Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: I am sincerely hoping that this story remains relatively simple! The princess was originally seen in my fic “A Monkey in Minas Tirith”. The look I am going for with the princess is that of Sybilla from the movie “Kingdom of Heaven”, with lots of color and exotic fabrics. The book Eldarion reads is a nod to Diana Wynne Jones’s “How’s Moving Castle”. I hope you all enjoy this story.

Chapter One: In Which a Princes Meets a Princess

The end of a war does not always bring peace. Major conflicts may subside, but petty squabbles rarely do so. And so it was that one fine spring day fifteen years after the fall of Sauron, a woman arrived in the White City, seeking the King.

She was not one of the Dunadain, nor one of the Rohirrim. She was one of the Haradric people, a princess whose family had been overthrown. When she was presented to the King and Queen, she bowed herself low, the folds of her bright gown rustling.

“I know you,” King Elessar said in surprise. “You came here as a small child, in the months following the fall of the Dark Lord.”

She smiled. “Yes, your highness. And now I have come to request leave to stay in your city, if I may, for my people have risen against my family, and I must needs leave for my own peace.”

Aragorn and Arwen welcomed her graciously, and granted her an empty house in the sixth circle, near the Great Library. It was not an especially large house, but it had many balconies and windows, and a large garden. Gardeners were hired to order this garden; painters and decorators came to clean and make the old villa livable again. The princess had brought many of her possessions with her, and soon the old house took on a new and exotic look. It was bright with fresh paint, and flowers grew in the windows and spilled over the garden walls. As for the princess, she was a rare and exotic treat. Seemingly tired of being a royal, she led a simple enough life, often walking the city alone or with her servant. Her neighbors kept a distance from her at first, but gradually curiosity overcame any hostility they felt towards the woman from Harad, and the princess became known by many.

As spring leaned towards summer, the young Prince Eldarion escaped his tutors and wandered the city. It was getting too hot to study, and his tutor, Master Tavor, was old and would be leaving him soon. Eldarion was free to wander the top levels of the city. He set out one morning with some bread and cheese from the kitchens, intent upon seeing the latest spectacle. News traveled fast in Minas Tirith, and Eldarion wanted to see what all of the gossip was about. He wanted to see the Haradric lady.

Eldarion strode down to the Sixth Circle, calling cheery hellos to those he passed, and receiving many hails in response. He walked until he reached the walls of the princess’s garden. After momentarily contemplating his options, he climbed up the high stone wall and peered over the edge.

The princess was standing in front of a bush of fragrant lavender, a basket over one arm and shears in one hand, facing away from Eldarion. She was wearing a long russet colored dress. She had hair quite like his mother’s, long and dark, although it was drawn up in an elaborate knot. Eldarion was also surprised to see that she was close to the men of Dol Amroth in coloring. He did not know what he had been expecting, but not that she would look like she came from the coast. If it had not been for the strange tattoos on her hands, he would have mistaken her for a member of Prince Imrahil’s court.

“I did not think it was polite in Gondor to stare,” the princess said.

Eldarion started. He had not thought she noticed him, for she had not turned around. Now she turned and smiled wryly at him.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Eldarion said quickly, blushing to the roots of his hair. “I did not mean any harm.”

“I take no offence, young sir,” said the princess, and beckoned to him. “Come down from there. I will not hurt you.”

Eldarion hesitated, then clambered over the wall. His father had taught him bravery and common sense, as well as courtesy, so he slipped down and landed feet first in the soft grass. The princess came towards him, still smiling a little. Closer, he could see that the collar of her gown was beaded and bejeweled with turquoise stones, and that the front of the gown was gathered together and clasped with an intricate brooch. She wore necklace of tiny dark beads. The whole ensemble gave off an air of understated richness, and Eldarion blushed again and bowed to her, inwardly writhing with shame that he had climbed her wall like a cretin.

“Now, who are you, boy?” she asked him, not unkindly.

Eldarion looked up into her eyes, both awed and shy. “I am Eldarion, son of Aragorn Elessar,” he replied.

The princess bowed to him, hands clasped in front of her. “And I am Seraphine, daughter of Azrafal, of the land of Far Harad. And now that we have dispensed with the formalities, may I inquire as to what you were doing up on my wall, Prince Eldarion?”

Eldarion fidgeted, fingering the edge of his tunic. “I was curious, my lady. I have seen men from Harad before, but never a lady.”

Seraphine laughed. “Next time come to the door, child. I do not bite.”

A loud chorus began on the porch then, and Seraphine turned and walked towards it, gesturing for Eldarion to follow. He did, and soon saw that the cacophony came from many cages of brightly colored birds, all singing as loudly as they could. He grinned. Seraphine set the basket of lavender on a table and continued on into the house. Eldarion followed, looking around in wonder.

This house was built in the Gondorian style, but the princess had made it her own. Exotically woven rugs covered the stone floors, and there were many low couches and wide cushioned stools to sit on. There were brass braziers for heat, though they were unlit now. Drapes of blues and greens hung from the windows, adding an atmosphere of coolness. Fancy vases full of flowers and feathers graced table and the floor, and there were many bookshelves. There were books everywhere.

“Are you a scholar, Lady Seraphine?” Eldarion asked, looking around the room in apprehensive wonder.

“Of a sort,” the princess replied. She was pouring water into two goblets. “I am interested in everything.”

Eldarion stopped in front of one of the cabinets and looked at the books inside. There were treatises on plants of the south, a history of Gondor, and several books of Elvish lore. There were also many books in a language that Eldarion had never seen before. The princess came over to him as he perused her volumes and handed him a goblet.

“Not many in my land are able to learn as they do here, but my grandfather indulged my love of study and gifted me with many books. I have continued collecting them since I came here.”

Eldarion sipped his water thoughtfully. “I like learning when it is interesting. My tutor doesn’t believe that learning should be fun.”

“Tutors often do not,” Seraphine said with a laugh. He liked her laugh; it was rich and fit her accent. She waved a hand at her books. “Take one. Read it. There are many for children your age that I am sure you will enjoy. And when you are finished, come back here and we will discuss it.”

Eldarion decided that he quite liked the princess.

When the King Elessar looked in on his son that night, he found the boy lying fast asleep in his bed, holding a slender tome loosely in one hand. Aragorn picked it up and studied it. The book detailed the adventures of a cursed young woman who set out to seek her fortune and ended up living with a wizard and his apprentice in a floating castle. Aragorn grinned and set the book on the bedside table, then tucked Eldarion up and blew out the candle.

“I think that perhaps the Lady Seraphine will be a good influence on our son,” he remarked to Arwen later.

Arwen smiled. “Then we should encourage his visits.”

TBC