"You will come with me this night," Anárion insisted.

Isildur grumbled while he pretended to be engrossed in the books in front of him upon the shelf. Even though Isildur knew it was a tradition of sorts for the Rómenna youth to gather near the bay on Midsummer’s Eve. The activities were innocent enough; still word of the gathering would be carefully guarded among the young, unwed, men and women of the haven. Isildur knew the only reason Anárion wished to go was Anúviel. No doubt his younger brother seemed eager to seek out his lady love. Then again, if Isildur had the affections of such a lovely creature he would likely feel the same as his younger brother did now. Even so, Isildur knew he owed it to both of them to try and be the responsible one.

"You and I know your plans of mischief do not involve me. I cannot understand why you are so insistent I be a part of this plot."

"You must go because you should enjoy life more often. You waste your youth sitting at home reading your books all evening." Anárion folded his arms in front of his chest.

Isildur raised a brow, his face filling with mirth. "Now I find it odd that coming from you when you’re usually the one who skulks about the house grumbling about being bored. Clearly Anúviel has bewitched you in some manner. Either that or you are my brother’s imposter and intend to lead me to my doom."

Anárion threw his head back and released a rollicking laugh. "Maybe she has, but you are coming."

"And I assume you considered the ramifications of our attendance of this innocent little gathering?"

"But of course, "Anárion said with a grin. Isildur noticed the pile of folded garments Anárion brought with him when he came to inform Isildur of this merry event and insist upon his attendance. "Anúviel is the only one who knows that we shall be in attendance, and she is sworn to secrecy. I’m sure there will be many a pretty lass there to keep you entertained."

Never before had Isildur released a more disdained scowl. "Just because you were in a hurry to settle down does not mean I am in any rush to follow suit! I rather enjoy my life as it is. No need to complicate things with a wife to please all hours of the day."

"Very well, "Anárion said plainly. "You can tell all the lovely ladies that yourself when you come to the assembly."

----------------------------------------

Despite the sounds of merry laughter, Isildur grumbled to himself as he and Anárion approached the bonfire upon the beach.

"Ah, a great fire, "Isildur spat sarcastically. "The King’s men shall never see that."

"Oh come now, brother. No more gloom this evening."

Isildur dug the toe of his boot deeper into the sand in the hopes that by the time he reached the others the event would be over. But no such luck came to Elendil’s eldest son this night. Instead a couple revelers ran forward to greet the newcomers, the spicy scent of red wine perfumed their breath and clothing. A maiden came forward to place a wreath of glossy leaves upon the brow of each brother, along with a kiss for each cheek. Isildur could feel the skin underneath her lips burn in abashed discomfort. Hopefully she would not take too much of an interest in his presence here. Isildur could not help but notice the woven belt looped around her shapely waist or the way her dress barely seemed to be able to contain her hefty bosom. Much to Isildur’s relief another male pulled her attention away, allowing him to slink off into the further recesses of the group.

Just as Isildur predicted, Anárion and Anúviel quickly found eachother. It wasn’t very long after they were seen with embraced arms and lips that they disappeared. Isildur’s head shook from side to side, not even having to think to know what the two young lovers were up to. More pairs vanished into the darkness while the minutes rolled by. In time the waves became of greater interest than the lingering conversations. A touch upon the shoulder jerked Isildur out of his trance.

"Some wine, my friend?"

The gentle voice urged Isildur to turn his eyes to the right. A woman stood near his side, her hands extended a wooden mug to him. The breeze blew a few errant curls across her face. Thankfully the wine hadn’t encouraged her to discard the shawl wrapped about her shoulders. She nudged the drinking vessel into Isildur’s hands before he had a chance to decline her offer.

"You had best take it, least you lose your chance. It’s rather good."

"Then why are you not enjoying it yourself?" Isildur raised a brow quizzically to the maiden. His head cocked the side slightly as she leaned forward to speak in a low tone, a wry smile upturning a corner of her lips.

"Because, my good sir, too much wine causes one to loosen their tongues as well as their propriety. Besides, you looked rather forlorn sitting all by yourself here, and I needed an excuse to come say hello."

Isildur’s half hearted chuckle broke the uneasiness, at least for the length of time it took for him to lift the wooden mug to his lips and take a healthy swig of the heady beverage. He coughed sharply after swallowing and brought the back of his sleeve to his eyes in order to wipe away the moisture that suddenly pooled underneath them.

"Easy there, that wine has sat in long enough in a cellar to learn how to bite back."

"You could say that again," Isildur sputtered just before releasing a low whistle.

"The grapes are from east Hyarnustar. The tartness gives them away."

"A man who knows his wine, I’m impressed," the maiden murmured above the telltale trickle of liquid. Isildur looked down to see the level of wine within his mug returned to its prior volume. His eyes searched for the source that provided the beverage only to find it nestled between the young woman’s feet. The glint in her eyes told no lie of what she had done and Isildur could not help but marvel as well as take humor in her swift reflexes. Nevertheless, Isildur would not allow some silly girl to bruise his masculine ego. Despite how hard he tried to drain the wine from the mug the amount within it never seemed to change. The more the maiden tried to defy his line of sight, the more determined Isildur grew to consume whatever she put in front of him.

"I’ve seen you about the city, yet I haven’t a clue who you are." The maiden finally provided Isildur the opportunity he waited for once she looked out towards the bay. Without wasting even a split second he snatched up the nearest bottle and dumped the contents into the cup he saw her drink from. But much to Isildur’s horror the scent of cordial, not wine, permeated his nostrils too late to take his decision back. He watched with horror as the maiden lifted the vessel to her lips and take a casual sip. It was all Isildur could do to resist the urge to cringe when he noticed her eyes widen in shock. He should have known better to look before leaping, or rather pouring in this case.

Isildur fully expected the young woman to slap him, or toss her tainted drink in his face. Such a fate would have been kinder. Instead his torment lingered and increased while he watched the maiden continue to sip from her cup during lulls in their conversation. By now they were the only two who remained near the bonfire. Either the others had paired off, retired, or even worse, they might have left to give Isildur and his new lady friend some privacy. Isildur didn’t know whose pride to curse more; hers or his. By now his body felt almost uncomfortably warm while his mind swam in the wine that surely by now replaced the blood in his veins. Isildur could barely contain a groan of frustration once he noticed that his wine had yet again managed to magically replenish itself. At this rate he would be crawling home. Now seemed like a better time than ever to come up with some sort of diversion. Besides, his conscience would never leave him be if he had to watch the poor girl destroy her well maintained composure with the drink she held in her hands.

"I think I shall take a swim."

The maiden nearly dropped her glass as a surprised look crossed her face. She probably hadn’t expected Isildur to take such a turn in his game. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from her seat, giving her girl no room to argue.

"Have you gone mad? It’s dark," the maiden stammered in an attempt to form some sort of excuse. "Besides, the water is probably freezing."

"Oh come now, where is your sense of adventure. It is Midsummer’s Eve after all. Why should we sit like knots on a log while the others have their fun?"

Surely a cat that polished off the last of the cream could not have grinned wider than Isildur felt himself do now, especially as he watched the look of sheer bewilderment that filled the poor maiden’s face. Isildur wasted no time in pulling his feet free from his boots. He could feel his companion’s eyes upon his back while he continued to undress and waded into the water until it came up to his waist. Isildur looked over his shoulder to see the maiden’s face visibly reddened even in the moonlight.

"Well, aren’t you coming?"

Isildur watched with almost too much glee to see the maiden scowl and quickly switch the front of her dress closed once she realized his eyes rested upon her. "Turn away first and I shall!"

"My apologies," Isildur called out before clamping his hands over his face as he turned his head forward once again. To her it would look as if he gave her the privacy she required, but really the action served far better to conceal the laughter that threatened to roll forth. Isildur hoped she couldn’t see his arms shake with the effort to conceal his amusement, least she suddenly come up with some new devious way to try to undermine him again.

"There, now you can look."

Isildur turned his body around to see his companion hunched down until the water came up almost over her shoulders. "What do you think the King’s men shall do if they happen to catch us out here like this?"

"Well, they could not if you are as fast of a swimmer as I."

The maiden’s laughter rang out into the night, its tone noticeably colored by the amount of cordial she seemed to have consumed. "Let us see how swift you really are. If you can make it to the shore Calmindon’s light shines upon, then I give you leave to remove my dress from my possession, and you shall be permitted to laugh while I walk home in the same garb I entered this world with on the day of my birth."

"And what if you should happen to best me?" Isildur’s brow raised in interest at the competitive nature of this maiden.

"If fate stands on my side, then I shall be the one to usurp your garments."

Isildur laughed heartily. "Ah, a worthy feat indeed, may the best man win!"

Isildur looked to his side as his companion cleared her throat to see her give him a look of disdain, "or woman."

The water’s surface foamed and splashed madly in the wake of both determined swimmers. Isildur felt certain he had the upper hand. The sound of splashing drifted farther and farther behind him, encouraging his arm and leg muscles to work harder. Isildur couldn’t help but admire the determined nature of his lady companion. But she seemed to have failed to consider the fact that the cordial would likely slow her down more than all the wine she served him. Isildur hardly made it even halfway to Tol Uinen before the muscles in his arms and leg began to burn with exertion. It would seem the alcohol made the island’s location appear closer to the mainland than it actually was. Once Isildur slowed his strokes he noticed the water around him seemed terribly quiet. His eyes flicked for some sign of splashing to indicate the spirit of competition remained strong between him and his competitor. Unfortunately the continued silence only served to increase Isildur’s panic. He began to fear to maybe she had drowned while his eyes scanned for some sign of his companion’s presence. Atlast he spotted her upon the Rómenna shoreline. Confusion soon followed relief once Isildur noticed her gathering up garments from the sand, his garments.

Isildur watched in shock as the maiden lifted his boots with her free hand and walk away into the darkness. By the time he reached the shore the maiden’s form could not be seen. Isildur released a string of expletives under his breath while he stood upon the shoreline, naked as the day he was born, hoping and praying that no one suddenly made an appearance. He could almost imagine the laugh Anárion would get out of this. Isildur should have guessed the feisty maid would cheat once she realized she could not out swim him. But just before he was about to curse her name along with those of all her descendants, Isildur looked out towards Tol Uinen to see the light from Calmindon shining atop its lofty seat. Alas, he should have known the light tower cast illumination onto the sea and the shores of Rómenna as well as the island where it was located. It would appear that Isildur greatly underestimated the wit of a maiden with such a meek appearance.

Thankfully the young woman forgot her shawl in her haste to make off with Isildur’s clothing. Isildur could not help but grimace at the delicate pink embroidered flowers or the soft fabric. Surely the last thing he ever wanted to cover his rump with. But the dainty garment would have to do. Never before had Isildur run home so quickly, cursing his brother’s stubbornness, his own obstinate ego, and of course, the way the beaded tassels upon his makeshift loincloth jingled with each step.

-------------------------------------------------------

A sharp clink of metal sounded, causing Tindalómë to stop mid step and bend to retrieve the copper vase she managed to kick over in her haste. Another shipment arrived at her father’s storehouse, making for a chaotic environment as Tindalómë moved about the room, accounting for the goods being brought in and adding them to the inventory.

"Greetings, Lord Amandil. We are most grateful for your assistance in easing the transition with the new trade laws."

Tindalómë turned around when she heard her father addressing the exiled Lord of Andúnië and nearly dropped the inventory book she held. Beside the well dressed elder gentleman stood the young man she encountered at the Midsummer’s Eve bonfire a few days before. Of course it would be her luck that she acted so foolhardy towards a high ranking noble! Her feet suddenly felt heavy when her father called her to his side.

"Come, sell nín, I wish for you to meet Lord Amandil of Andúnië and his grandson, Isildur. Both have been most generous in helping to keep our establishment afloat during these difficult times. My lords, might I introduce you to Tindalómë, my daughter and most trusted business partner."

Amandil did not hesitate in offering Tindalómë kind greetings, yet she could not help but wonder if her own face looked as bright red as Isildur’s when their eyes met. He certainly appeared even more handsome in the daylight hours and dressed in the fine garb, similar to his grandfather’s. Guilt weighed heavily on Tindalómë’s heart while she listened to her father speak with the two men and realized the debt they owed Amandil and his grandsons. Thankfully the conversation drew to a close before Tindalómë’s remorse could make her feel shorter than the crates that sat upon the floor.

Later that day Tindalómë managed to make her way to Amandil’s home in Rómenna, bearing the freshly laundered garments, boots, as well as an envelope bearing Isildur’s name. Hopefully Amandil’s grandson would accept the humble apology penned upon the note within it. Tindalómë departed shortly after her burden reached its destination and did her best to ignore the perplexed expression upon the face of the servant she handed them to.

A few tense days passed before a messenger arrived with a parcel for Tindalómë at her home. Her fingers pulled upon the loops of the twine and she watched the wrapping fall away to reveal the scent of laundering soap as well as the sight of her shawl with the embroidered flowers. Underneath the familiar garment lay a new one that caused Tindalómë to gasp in awe. Not even her mother owned such a fine wrap crafted from embossed velvet the color of fresh plums. Her fingers traced the careful beadwork scattered across the design. The fabric felt every bit as sumptuous as it looked. At the bottom of the paper wrapping rested a folded note bearing the fluid script of a well trained hand. Tindalómë’s soft laugh filled the room after reading the words penned for her.

I return this lost treasure to a lady’s company I have enjoyed keeping, for surely many long hour have gone into its creation. And since my shabby clothing is hardly a proper prize for a contest justly won, I have also enclosed one that I hope shall be more to your liking."