The Wave

The people of Dol Amroth pride themselves upon their culture and traditions, looking back to the Land of the Gift. For our land too is rich, granting us prosperity and the leisure to cultivate both grace and pretension.

The Princes of Dol Amroth are prideful as well--made princes by the hand of Elendil, is it any wonder we might think ourselves greater than other men? But to the rulers of my house is sent the dream: the wave, black, devouring, all encompassing. A reminder that there is more to the story. A warning that pride could whelm us once again.

***

Just A Bit Of Chop...

"Waves? No, these aren't truly waves. Just a bit of chop," the first brother, the soldier, says.

"I could tell you stories about storms off the Cape of Andrast that would curl your hair," the second brother, the sailor, says.

"Besides, horses bounce up and down as well," the third brother, the scholar, says.

King Eomer of Rohan lurches over to the rail and loses his lunch. Three pairs of sea-grey eyes regard him speculatively.

"Could we go back in?" he asks queasily.

"Not until you tell us what your intentions towards our sister are," the brothers chorus. Eomer blanches.

***

For Everything, There Is A Season

After the coronation and the celebration, time for a quiet family dinner and evening together. In the library, the Prince looks over his correspondence. Erchirion reads a book, while Elphir and Amrothos play a cutthroat game of chess. The Princesses Mariel and Lothiriel ply their needles together upon new clothes for Alphros, who is growing again.

"There's no reason to put it off any longer," Lothiriel says suddenly, breaking the quiet. "We really need to find the two of you wives."

Aghast, Erchirion and Amrothos look pleadingly to their father for assistance, while Elphir, safely wed and heired, laughs merrily.

***

Friendly Native Guide

Children's voices call out once again in Minas Tirith. Bergil's friends have returned to the City, eager to hear his tales of the war. No reason to feel bereft, and yet...

Then, one morning, Pippin is there before him again, and not alone. All of the other Periannath are with him, including the Ringbearer.

"Ho, Bergil!" says Pippin. "Would you be our guide again today? For no one knows the City better than Bergil," he tells the Ringbearer. Beregond's son lifts his chin proudly, as his friends look on in awed respect.

"I would be glad to," he says, grinning.

***