Elendur nudged a small rock with the toe of his boot. He pushed it along the path until it dropped into the small puddle nearby. The man listened to the conversation taking place between his younger brothers who stood nearby.

“I am certain it shall be a boy,” Ciryon announced proudly, earning a snort from his older brother. “I’m not certain which would get into more trouble, another boy or a girl.” Aratan mumbled. “A boy we could at least teach to fend for himself, but imagine all the scraps we’ll be forced to get into if it’s a girl, defending her honor and all.”

Elendur was unable to withhold the low chuckle that rumbled forth from his chest. “I think it may be some time before either of you would have to worry about that. And even then, I doubt either of you would beat me to the scoundrel who would dare look at her with less than respectable intentions.”

The two younger men looked up at their older brother in an almost dumbfounded manner while their playful shoves came to a sudden halt. Such a thing only made Elendur laugh harder. “Very well, both of you may help.”

Aratan turned to face Ciryon and groaned. “You’re right; it’s going to be a boy. There is no way Eru would be so cruel as to allow the poor sap that might look at our younger sister too long face the three of us.”

“I would not be so quick to discount the merits of a new sister,” Elendur reminded gently. Predicting the sex of their new sibling was almost as futile as trying to locate a single grain of sand in a pile of mud.”A young lady would be sweet and mild mannered.”

“Not if she’s anything like Mother,” Ciryon chimed in with a laugh. “If she follows in her footsteps she’ll be grabbing us by the ears and dragging us across the room before she’s tall enough to reach our knees!”

Elendur’s eyes turned away from his younger brothers while their loud laughter rolled out into the courtyard. A young woman with dark braids wrapped around her head walked by. The scent of warm bread preceded her, wafting up from the large basket of fancy rolls she carried with both hands. Her green eyes met Elendur’s gray ones as she neared. A slight flush brightened the pink shade of her cheeks and she offered Elendur a bashful smile.  He assumed she must have just come from the kitchens with the way her dark chestnut plaits were wound around her head and the slight sheen of perspiration that clung to her brow.

“Mistress Olótiel, where are you going with that gloriously scented bounty?” Elendur looked over his shoulder to see Ciryon step up to the railing and lean over it, craning his neck to see what was in the maiden’s basket.

The girl blushed even harder and bowed her head. “Lord Elrond bid us to set forth a feast in honor of the newest member of Gondor’s royal house. It’s a recipe from Númenor with basil and olives.”

Aratan moved to his younger brother’s side and slapped him across the shoulder. “It looks delicious, my lady.  Although I’m afraid you might need another entire batch just for my brother. He’ll eat enough for all of us!”

Ciryon returned the slap on the shoulder and the two younger men began to laugh and wrestle all over again, much to Elendur’s embarrassment. He stepped forward to take the basket from the maiden’s hands, marveling at how it felt much heavier than it looked. Olótiel was one of the refugees from Minas Ithil who escaped on the boats that sailed for Annúminas. Those were frightening days that served as a catalyst for all that now took place. Olótiel was a sturdy woman of Númenórean birth. Even though she was still a child when her family fled the destruction of Númenor on a ship belonging to Isildur, both she and Elendur were able to share a bond through having survived such a tumultuous event. They viewed these current proceedings with the approach of war in a way those who were born in on this new land could not. Aratan and Ciryon were eager to throw down the enemy yet Elendur was unable to regard the situation with little more than grave silence. They did not remember the temple or the way the enemy had touched their family in such an intimate way that it changed everything forever.

“Your mother fairs well?” Olótiel asked in her usual gentle tone. She took the basket from Elendur once they reached a clearing where tables had been set out for the meal. Elendur nodded slowly. Even after all these years he still felt a measure of shyness around his friend. There were things he wanted to talk with Olótiel about since they had this moment alone. But for some reason he was almost thankful Olótiel gave him an opportunity to delay that conversation at least for a little while longer.

“She is strong and I’m sure she knows what to expect by now." Elendur offered Olótiel a small smile. “It’s my father I’m worried about. He attended the births of my other brothers as well. He has always fretted over my mother with each child.”

Olótiel arranged some of the pottery upon the table and flicked her eyes back to Elendur, offering him that same shy smile the two of them always passed between eachother these days. “It is inspiring that the King is so tender towards his Queen. I can only hope that all the lads might take a lesson from him in how to cherish their wives.”

“Indeed,” Elendur stammered. He felt the skin of his face heat as he nearly dropped the platter Olótiel reached out for in order to move it to the end of the table.  He brushed his hands against his tunic, trying to wipe away the sweat from his palms. “Actually, I was wondering about your prospects…..” His voice trailed off. Now that he finally had his chance Elendur found himself bumbling like a fool.

“Well, thanks to your mother’s careful tutelage I’ve been asked to join the weavers here in Imladris. I’m sure there are many things I could learn from the Elves. Their methods are different than ours, and….”

“No,” Elendur interrupted briskly. He shook his head once he realized the lack of tact in his mistake. “I meant your prospects in lads.” Elendur dared to turn his eyes up to meet Olótiel’s soft green ones. “Have any come calling?”

The light danced in Olótiel’s eyes like sunlight upon ocean waves. “A few, yes. But I was waiting for a certain lad to darken my doorway. I was hoping I might have a chance to speak with him before the feast tonight and that he might finally ask to court me.”

Elendur’s heart soared and once he recognized the same hope written upon Olótiel’s fair face. He laughed softly while the fear finally released its hold and his words were freed. “It would do me a great honor if you would allow me to court you.”

“I cannot think of anything that would make me happier,” Olótiel whisper after she closed the distance between the two of them. Her lips brushed against Elendur’s cheek but they remained there for only a second. Elendur shifted his head and brought his lips upon the maiden’s before she had a chance to pull away. Something about the way her lips embraced his made Elendur think she did not mind too terribly.

The two finally pulled away when the sound of voices drew closer. Olótiel offered Elendur a smile before pulling away. “I should return to the kitchens. Please bear my congratulations to your mother for me.”

Elendur watched the maiden walk away. He could not help but smile when she looked back over her shoulder twice. Once she was out of sight Elendur made his way back to his brothers. They stood near the railing, watching him walk back towards them.

“That basket must have been too heavy for you, brother,” Aratan teased.

“And since when did you start coloring your lips? And what’s that on your cheek?” Ciryon chimed in.  Elendur stopped in his tracks and brought his hand to the place where Olótiel’s lips had touched. He pulled his hand back to see a small trace of the dark pink tint upon them. Both of his younger brothers broke in peals of laughter and whistles.

“I told you he was more interested in the maiden than the bread,” Ciryon piped up with a hearty laugh.

“Of course he was,” Aratan shot back as he handed Elendur a square of fabric from within his tunic. “It’s about damned time too. She’d been throwing hints at him ever since we arrived here.”

Elendur joined in with his brothers’ laughter this time while all three of them discussed fair maidens and their next hunting trip. The conversation came to a sudden halt once a door at the end of the hall opened. All three of them turned to see Isildur emerge from the room, his wide smile was able to be seen from where they stood.

“It is a son!” Isildur called out proudly. “A healthy strong son!”

Elendur cheered loudly with his brothers as all three of them raced forward to embrace their father and slap him upon the back in congratulations.

“We have named him Valandil,” Isildur spoke proudly, “in honor of the great ancestor of our household.”

Elendur bowed his head in reverence at the mention of the first Lord of Andúnië. “And may he do his namesake justice. When shall we see our brother? And what of Mother?”

“You will see him soon, once the midwife is satisfied that he is adjusting well to life outside the womb and he has his first meal. Tindalómë is well, strong, and brave as always.” Isildur nodded his head to his sons and smiled again. “I should return to her side now. All of you should go to the celebrations and bear forth the glad tidings. Despite the troubles we have come through, this is a day of rejoicing.”

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

Tindalómë watched the celebrations from her window. Valandil slept peacefully at last.  His first days had been fairly uneventful despite the stream of visitors who wished to lay eyes upon the newborn child.  Some of the Elves had been the most curious to see the child of Númenórean blood.  Many left after finding little Valandil was every bit as agreeable as their own brood.

Valandil’s birth had been the easiest of all her children. Only a few hours passed this time between time moment when the pains became regular and the boy was expelled from her body. This time Isildur had even assisted the midwife, now that he had grown accustomed to what was needed. Tindalómë had been proud of him. He had grown wiser, more patient and calm over the years. Although he still bore that passion that drew Tindalómë to him all those years ago.

A moment ago Tindalómë had caught sight of Elendur dancing with Olótiel. The looks upon their features seemed so familiar. It reminded her of nights spent with Isildur upon the beach, watching the ships upon the bay of Rómenna. Those had been days of joy and beauty, so different from the darkness that felt too close for one’s comfort in these times. Hopefully Elendur and his brothers would find joy even in these days of impending war. The risks were great. All of them knew it, felt it. Yet Tindalómë did not wish to dwell upon it now. Not while Valandil slept in her arms and the soft glow of lanterns shone down on new lovers.

Some moments passed as Tindalómë watched her newborn son sleep. A soft knock came upon the door and one of the servants went to open it after Tindalómë nodded for her to do so. Elendur walked into the room along with Olótiel who held one of his hands. Both of them smiled and Tindalómë was almost able to guess why they were here. The expression in both of their eyes made it plain.

Elendur stepped forward and touched his newborn brother’s head. “We wished to speak with you.” Elendur looked from Olótiel and shared a smile with her before turning his attention back to his mother. “I have asked Olótiel to be my wife and she has consented. Yet we wanted your blessing before we told our fathers.”

“We wished to wed quickly,” Olótiel added, “so that we may have time before the men march from Imladris.”

Tindalómë felt her heart swell with pride and joy, “Of course.” She drew both Elendur and Olótiel close, kissing both of their brows in turn. “Of course you have my blessing. I have been waiting for this day for a long while.”

The smile on Olótiel’s face was enough to make Tindalómë’s spirit burst with joy. She clasped the maiden’s hand and squeezed gently. “I am glad it is you. I hoped it would be.”

Elendur kissed his mother’s cheek and the two embraced. Both of them stayed to hold Valandil for awhile. Tindalómë watched them admire the newborn and secretly hoped that they would have a child of their own soon. If it was a son it would further secure their household in the claim of Gondor. But any child would be a blessing, especially to Olótiel while Elendur was at his father’s side during battle. A child would give her hope and a reason to continue through even the hardest of days and it would do well for Valandil to have a playmate, especially when so few children dwelled here.

It would be a difficult road for both of them. Marriage was hard enough when both were near one another. But the uncertainty of war would bring new and uncharted challenges for both Elendur and Olótiel. Yet Tindalómë had faith that both of them were strong and would weather many trials and obstacles.

“He is perfect,” Olótiel whispered as she handed Valandil back to his mother. “We will leave both of you to rest.”

“Go on now,” Tindalómë murmured. She looked from her son to his soon to be wife. It was moments like these that made life beautiful. If only they would not fly away so quickly. It was better to cling to them as much as one was able to and to try and not think about what tomorrow might hold. “This night is for you. Now go speak with your fathers. I am sure they will be every bit as eager to give their blessings. This day has been long waited for.”

Elendur and Olótiel both kissed Tindalómë and Valandil one last time before departing. Tindalómë was able to hear their soft voices and laughter disappearing down the hallway. Valandil began to stir in her arms and she looked down to see the newborn open his eyes and look up at her in a sleepy manner. He had his father’s eyes, and many of his features. Such a thing would serve as a comfort to Tindalómë while her husband and sons were so far away. Oh how she would miss them so! The thought alone nearly brought tears to her eyes. No, she would not be sad while she cradled her sweet infant son in her arms.

Tindalómë leaned her head forward slightly and breathed in the comforting scent of her little one. One of her fingers touched against the center of Valandil’s tiny palm, earning a soft mew from him for her efforts. “At least we shall have one another. Never fear, sweet Valandil, we still have time yet with them, and a wedding to plan. They shall only be gone for a little while and your father will be here to watch you grow too. You will bring us all so much joy, I know it.”

The child mewed again before yawning. Tindalómë smiled and walked to the bed. She placed her son down in the cocoon of pillows she had made for him to protect him in his sleep and laid down next to him to rest as well. It was late in the night when Isildur returned to their chambers. Tindalómë woke to feel him curl around her and Valandil. Tindalómë released a blissful sigh, happy for this moment and drifted into an even more peaceful state of sleep.