Child of Gondor and Rohan

It was one of those days when Elvye felt particularly hateful toward herself and had taken it out on her mother. Screaming obscenities in elvish and the tongue of men, she ran from the house to her mother’s garden and climbed a tree. She wouldn’t have stopped her ascent of the enormous tree if her loose hair hadn’t got caught, but after a few moments, she gave up untangling it and broke the twigs. Contemplating her fate, she sat in a little niche between two branches and while she removed the twigs.

“Ada’s going to kill me! And El’s going to be in trouble for teaching me bad elvish words,” Elvye had always felt a little left out. For one, she was the youngest of sixteen children and a girl. Her fourteen sisters were tall, beautiful and had jet-black hair; Elvye on the other hand was like her only brother Eldarion Their hair was light brown and unruly, an acceptable state for a boy, but a great problem for the youngest princess of Gondor. Her hair always tumbled down to her buttocks, but never any longer, full of knots and tangles and it took her maid at least an hour every day to comb it out, only for the snarls to come back. Both Elvye and her brother were short and muscular, again an acceptable state for Eldarion, but not for a princess, “Oh Valar, I’ve ruined everything!”

“Well, well. Now I’ve seen everything, a talking tree!” Elvye looked down between the many branches and saw a young man who appeared Gondorian but wore Rohirrim clothes looking oddly at the tall elm; he had an air of sadness about him.

“Excuse me sir, but it’s not a talking tree, merely a tree with a talking girl!”

The man looked upwards and just made out Elvye’s shape.

“What, pray tell, is a pretty maiden like yourself doing so far up that tree?” he said loudly, face pointing towards Elvye’s shadowy figure.

“Dear sir, please do not call a maiden ‘pretty’ until your delicate eyes have been forced to look upon her face!” Elvye’s keen eyes noticed the slight blush and a smile emerge on the man’s face. It felt good to know she had an effect on people. “Dear sir, please inform me of your name, for this maiden is curious.”

“Forgive me, young madam, for my lost manners. They call me Elfwine Jr; I am the grandson of King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel of Rohan. If I may be so bold as to ask, what is your name, young maiden of the tree?”

Elvye decided she liked the Prince of Rohan and nimbly made her decent of the tall elm. She jumped from a branch and landed right in front of the startled young man.

“Sir Elfwine, Prince of Rohan, may I present myself, Princess Elvye of Gondor. Child number sixteen, daughter number fifteen of their royal graces King Elessar and Lady Arwen Undomiel”

Elvye made a little curtsy and let an earth-shattering smile erupt on her face. The young Prince stood for a moment in shock then found his voice and manners.

“Lady Elvye,” he kissed her hand. “I have been here for some days now. Why have I not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance? Your name has not been mentioned.”

“You are here with your father in a council of war, correct?” He nodded hesitantly. “What purpose would the name of Gondor’s youngest princess have in a conversation about war? If I may be so bold as to ask sir, but why do you have the same name as your father?”

“My father was off on an orc raid when I was born, mother thought my father was dead so to honour his memory, I was named after him. I would have loved to have seen the expression on her face when he came home!”

Elfwine finished speaking when a string of elegant words with an angry lilt about them came rushing out of Elvye’s mouth. The young nobleman frowned and looked to where Elvye was gazing.

With a look of anger distorting his features, the Prince of Gondor walked quickly towards the two young royal children. Elvye sobbed and lowered her head in submission before her brother could even speak.

“Elvye! Dear Elvye, do you know how much trouble we are in?” Eldarion’s look of anger had gone as soon as his sister had lowered her head. He knew that she was sorry.

“El, don’t patronise me. Do you think I was not sorry the moment those words came out in front of Mother? I know that I am in trouble, the same as I always am. El, I’m sick of being in trouble and that makes me get into more trouble because I let people know. If I hear ‘why can’t you be more like your sisters’ one more time!”

“So this is you being sorry, flirting with Elfwine? Smiling and joking with Éomer’s grandson?”

“Flirting! FLIRTING! How dare you! I converse with a male and instantly you claim I’m flirting. You’re as bad as Ada. Can I not have a life outside the palace? I hate being cooped up inside, learning this, that, and the other. How to be a lady, how to act properly, how to be a perfect wife! I hate it all! I want to live El, I want to get away from here.”

Then, just as Elvye turned around Eldarion grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the tree. There had been a few people around the royal garden, all of whom had turned at the sound of Elvye’s angry yelling.

“Last time you went up that thing in a bad mood, you didn’t come down for 3 days. Come on; let’s go have lunch. Elvye, come on sweetie.”

Elfwine looked at the two siblings. Their whole conversation had been in rapid elvish and he was unsure what to do or say. He saw Eldarion try to pull Elvye inside and went over to help. Together they half dragged, half carried the upset young princess inside the palace.

“Eldarion! Oh, I am sorry.” A pretty young lady ran up to Eldarion then stopped seeing the sobbing Elvye, “Excuse me Your majesty.” Eldarion just nodded and pulled Elvye up onto her feet again.

“Just marry her El.” Elvye mumbled, bringing a blush to her brother’s face. “Well why not? She obviously likes you and the people would love a future heir!”

“Its none of your business Elvye. Stay out of it.”

“Ada forbade you? He can’t stop you from liking her. You should just marry her or get her pregnant; then you’ll have to marry her!” Elvye was now walking; her sobbing had stopped but her eyes still very red and wet.

“I don’t like her in that way and this is not the time and place to discuss this Elvye. I promise we will talk later.”

Elvye smiled then noticed Elfwine; she blushed remembering her outburst and her undignified drag through the halls of the White City.

“Please forgive my outburst, dear sir. My attitude was unladylike. Please think nothing of it.”

“Fair lady, your spirit is like a flaming horse wishing to run through the hills. Do not apologise for how the Valar have made you. Your anger is quickly forgotten in face of your beauty.”

Elvye blushed and stole a quick unnoticed glance at her brother, his face suddenly blank of any emotion, but his stance showing his anger.

“Sir Elfwine, if I may be so rude, I thank you for your help and will converse with you later. Farewell, Prince.”

“And you, fair lady of Gondor.” Elfwine left and Elvye stopped dead, raising a single eyebrow at her brother.

“What?” Eldarion asked in elvish.

“What do you have against my friendship with Elfwine?”

“Nothing. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Elvye looked at her older brother much more carefully. At twenty-seven, he was old enough to be a father and king. His nose was peeling again and his cheeks glowed with sunburn. His messy light brown hair made him look even more like his father. Even toward Elvye he had seemed very distant lately, and that was rare.

“Ada is right, you need to get married brother.”

“Keep out of it Elvye.”

The two walked towards their bedrooms and turned into the bathroom. While Elvye washed her face and hands, Eldarion tried vainly to untangle his sister’s hair. Failing that, he resorted to just removing the twigs and leaves.

“Why am I so different El?” Elvye finally asked the question that had been bothering her for the eleven years she had lived. “Why me? Why do I have to be the ugly child?”

“Your not the ugly child. You’re just different!”

“But why?” Elvye felt like a child again, but she didn’t want to be different, she wanted to fit in.

“Look at your ears Elvye. Look at our sisters’ ears. Even my ears are less pointed than theirs. Our hair is like Ada’s. We are father’s children, Elvye. We are the fighters, not the beautiful heartbreakers. With us, Gondor’s safety is preserved; with our sisters, Gondor’s lineage is preserved. You have to accept that whether you like it or not Elvye.”

Elvye thoughtfully ran her hands over her ears. They were rounded, like Ada’s. She ran her thin fingers over her brother’s ears; they were different than mother’s too, smaller somehow. Were they the fighter children? Was Eldarion right?

“Thank you brother.”

El just smiled. Then startling them both, Arwen walked into the room. “You are perceptive Eldarion. Now go get ready for tonight’s dinner.”

“Yes mother.” Eldarion lowered his head submissively and left. Elvye looked her mother in the eye. This would be the reckoning that would either tear them apart or bring them closer together. Elvye continued to stare her mother in the eyes, knowing this was a battle of wills. Somehow, it seemed to Elvye that Arwen was not competing. Breaking the increasingly awkward silence, Arwen spoke.

“You need your hair brushed for tonight. Go on to Elanor. She will do it for you.”

“Mother.”

“Yes child”

“What is my name?” Arwen gave a weak smile and looked at her youngest daughter.
“Your name is Princess Elvye of Gondor. Child number sixteen, daughter number fifteen of their royal graces King Elessar and Lady Arwen Undomiel. Yes I heard your formal introduction to Prince Elfwine. That was unnecessary young one.”

A slight blush rose on Elvye’s cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “Don’t call me that. Don’t treat me like I am a child!”

“But you are! And you will be for the next few years, I’m guessing! Let it drop Elvye. Just let it go.”

Elvye stormed out of the room, knowing she would never be able to look her mother in the face again.

That night was a formal dinner; King Éomer, his son Elfwine and his wife, along with their children Elfwine Jr and Éomen were leaving for Ithilien to visit Éomer’s sister Éowyn, and her husband Faramir, Steward of Gondor.Elvye was still sulking and didn’t notice the look pass from her mother to her father to Éomer. Unfortunately Eldarion noticed and he knew what was passing silently between his parents and their friend.

“No! You can’t!” Eldarion spoke up, not wanting to lose his favourite sister.

“Eldarion lower your voice!” Aragorn said calmly.

“No! Don’t send her away! Please. I will look after her!”

“Eldarion, we have let you do so for some years now. She needs a mother, not a brother. She will come back. And you will notice the difference.” Aragorn looked at his son and knew the pain he was going through.

“You are meant to be her parents, not them! And anyway, I don’t want her to change!” Eldarion said with a calm sounding voice, however, full of meaning. Elvye and her sisters looked confused at their father and brother, having no idea what was going on.

“Éowyn will teach her what she needs to know. You can’t. You have duties here that will interrupt the process. Éowyn knows what a woman needs to know and has ample time to spend with her. It will only be a few years, until she is a woman.”

“What happens if she never wants to come back Ada, I know how nice it is in Ithilien?” Eldarion knew how pleasant it was in the forests of Emyn Arnen where Faramir lived, he also knew how much his youngest sister loved the forests and greenery, and it was so abundant in Ithilien.

“All fillies prefer their home, no matter where they wander.”

Eldarion hated how his father called female children ‘fillies’; they were not horses after all! It was in that moment of resignation that Eldarion looked at Elvye, and she knew what was happening.

“I will go on one condition Ada.”

Aragorn looked at his youngest daughter wearily; he was tired and couldn’t really be bothered denying one parting gift. “You will let Eldarion marry who he chooses!”

“Yes. Fine then Elenna.”

“ELVYE! MY NAME IS ELVYE!” she screamed at her father.

Aragorn looked at his two eruptive children, his oldest and youngest. Eldarion looked forlorn at the loss of his favourite sister and Elvye was angry at being mistaken for her sister. It happened frequently and it annoyed her; she saw it as a loss of identity.

“Yes, darling. Calm down.” Arwen spoke to her daughter, but did not look up. “We will let Eldarion marry whom he wishes to marry.”

Aragorn looked sharply at his wife then looked at his son. Eldarion was shocked at his sister’s willingness to leave and her single condition.

“Elvye?” Eldarion was slightly hurt that she didn’t put up a fight.

“What more can I say? You said it all for me El. Of course you will write! Everyday! Won’t you?” A single tear slid down Elvye’s smooth cheek, then she ran from the vast dining hall to her room.

“Are you happy now? Glad you got rid of your problem child! The only one to give you trouble and you palm her off to Faramir and Éowyn!” Eldarion muttered unheard by most. He was visibly unemotional now, however wanted his parents to know of his displeasure.

Éomer spoke softly to the Prince of Gondor. “They are not palming her off, Eldarion. All your sisters were sent away for a short while to learn things your parents are unable to teach them. This is the same, just for a greater distance and a longer time. Do not be afraid to lose her. She will never leave your side.”

“Yes she will; she’s going to Ithilien!”

“She will not leave your side. Her spirit will always ride with you!”

“Don’t say that as though she is dying!” Eldarion excused himself and left the dining hall, following the direction that his sister went.

“Mother, what is happening?” Elenna asked. Although excelling in looks, she was easily distracted and hadn’t really listened during the argument.

“Your sister is leaving for Ithilien with His Majesty Éomer tomorrow and will be staying with Lady Éowyn for a while. It will give Elvye the freedom she so desperately needs, and with her consent, Lady Éowyn will teach your sister the skills of the sword.”

“But why is she to be sent there when we were not?” Vanimeldë asked. She felt that she was better than the other siblings as she was the oldest daughter and felt the human pang of jealousy.

“Because she is a fighting elf, not maidens like the rest of you. No more discussion.” Aragorn ended the questions, the meal was finished and the girls left the table. Aragorn was tired, but one glance at Éomer told Aragorn that his long time friend would no longer be making visits to Gondor or Ithilien. His hair and beard were silver and his eyes surrounded by wrinkles; he was an old man.

The next morning Elvye was tired. The night had been spent talking to her brother, and as much as she missed him already she would be glad of the respite from the city. She needed open air, not walls of cold stone. She stroked her plain ears thoughtfully as she said her goodbyes to her many sisters and father. She came awkwardly up to her mother and without looking at her fair, pale face spoke,
“Namárië. I Melain berio le.”

“Navaer. Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín.” (1)

Then Elvye looked at her brother and ran crying into his arms. He hugged her with tears standing in his own eyes, “Avo ‘osto. Mára mesta, Le melon.” He said with voice full of emotion.

“Le melon! Gen hannon brother, hannon le!” (2)

And with that, the 4 horses and their escort of city soldiers left the white city of Minas Tirith, Éomer leading with Éomen behind him and Elfwine and Elvye bringing up the rear surrounded by the armed men.

(1) “Farewell. May the Valar keep you.” Elvye said. “Farewell. May Elbereth protect you, may her stars shine on the path of your life.” Arwen replied.
(2) “Fear not, good bye. I love you” Eldarion said. “I love you. I thank you brother, thank you.” Elvye cried.

“What was that you said, in that quaint language?” Elfwine asked, “Oh!” He looked at Elvye’s stricken face. “Forgive me. I lost my manners!”

“There is nothing to forgive Elfwine. Your interest was well placed. It is the native dialect of my mother and in a strange way, my father, the elvish tongue.”

“Might I inquire as to what was said, or is that a misplaced interest?” Elfwine looked genuinely fascinated so Elvye told him.

“I said to my mother, ‘Farewell, may the Valar keep you.’”

Elvye took a deep breath, grabbed the reins of her horse and galloped to the upcoming hill with a few soldiers not far behind her. It wasn’t long before the men caught up with her, and by that stage Elvye had managed to get her emotions intact.

“Goheno nin, King Éomer.” The King of Rohan gave Elvye a blank look.
“Forgive me Lord for running off and for not speaking your language. I forget my place.” With lowered head Elvye went to her place beside Elfwine Jr.

It was a two-day journey to Ithilien and the whole ride Elvye was fascinated by the strange and wonderful ways of life outside the palace. She had never left the White City and Elfwine Jr loved the way she found even the smallest and most normal things fascinating.

“What’s that Elfwine?” Elvye asked one day as they passed a small village just inside the borders of Ithilien.

“That’s a plough. It helps the farmers turn over the soil so the ground is ready for planting their crops. It used to be done by hand but someone found a way to make it larger and attached it to animals, such as oxen or horses.”

“It is amazing what people can think of! My mother sings to the plants and they become big and healthy. Not straight away mind you, but it doesn’t really matter what soil they are in. Ada got many plants and cuttings and soil from Rivendell though, for mothers garden, so she didn’t feel so homesick. She is though, homesick I mean. I think that’s why she has so many children, to keep herself occupied. Ada won’t be able to have too many more though. He’s getting old and although he is of the Numenorean line and will live to over two hundred, he will die eventually. I just hope he has another boy, in case something happens to Eldarion. The people want a backup heir, someone who can lead them into battle if Eldarion can’t. I’m sure Eldarion will be fine. I hope he will be; I don’t think I could live without him. He’s more an ada to me than Ada! I know that’s awful but its true. Ada doesn’t even know my name. Does Rohan prefer a king to a queen? Or will take the first-born regardless of gender. Do you know?”

“Oh, shut up!” Éomer’s youngest Éomen turned around in his saddle and spoke for the first time Elvye could remember. Éomer, Elfwine and his son stared at Éomen and Elvye looked between the fathers and sons.

“I’m sorry, was I talking to much? It’s just that something about this place makes me restless. In a good way, of course. It’s just full of… well I’m not sure, energy I suppose. I just feel like running or singing or something. Don’t you agree?” Elvye looked at the still gob-smacked Éomer, Elfwine and Elfwine Jr then looked confused at Éomen.
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked the youngest prince, pointing at the older men.

“Éomen! You are talking again!” stuttered Éomer.

“Yes, if only to make her stop. Does she ever run out of words?” Elvye raised an eyebrow at him, she was not used to being referred to as though she was not there.

“Why did you stop in the first place?” Elfwine Jr asked his brother, perplexed.

“Well what need is there of me? You are there to rule Rohan. I’m just the spare aren’t I? Does it matter wether I talk or not?” Elvye instantly found a soul who knew what she had been feeling her whole life, and her look of shocked exhilaration took the four men by surprise.

“What’s so funny?” Éomen asked bitterly, taking her happiness as unkind laughter.

“You. You just said exactly what I’ve been feeling for the past eleven years. That your life is only worthy if the city needs you, other than that you’re pretty much, well a backup or something. Being the youngest of a total of fifteen girls, its very unlikely that all of my sisters are infertile, and even less likely that Eldarion’s wife won’t produce an heir. You know exactly how I feel!”

The three men just stared at the ecstatic half-elf and the attention made her tanned skin blush.

“Do you know how pretty you look when you blush?” Éomen asked. Elvye just blushed even more and looked down. Never had she been called pretty. Her sisters always outshone her.

They had continued to ride as they spoke and it wasn’t long before they reached the home of Éomer’s sister. Elvye suddenly felt very afraid, as she had never met Lady Éowyn, being either too young to remember her, or refusing to speak with her parents at the time of her visits. Her nervousness was conveyed to the men by her quietness. The whole trip she had not stopped talking and now her lack of speech was obvious. With the house of Faramir looming at the end of the road, Elvye’s horse seemed to be slowing down. Éomen noticed the lagging princess and stopped his horse until she caught up. Without a word he leant over and held her hand. Feeling her confidence return, Elvye smiled and felt invisible sparks between their hands.

Suddenly Elvye felt torn. Not long before she had liked Elfwine Jr; now she felt an attachment to Éomen. Then in too short a time, they were at Faramir’s house, small in comparison to what Elvye was used to seeing, but that was not what Elvye was looking at. The gardens were screaming with colourful violets, roses, lilies and many other flowers Elvye had never bothered to learn names for. The tall trees were begging to be climbed and their intertwining branches promised easy travel between trees.

“This way to the stables, then we will go see my sister!” Elvye smiled at the excitement of the older man.

It seemed he knew this would be the last time he would see her before he was to old to travel long distances. After the horses were put in the stables, the young royals were practically running to keep up with King Éomer. Elvye was feeling the energy of Ithilien again and skipped along at Éomer’s side, her smile infecting the men, and when they reached the house they were all cheerful. The door smacked open and an aging Éowyn ran to her brother and jumped into his arms. This childish show of love from two older people shocked Elvye; her parent’s version of public affection was to hold hands. Then she realised they were like her and Eldarion; often she would run into her brothers arms like that, so what was the difference? With that epiphany in mind, Elvye smiled at the older Rohirrim royalty.

“You must be Elvye then? Aren’t you a beautiful one?” The now-grey haired Éowyn said.

“Thank you madam. But I am no beauty compared to the grace of my sisters,” Elvye said with lowered head; this had always been a sign of respect in her house, so she assumed it was everywhere.

Éowyn grabbed Elvye’s chin and lifted her head, looking directly into her violently blue elven eyes and said, “Child, never lower your head when speaking to elders. For one, I can’t hear a word you’re saying and another, it makes you seem scared of them.”

Elvye looked at Lady Éowyn, confused.“Is this not a sign of respect, my lady? And why can’t you hear, do you have a problem? I can’t really sense any problem.”

“Nay, fair child. In our house this is not a sign of respect. And I have no problem, just old age. I am not like your parents. I am an old mortal woman, don’t forget that. That is lesson one!”

“Hello my young Elfwine’s and Éomen! How do you three fare?”

“Oh great warrior Aunt we fare well. And what of you Ma’am?” The cheeky smiles across the faces of the five Rohirrim showed the strict formality was an inside joke. Warm hugs were quickly dispersed.

A few days later, after their midday meal, Elfwine Jr approached Elvye in Éowyn’s garden.

“We will be leaving tomorrow. For the few days I have known you, I have grown fond of you. I am to be betrothed to your sister Vanimeldë, as we are of similar age and rank. The year you return we will be married and she will come to Rohan with me. I never realised that you are only eleven. Forgive me for doing anything that may have encouraged you.”

“Pray sir, do tell me your age?” Elvye asked carefully, assuming the whole time, as did Elfwine, that they were the same age.

“Eighteen, fair child, but you are aged beyond your years. Is this an elven trait, or are you an exception?”

“Mother often said I was much less mature than my sisters, and that if I were raised in an elven city, my attitude would have gotten me into much more trouble. Yes Elf Friend, I am an exception, but in the opposite way than you think.” Elvye said the translation of his name.

Elfwine smiled unenthusiastically at the young half elf and thanked her for her understanding. Elvye realised then that their ages were why her brother had disapproved of their friendship, and the knowledge that he was to be her sister’s husband. It was not long after that conversation when Éomen approached her.

“Hello,” he said awkwardly.

“Hello.”

Éomen opened his mouth a few times and closed it straight after. The two stood in the middle of Lady Éowyn’s garden, the place Elvye had fallen in love with already. She looked at the young prince and smiled an earth-shattering smile, one she kept for special occasions. If he had not already been speechless, he would have been now.

“Follow me,” Elvye ordered, walked over to an easy to climb tree and flawlessly scaled the tall evergreen. Sitting on one of the lower branches she looked at the young man still on the ground, “Well, come on!”

After an undignified scramble up the tree, the two just sat all afternoon holding hands. It wasn’t until dinner that they were approached by Elfwine Senior who looked at the two royal children.

“Come now, the food is ready. Socialise for a short while.”

“Strong gentle sir, your regard for our stomachs is considerate, but mine is not hungry. What about yours, charming Éomen?”

The second prince of Rohan looked adoringly at Elvye but did not speak. When Elvye caught his eyes, she could not look away. Elfwine left unnoticed and knew at that moment, Éomen would never be the same.

The next day Elyve felt lost again; she was going to be left alone with two people she didn’t really know. As the four men and their entourage left, Elyve wondered how long it would take until she saw the youngest prince of Rohan again, and what would happen at that meeting.

“Well then, little princess lets go over the rules. I am not your mother, and I am not trying to be. I will teach you the ways of the sword and Faramir will teach you how to use a longbow. You have permission to yell at me; as long as you use words I can understand. Every evening you will be expected at the dinner table, around the fifth hour past midday. Any questions?” Éowyn said as they watched the Rohirrim ride away.

“Yes. When does my training begin?”

Éowyn smiled and led the young elven girl to a building at the end of the stables. As they walked Elyve noticed that the lady’s long grey hair swung side to side as she walked but never tangled. This mortal had better hair than a girl with strong elven heritage; it was unfair.

The building was full of armour and it didn’t take long to find some that fitted the tall girl fairly well. Éowyn told her to pick out a shield and sword that she liked; ones that she felt fitted her hands properly. It took a while to find a sword, however Elyve still felt that it wasn’t the right one.

After the armour was taken and they reached a small field that was obviously used for practice, the armour was placed onto Elyve. Éowyn told her to walk for a bit.

“This is slightly uncomfortable isn’t it?”

“Right. Now you’ve got the feel for the armour, lift the sword for a bit, swing it about. Get the feel for it.”

Elyve swung the sword for a while, walked and swung and just got used to the armour and sword. After a very short hour, Elyve was told to take the armour off and they got down to correct sword holding techniques.

“You’re going very well Elyve, and I notice you don’t hold that sword like you like it.” Faramir walked out to the two females as they took a short break. “Do you want to know how I worked that out?” Faramir asked the young girl, as she looked at him confused.

“Yes please,” she asked politely.

“Every time you stop, you let the blade stab into the ground. You hold it loosely and you don’t really try to hold on when swinging. That’s why you keep dropping it. It’s a very subconscious thing, but I’ve noticed it a lot in conscripts who are given the last dregs of the swords.”

Elyve stared at the old Steward of Gondor; she had met his son who lived in Minas Tirith, but he was nothing compared to his ada. With a few movements, Faramir took his wife’s sword and gave it to Elyve and put the other on the ground. Elvye instantly knew this was a sword to use in battle, but as she started to swing and move with the sword, she saw the look on her guardian’s face. She was heartbroken at the loss of her sword. Although Elyve liked the sword and her hand seamed fitted for it, Elvye stopped and let her hand go loose, she made her actions seem subconscious and even frowned as she walked back to the two. Faramir had the suspicion she was acting but Éowyn looked relieved at Elyve’s actions.

“Nah, not my sword. I can make due with that old thing.” Elyve said pointing to the sword on the ground, as she gave Éowyn back her weapon. Faramir stayed with the two women for the last hour; then the three walked back to the house, Elvye felt like she was home. The tree’s, the people, even the flowers seemed brighter than at her home in Minas Tirith. This place was made for her arrival, years before her grandmother had even been born. This was her destiny; this was all meant to happen, and the moment Elvye realised this, she knew that she was the warrior elf, the only female of Arwen’s current descendants to pick up a sword and prepare for fighting.

‘Is this the start of my gift of foresight?’ Elvye wondered. ‘Mother never really gave me any proper details about her gift. I wonder if you have to be a woman to have it fully developed? I will ask her next time I see her.’

The next three years passed and Elvye grew into her womanly essentials. Her breasts developed and a small down of hair grew under her arms and in other places that disturbed the young half elf. It wasn’t until Éowyn explained that it was normal to have hair there that Elvye seemed to grudgingly accept her bodily functions. Not long after her 14th birthday, Elvye woke with her bed splattered with blood. Her scream of fright woke the whole house and Éowyn ran in with Faramir not far behind, both in their night gear.

“Faramir leave. I think there are some things that have not been explained to her by her parents. Let the house know everything is fine.” Éowyn ordered, stroking the knotted hair of Arwen’s youngest child. Éowyn spent all morning cleaning up her charge and explaining all the details that mortal women went through in order to be able to bear children. Elyve was in shocked silence the whole day, holding her hand to her womb, not liking the pain that she was to endure every month.

“Does this mean I won’t be able to hunt with the men anymore?” Elvye asked that night at the dinner table, while picking at her food. She didn’t feel particularly hungry and just wanted to crawl back into her bed and sleep.

“It will not be seen socially acceptable for a young girl of childbearing age to go unattended into the forest with three or more men, so unless you can find women to hunt with you, it will have to stop.” Faramir answered. The look of total and utter disappointment on Elvye’s face broke his heart. “Elvye, you are a woman now. We have taught you how to hunt, to use a sword and longbow. You seem to be proficient with any weapon we give you, but you have to go home soon. You have matured rapidly since your arrival here and it pleases me to know you will go back to your mother able to hold your head up high.”

“You will be coming back with me?” Elvye asked, now feeling the bond that she had developed between herself and her foster parents.

“There will be a few people leaving with you, but no. Éowyn and I are too old to travel long distances anymore.”

Elvye then did something she hadn’t done since she was a child; she burst into tears. She didn’t really know why, but she did, and it felt good to cry, so she got up and ran into her room and slammed the door.

It wasn’t long when Éowyn knocked on her door, “Go ‘way” came the muttered answer. Éowyn walked in anyway.

“We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to leave for a while yet.” Éowyn sat on the edge of the bed and ran and hand up and down Elvye’s back. She knew what she was going through and how torn Elvye must feel, but she was not allowed to stay at Ithilien. She was of elven heritage and her home was with her mother.

“I don’t want to go back, Éowyn. I want to stay here forever and be treated like an adult; with the respect that everyone here gives me. Back there,” Elvye spat out the word, “I will just be treated like the youngest daughter of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. I’m the ugly daughter, the different one. I don’t even have the right ears! I’m not…” Whatever the brown-haired girl said next was lost admist the thick blanket and pillow that she had over her head, “ and yucky hair!” Éowyn had managed to finally decipher.

“Oh dear. They have no idea what they’re in for back in Minas Tirith!” Éowyn muttered, then speaking to Elvye, “If you don’t like your hair, then cut it! You are always complaining about it, child, and it will grow back if you don’t like it short.”

The bundle under the sheets and pillows moved and eventually a head popped up, the face tear stained and eyes were red and swollen. However, a look of confused shock was on her face too. No one had ever told her that she could wear her hair short. There were some things that she had never bothered to ask her mother or father, or that she never got round to asking her brother.

“I want it short. I want it gone, off. Its so annoying!” Elvye cried, pulling a stick out of a tangle in her hair and throwing it at the wall. Within a few moments, Éowyn had pulled the blankets off the girl, and told her to hop up out of bed. Before Elvye could have a chance to think over her decision, the White Lady of Ithilien had taken Elvye to the kitchen and cut her hair to shoulder length. After the first few rough cuts had done the main trick, Elvye was ordered to wash her hair. Once that was done and Elvye’s hair was clean and straight, Éowyn sat her down and tidied up the sketchy job she had done. Within fifteen minutes, Elvye was walking around with shoulder length hair that didn’t look messy at all.

“I feel beautiful now! I feel like I’ve lost weight!” and with that the two women laughed then Elvye burst into tears, “Éowyn I don’t want to leave you.”

“Think of your brother, dear child, but you are like the daughter I never had. I love you.”

“I love you too, fair Lady of Rohan!” and for the rest of the night the two women, Elyve with her newly established maturity and Éowyn with her years of experience, spoke of many things, things that the young woman would need to know in order to be a mother, a wife and a warrior.

The next few days Elyve was on a continual high-to-low mood swing, one moment laughing, and the next crying. But as her ladytimes finished she went back to the normal girl that she once was, with one exception; she had gained maturity rapidly and it scared her mortal elders. The only explanation they could believe was that it was an elven trait to gain total adulthood in one fell swoop. As the days wore on, plans were made for the princess to go back to her home, but Elvye had other plans in mind, and she knew she would be back in Ithilien before her first child’s birth.

Along with a few youngsters that she had trained with, some older travellers, and soldiers a group of about 20 people left Ithilien on their trek to Minas Tirith. Elvye laughed and joked with the boy/men she had trained with but also noticed that every time she was with the boys, an adult woman was always close by to make sure nothing got out of hand. This annoyed and comforted Elvye at the same time. She never yelled at the women but she knew there were some things that would be gossiped about that would make her mothers ears blush right to the points. Along with her maturity, she had gained knowledge about males, but she still played her immature act for she knew the boys loved it. And for once in her life, she was the pretty girl, the centre of attention and there was no older sibling to suddenly walk in and take the glory. In fact, she was the only girl present around the fledgling soldiers’ age. With the attention came confidence, so by the time they reached Minas Tirith, Elvye was no longer a fourteen year old child, but a woman of elvish heritage who acted much older than her age.

A young soldier ran ahead to alert the city of their arrival, and the return of their youngest princess, Elvye. Elvye snuck away with a few women and they bathed and dressed in their finest. Elvye had appointed all of those with her Temporary Official Guard of the Royal House, letting whispers around that the soldiers who showed promise would have a good word spoken about them to the King. Elvye dressed in her armoured shirt and long skirt, wearing Éowyn’s sword (a parting gift from the Lady in White) and her hair blowing about her face, for once knot free! As they arrived at the city, banners and fanfares blew in the wind and people cheered for the young princess of Gondor. The people loved her because she was the only royal child that they were able to gossip about and the fact she had returned, they thought, would give them more scandals to talk over.

And they would definitely have something to talk about. A hushed silence surrounded the city as Elvye strode in ahead of the young soldiers, as though she was their commander, a position only ever held by men. The women walked beside the soldiers, so the traditional line of ruler, soldiers, men, women and children, then pack animals last was ignored. After the first shocked quiet, the noise of everyone talking resumed, no longer muted shock, but loud yelling and cheering. They had another heir for the throne, Princess Elvye.

After riding past the people on the tiered levels of Minas Tirith, they arrived at the King and Queen of Gondor along with all the members for the Royal Houses of Gondor and, to Elvye’s shock, Rohan. She pushed the thought of Éomen out of her mind and walked to her parents.

“Im gelir ceni ad lín Ada, Naneth.” (I am happy to see you again father, mother)

“Welcome back, Princess Elvye.” Elessar said formally. Elvye noticed more grey in his beard, and his head was like a silver mantle. She could tell her parents were not impressed with her attire, though she knew they wouldn’t be.

“Suilaid (Greetings) people of Gondor,” Elvye spoke to the people in the public speaking voice Faramir had taught her. “While I have been away I have learnt many things, mainly, how to use weapons to defend my people and myself. I have learnt to listen more and act more like the woman I am meant to be. The honoured Lady of Ithilien and her beloved husband, Steward Faramir have taught me many things. I will use these skills to be the princess you deserve, and help fight to defend our city. I thank you my people, for bearing me while I had to grow up. I know I must have provided you with many nights good gossip,” with this Elvye smiled cheekily and winked. “Do not be afraid. I’m sure the goal I have in mind will create enough gossip to make your ears fall off. And now, I ask my father, the King, if I can allow this day off, in celebration,”

“You make it hard for me to refuse, my youngest daughter, therefore I will not. I mean, who could refuse her smiling face?” Elessar asked loudly to the crowd, sparking laughter, “Go now my people. Go!”

Elvye turned around and saw her brother standing behind the White Tree. With a few smooth movements, a feat that most men could not have done covered with armour as she was, Elvye ran and jumped into the waiting arms of her brother and hugged him tight. He attempted to pick her up and swing her about as her used to when she was younger, but all he could manage was to lift her off the ground.

“Eldarion! I Anor hílol now that I see you again,” Elvye said in a mix of elvish and Westron. Being with Éowyn for so long, she had not needed the speech of her mother. (The sun shines now that I see you again)

“Elvye! My you have grown! You’re nearly my height now, and Valar!” Eldarion instantly adverted his eyes when he realised that the armour his sister wore was rather low cut to accentuate her womanly features. “Well, you’re a woman now, but that armour won’t help you when you’re fighting dear sister!”

“El, I know that. This is my showing-off outfit. A female and yet a warrior. No one can challenge me and not realise that, not in this outfit anyway. I have other armour I wore when sneaking out with the boys, but they realised after a while that Dernhelm was Éowyn’s nickname when she fought and I was in deep meox!”

“Elvye!”

A slow flush crept up onto her smooth cheeks, and a guilty smile followed. She looked at her brother and gave him a ‘you-know-I’m-different’ look and laughed and hugged him again.

“I haven’t seen you in so long I forgot how different you are from our sisters. It will be refreshing to have you back; you speak your mind when others won’t. Elvye I want you to meet someone. This is my wife-to-be.”

A heavily pregnant woman walked over at Eldarion’s call, followed by 2 male children, probably around 4 and 5 years. They looked thin and scared but tidy, as though they had recently been cleaned up but not yet fed. Elvye gazed at them and noticed they were close to the same age, but looked completely different. The woman herself seemed thin and unkempt, as though she had been pulled from the lower levels of the city. The look Elvye caught her mother give the Queen-to-be; made her wonder if she was, in fact, from the lower levels.

“Le suilon fair lady.” (I greet thee) Elvye said bowing slightly to the woman.

“Mára au… au… aurë” she stuttered in broken elvish, blushing violently.

“You are learning my mother’s language. That is very brave of you. Is my brother teaching you?”

“Mother doesn’t approve of my teaching skills, not after raising you. Mother and Vanimeldë are teaching her.” Eldarion answered.

“You are a very brave woman. I admire you!” Elvye looked at her sister-in-law-to-be in a new light. Her mother and her oldest sister weren’t the most patient individuals, and they seemed to regard mortals as lesser people. Spending time with the down-to-earth Éowyn and Faramir made Elvye realise just how snobby her family was, and it shocked her.

Elvye stole another unnoticed glance at her parents, then noticed Elfwine. She ran over to him and smiled one of her breathtaking smiles.

“Greetings Elfwine. It is a pleasure to see you again!” Elyve said with all honesty and happiness, her childlikeness shining through her smile.

“Hello Lady Elvye. Your outfit is rather, how should I put it? Different!” Elfwine seamed distant. Then Elvye noticed the wedding band on his finger, and felt slightly upset that the wedding had happened without her knowledge.

“I wear what I find comfortable Prince. Does this disturb you?” Elvye asked stiffly. Once he had treated her as an equal; now she was back to being a little girl and everyone else older and wiser. She looked at him with slight anger dwelling in her eyes.

“Not at all, youngest Princess.”

“Might I enquire as to the whereabouts of your brother, and your father? How fares the King of Rohan?” Elvye said trying to maintain a civil conversation even though she was already despairing at her return.

“My brother did not come with me,” he said simply and walked off. Elvye looked hurtfully at his retreating back, then at her oldest sister. Vanimeldë smiled spitefully at her, and walked over to her husband. Elvye walked off in disgust, her head reeling with so many questions that she didn’t have answers to.

“El, where is Éomen? And why did Vanimeldë get married without me? What’s happened to this city while I have been away?” Her eyes started to water; she had gotten used to being treated with respect in Ithilien that coming home was already a torment for her.

Later that night, after Eldarion had tried to answer Elvye’s questions, she walked through the dark halls of the citadel. She liked the stillness of the palace when there was no one around.
Speaking aloud in elvish, she paced in front of a fire that was nearly out in the library. When her sisters realised that Elvye was rusty in their mother’s language, they wouldn’t speak to her in anything but that language.
Elvye was muttering rather vile curses in elvish when she heard a small voice behind a bookshelf gasp. “Ai!!!” which happened to be an elvish exclamation. A young child was staring at her from behind a bookcase.

“Pedich Edhellen? Heniach nin?” (Do you speak elvish? Do you understand me?) Elvye asked the child. She couldn’t tell yet as to wether it was a boy or a girl, and this surprised Elvye, as she could usually tell simple things like that.

“Iston le?” (Do I know you?) The child asked meekly.

“Man eneth lín?” Elvye asked.

“What?” a small wrinkle of confusion wrote itself onto the child’s features.

“What is your name child? And what are you doing up so late in a library?” This strange child, who seemed to have no gender or distinguishable features, confused Elvye.

“Nin estar Dimple.” A small smile showed why this name was applied to the child. “Who are you and why do you speak the Royal language, your not allowed too.”

“Elvye eneth nín. And I am a member of the Royal family. I am the youngest child of their royal…” Elvye stopped herself before getting into her old tirade of introduction, “I am a child of the King. What about you then little one?”

“The girl from level one is being taught in here by the queen and Princess. I listen a lot. No one speaks to me; most don’t even know I exist, so I’m very good at listening. It’s a very interesting language, but I think she should know some of the history, she might understand it a little better. I’ve been reading books on elvish history since I taught myself to read. But so many of them are in elvish and I can’t read that.”

Elvye and Dimple spoke into the far reaches of the night and dawn found them sitting by the cold fire cuddled together in a large armchair with a large Elvish History book open in their laps.

Elvye had found out a lot of information that night that her brother hadn’t been able to or wasn’t willing to tell her. For example, Dimple knew of Eldarion’s fiancée, a former prostitute who had been forced into the trade by her recently deceased uncle, and the fact that no one knew the fathers of her two sons. Elvye was also told of the decreasing number of children attending school, as the cost was increasing, and that the city’s population was growing. Dimple often wandered the library unnoticed and heard many conversations that she would normally never hear. Lucky for Elvye, Dimple liked her and told her everything she heard, from simple matters of a maid’s cheating husband to matters such as the dislike of Princess Vanimeldë.

It wasn’t long before Elvye was back into the normal routine of the city. She refused to go back to her old lessons of sewing and suchlike with her mother and sisters and if she did attend, it was usually the private lessons with her soon to be sister-in-law. Her brother’s wedding happened soon, and Elvye had the suspicion that it had been planned hoping that she was still to be in Ithilien.

“Mother!” Elvye yelled one day, pacing quickly into the large throne room. “Why do I not have a dress for Eldarion’s wedding? Why do all my sisters have one but me? Was this all planned with me out of the picture? Or was I forgotten? Were you all having too much fun without me to realise there is another daughter?”

Elvye was a sight to behold. That morning she had decided to wear one of the few dresses she owned, a long flowing skirt of the darkest black material, with slivers of blood red through it, a low cut top of the same blood red which seemed to meld in to the black of the bodice. Her sword belt hung low around her waist, with Éowyn’s red handled sword hanging from it. Her eyes flashed with fury and even her hair seamed to spark with electricity. Her stride quickened as she got closer to her parents.

“Mother, I asked you once what my name was. Must I ask you again?”

“Elvye!”

“Well are you going to tell me what was going through your mind when you didn’t make a dress for your youngest child?”

Elvye had hardly spoken to her mother since her return and Arwen was shocked to see the half-elf speak to her directly and even more shocked to have her stare her in the eyes. It was tradition for younger or lower ranked elves to bow their heads when speaking with another, and the fact that Elvye was bypassing all these customs was something Arwen was unprepared for.

“Elvye, come now. We were unsure of when your return would be,” Aragorn answered.

“WELL WHY NOT DELAY IT THEN? OR BETTER YET, ASK ME TO RETURN, IF ONLY FOR THE WEDDING! AM I NOT IMPORTANT TO YOU, or am I just the youngest child, nothing more?” All of her yelling was directed to her mother, and seeing this as a threat, the Steward and her father moved in front of the queen.

The only child of Faramir and Éowyn had filled his father’s job very well, and had married with three boys, each willing to fill the job of steward. Although he was not officially the Steward, and would not be until his father died, he was doing most of the duties. Elvye looked at the middle aged man and spoke softly, with a sense of longing in her voice.

“You are a lucky man to have parents like yours, Elboron. I hope you treasure them.” With that, the still angry princess strode through the throne room to the door with a grace befitting her elven heritage.