. An oath isn't spoken lightly and it takes a lot of courage to defy it, more courage than many men have,” Aragorn answered for Míriel.

“Beregond. Beregond had the courage. And see where it got him – exiled, the poor man. 'tis easier to be silent and to do what one's bid. I say to you, never meddle in the great things, it can but get you into trouble. But where are my manners? A good landlady am I, leaving my customers standing outside. Do come in. I can't offer you much as regards food because the kitchen is already closed. But there is still a pot of my special pea soup available. 'tis a secret family recipe that my mother taught us when I and my sisters still lived in Lossarnach.”

“You do not perchance have a sister named Ioreth?” Arwen asked before she could stop herself.

Míriel's face lit up. “Ioreth? Why yes! She's my oldest sister. Where'd you know her from?”

“Gilraen works in the Houses of Healing,” Aragorn lied without batting an eye, “I got to know her when she sewed up my arm. Pelennor wound,” he elaborated.

“How wonderful. One takes them apart, the other puts them back together. But how did you know that I was her sister?”

Arwen tried her best to imitate Aragorn's accent and replied flippantly, “Two women of such stature and manner of speaking and both from Lossarnach just have to be related. Now that this is settled, let us come back to business. As much as I would like to try your pea soup,...”

“We'd rather just have a room, if one's still available. It's already late, we're tired and the way'd be too long now.”

“Or rather,” Míriel winked, “the wait for the next time would be too long.” She made a rude gesture that left no doubt which activity she was referring to. Arwen could feel herself blushing at the allusion. “I've seen much in my years and you can't fool me.” She went around the counter. “Just a moment. Le' me see what rooms I've available.” She shuffled through some papers. “You're right. It's best to continue a dance with the horizontal one. No wonder there are so many babies born nine months after midsummer. Here it is,” she held up a key and handed it to Arwen, then turned around, filled a water jug and handed it to Aragorn. “First floor, fourth door to the right. Have fun, you two.”

“Why did you interrupt me?” Arwen asked, a bit annoyed as they hurried up the stairs and along a corridor.

“Because your pronunciation just did not fit. You still have to work on it in order to blend in.” He grinned and Arwen found that she could not be mad at him.

The room itself provided no source of illumination, but the full moon cast a dim stream of light through the half-open shutters. Arwen blinked a few times to accustom herself to the darkness. All that she could see was a washstand and the bed, its white sheets gleaming in the moonlight. She found herself wondering what stories of previous encounters this bed might be able to tell if it could talk and smiled softly. Tonight it would witness another. She slammed the door shut and pressed Aragorn against it. Some of the water in the jug spilled and splashed on the floor. His lips formed a surprised ‘o’ and Arwen released him hastily.

Her hand flew to her eyes. What had she done? “Oh, I am sorry. I do...”

He placed the jug on the floor, placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. “Why do you show such restraint? Am I not your husband?”

Arwen looked away for a moment, then forced herself to look him straight in the eye. Why was he asking her that? “Yes, you are. But I always thought that a wife should be submissive to her husband.” There, it was said.

Aragorn's expression became grim and he gripped her shoulders so tightly that it hurt. “Who told you this misconception? And does that mean that you did not get all that you desire?”

For an instant, she did not know how to respond. “Yes, no! You give me so much, but there are, ahm, other things that I did not dare ask of you.” Had she really just said that?

Aragorn released her and began to pace. “Arwen, do you trust me so little that you cannot speak to me of your desires? Tell me what I have done wrong and I will try to be a better husband to you.”

Arwen hastened over to him and embraced him tightly. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked furiously. She would not cry now. “You have done nothing wrong, beloved. I was a fool to presume instead of talking to you. I should know you better, forgive me.”

Aragorn removed her hat hand pressed her head against his shoulder. She clutched at him tightly. “Oh, vanimelda, there is nothing to forgive. All is well. It is my greatest wish to see you happy in every matter. So dare not to not dare tell my your every wish.” He nudged her nose and Arwen had to smile.

A wonderful feeling overcame her as she stood there in his embrace. He had never before broached that part of their relationship, and she had not dared to, had not been sure of his reaction. But now the chance was there. “I promise. Come and sit so that we may talk.”

Aragorn went over to the bedside-table and lighted the candle there. Then they made themselves comfortable on the straw mattress and Arwen snuggled herself against him.

She breathed in deeply, smelling the scent that was uniquely him; the sweat from the dancing, the sandalwood soap with which he washed; and if she kissed him, she would taste a trace of red wine that still lingered in his mouth. She pulled the scarf from her head, pushed all troubling thoughts to the back of her mind and turned to him.

----

A.N. You can read the rest of the chapter on my Livejournal. The link is in my bio.

Arwen woke to the pale light of the morning sun sending its few tentative rays through the half-open shutters. She lay still, for a moment not sure where she was. Where they were. Aragorn lay on his stomach next to her, one hand resting lightly on her belly, still snoring softly. She smiled as she remembered the day before and snuggled deeper into the covers. Just a few moments longer; they would have to get up soon enough and she intended to enjoy the time given to her. It was warm and snug here and his hand that rested over where their child was growing felt just right. She closed her eyes again and fell into a light sleep.

“No, no, no!” Aragorn exclaimed next to her. Arwen woke with a pounding heart in time to see him jump out of the bed before the bright sunlight momentarily blinded her. Bright sunlight? They had overslept! Springing into action herself, she was just about to grab her shift, when that sick feeling returned. Only that it was worse than before. She clapped a hand over her mouth and dove for the chamber pot, reaching it just in time before the vomiting began. Strong arms held her and pulled her hair out of the way. Once it was over, she let herself sink aganist him and did not protest when he carried her over to the bed.

He sat her down on the edge and she leaned against the head of the bed. Morning sickness was unheard of among her kin – so why was this happening to her? Because you are mortal, and you carry a mortal child in your womb. Thethought hit her harder than it should have and she placed both hands on her belly. Her child would grow old and eventually die – as would Aragorn, as would she. She shook her head, trying to shake off these depressing feelings. She looked up to see Aragorn kneeling in front of her, chest still bare. He was holding the washbowl that he had filled with water. She rinsed her mouth until the bad taste had faded, then washed her face and hands.

When she had finished, he took her face in his hands. “Wait here, I am going downstairs and have them make some ginger tea for you. It will calm your stomach.”

Her gut fluttered and she clutched at his arm. “No! Do not leave me!”

“Very well. Do you need help with anything?”

She glared at him and then pulled on her shift. “I am no child and not ill. I can deal with a queasy stomach.” The moment the words had left her mouth, Arwen winced. He was only trying to be helpful. After all, it was his fault that she found herself in this situation. “Just dress so that we can go. We are late as it is.” she sighed. “There will be trouble.”

Aragorn grinned. “That cannot be helped now. Hithdol is probably tearing out his hair while we speak. I believe he thinks that my behaviour is sometimes not proper enough and cannot accept my free spirit. But from time to time, it just has to show through. The poor man, he has a lot more responsibility now, but he handles it wonderfully. I am glad that Hithdol was appointed and not this Brithnír.”

“But you and Hithdol seem to get along quite well.” Arwen thought back to that particular incident two years ago and stifled a laugh.

“He is just being very polite. And a master of his craft.”

When they entered the common room, Míriel came hurrying over. “Oh my dear, you're looking all white. Are you not feeling well?”

Arwen waved it off. “I must have eaten something at the fair that didn't agree with me. I'll be as good as new after some tea. Do you have ginger tea?”

“'Course we do. Do sit down and I'll bring you your breakfast. Scrambled eggs with bacon will be ready in a minute.”

Arwen considered that. Already the wonderful smell of this simple dish was wafting over from the kitchen. Her mouth watered as she remembered its taste. Would her stomach agree with it? But the smells were impossible to resist.

“That sounds good, Míriel,” She finally answered, “if you make it quick.”

“You won't even notice that I was gone. A tea for the lady; and you, sir?”

“A mug of breakfast ale, please,” he answered and Míriel left. Arwen frowned. She knew that he avoided tea whenever he could, but watered wine or small beer at breakfast made her shudder with distaste. And he knew it.

Aragorn ignored her. “This woman reminds me of Holly Butterbur, the landlady of the Prancing Pony in Bree. Speaking of Bree, I had thought of going North. It has to wait now until the little one is old enough for travel.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Even though you do not show it, your heart belongs to the North.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. “My heart is in many places and with many people, as it should be, but in the North there is so much I hold dear. My kin and the place I called home for many years. The children of Arnor endured so much and got so little in reward. I am no less their King as I am the King of these people here. You are my wisest councilor; so tell me: am I neglecting them?”

When she looked into his eyes, Arwen found herself close to tears. He had bared his soul before her and she could see his longing for his kin. “No, you are not. But there is so much to rebuild here. And I am not speaking of cities, but of hearts. The people of Arnor know and love you, but you still have to plant this unconditional and steadfast love in the hearts of Gondor. And once this is done, we can go to Arnor.”

“Yes, that we will do.”

Míriel brought the drinks and Arwen accepted her tea gratefully. She took a sip and placed the mug on the table.

“Good?” Aragorn asked.

“Very good,” she answered.

And indeed, all was well. Now they would concentrate on the task at hand, which would demand much of them both. They at their breakfast in silence, then paid and left. At the door Arwen turned and saw Míriel gazing at the castar Aragorn had just given her. She looked up at Arwen and winked, making her wonder if perhaps Míriel had been playing games, too.

Half an hour later, Aragorn pushed the lever and let them into their bedroom. Arwen flopped down on the bed and was just about to remove her hat when there came a discrete cough and Hithdol emerged from behind the curtains. He bowed low and looked at them with a severe mien, but Arwen could see the corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously.

“Good morning, your majesties. I apologise to have woken you so late, but there was a minor problem that had to be solved first. It will not happen again,” he said in a quiet, smooth voice. “Lord Amrothos and Lady Andreth are joining you for breakfast in the small study. They have already been informed of the delay. Your morning garments are already laid out; leave this attire to me.” He bowed again and withdrew to the windows, where he would wait until they had discarded their disguise.

“Good,” Aragorn said and followed Arwen into the dressing room. The room was strangely empty compared to the bustle of activity that was normally taking place at this time of the day. She wondered what Hithdol had arranged for this morning. Aragorn helped her with the lacing of her dress, then they went to entertain their breakfast-guests.

Arriving in the study, they found Andreth and Amrothos snuggled together on the couch. Andreth removed her booted feet from the low table and grinned.

“Good morning, uncle, Arwen,” she greeted them cheerfully. Amrothos nodded respectfully.

Aragorn let himself slump in a chair across them and Arwen followed suit. He poured himself a mug of small beer and settled back.

“Now, what brings you to me this morning?”

“We have good news we wanted to talk to you about before your hear it from someone else. After we left you,” Andreth said, “well, we decided that it would be too early to go home. Amrothos said he knew a good tavern and there we went. And then...” she trailed off. Arwen had never seen her eloquent grand-niece, who had a response to everyone and everything, in such a manner. But no words had to be spoken for Arwen to know what had happened.

“I asked her to marry me. If this is well with you, sir.” Amrothos finally said.

“Well with me?” Aragorn answered with a laugh, “It is Andreth you are marrying, not me. And who I am to deny a couple their happiness.” He rounded the table and embraced him. “On behalf of my cousin I welcome you to the family. You have chosen well – both of you.”

Then he embraced Andreth and Arwen found herself embracing Amrothos. It was such a wonderful feeling to take part in the happiness of this young couple. And Imrahil would be glad to hear it, too. Eventually they sat down again to continue breakfast.

“So how did you propose to her, Amrothos?” Aragorn asked after a sip from his mug.

“Ah, I lured her away from the dancing and into this tavern in the second circle that she always compares to an inn called the Prancing Pony. When she agreed to a glass of wine or two, I knew that the time was come.”

“After the first glass of wine,” Andreth continued, “he suddenly took my hands and went on his knee in front of me.”

Andreth's heart was pounding as he took her hands and sank down before her. She forgot everything around her as he looked up at her. She knew that the moment she had been waiting for so long had finally come.

“Andreth,” he began, his sea-grey eyes never leaving hers, “Andreth, daughter of Halbarad and Eirien, I am kneeling here before you now because I love you more than words could ever say. Should the oceans and rivers fail to turn with the tide, my love shall never fail; should the sea swallow the land, my love shall never be drowned; should the waves crush against the shore, my love shall be steadfast. Andreth, you are the love of my life; whether I be awake or wander in dreams, you are there. My heart is yours, I am yours. In good and bad times, in peace and war, will you be with me? Will you be my wife?”

Happiness surged into her heart. “Yes, yes, YES! Of course I will.” She let herself fall forward right into his arms. Somehow they managed to get up from the floor. She clung to him and he swirled her around. The world around her came back into focus and she heard the people around her clap and cheer.

“Míriel, the landlady, came over and asked me if she had said what I wanted to hear. She congratulated us, and said that it was a good day for her because we were not the first to get betrothed today. It is supposed to bring luck to the house. Then she grinned and commented ‘A good boy you are to wait till after the wine.’ ”

Aragorn and Arwen looked at each other, then burst out laughing helplessly.

Uhm, yes, author's notes.

Lusus et Gaudium - Game and Fun. I hope you enjoyed reading it.

For those of you who are interested in the dance. It the Branle de Chevaux, a French dancefrom the 15th century. Click on one of the links to listen to it.

Hithdol belongs, of course, to Gwynnyd.