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

Author’s Note: All of the stories Seraphine tells are based off ones already known. Can you guess what they are?

Chapter Seven: In Which Stories Are Told

“Father? What did Azra mean when he told Lady Seraphine that everyone is sorry about her loss? What did she lose?”

Aragorn set his knife down and sighed. He had wondered how long it would take Eldarion to ask this question. The boy was watching him closely from across the breakfast table, green eyes clear, ignoring the sounds that his sisters made as they ate.

“Harad was embroiled in disputes for years after the fall of Sauron,” Aragorn said at last. “Lady Seraphine’s family were rulers, and they were deposed. I suppose that that is what Azra meant.”

Eldarion nodded slowly, thinking about it. Aragorn, recognizing the look on his face, hurried to cut his son off before his next thought got him into trouble.

“I would not talk to Lady Seraphine about it now, Elda. She is building a new life for herself. It is kindest not to bring up the past. All right?”

Eldarion nodded. When Aragorn wore that face, it was best to comply with his wishes.

When Eldarion next saw Seraphine, she swooped down on him and kissed his cheeks, which was quite a departure from her normal serene movements.

“You are a dear, kind boy,” she exclaimed, making Arwen smile and Eldarion blush. Seraphine saw the queen then, and quickly bowed. “Good morning, Queen Arwen.”

“Good morning, Lady Seraphine,” Arwen replied, smiling. “I have come with my son to extend an invitation. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth has invited us down to visit him at his castle by the sea, and I thought that perhaps you would be interested in coming with us.

Seraphine bowed deeply. It was not an offer to refuse.

*****

A fortnight later, the royal party arrived in Dol Amroth. Prince Imrahil raised the royal banners at the gates of his castle by the sea, the ebony pennants gleaming against the azure sky.

Eldarion, sitting comfortably astride his small horse, breathed in deeply, sucking the ocean air into his longs. His mother rode with his sisters in a simple carriage nearby, but the lady Seraphine rode next to him, gazing off into the sea.

If he was honest with himself, Eldarion had to wonder about the two of them. He knew for a fact that seeing the sea pained his mother, and yet she brought them all here every summer. At least, Eldarion thought, she was not like Prince Legolas. As much as he loved his elvish uncle, he had to wonder if all elves were as mad as he was around the sea. At least mama did not wander off, entranced, walking the seashore until some sailor took pity on the poor lost elf and brought him back to the palace. The last time that had happened, Father had dosed Legolas and had him forcibly taken back to Ithilien. And then he’d made Eldarion promise not to tell anyone.

“What are you smiling at?” Seraphine asked, glancing over at him.

“Oh, nothing. Father made me promise not to tell,” Eldarion said, and snickered. “But it’s nothing bad.”

“I should hope not,” murmured Seraphine, already looking distracted.

Eldarion looked at her curiously. The closer they had come to the sea, the quieter she had become, until the princess had looked a little like an elf, herself. She looked splendid in her green and gold riding costume, her embroidered boots, and the thin veil of gold silk she wore over her face to protect from the sun. She wore trousers like Lady Eowyn, but she did not seem to notice that the guards were casting her surreptitious looks. Eldarion noticed, and didn’t know quite what to make of it.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes, I am fine. Really, I am just thinking,” the princess replied. She made no move to keep speaking, a contrast from before, and Eldarion eventually rode ahead to ask Miriel if she wanted to ride with him.

The next day, the two oldest royal children followed Lady Seraphine out of Imrahil’s palace, and down towards the town. The day was bright and warm, and they were all grateful for the light clothes they wore, and for the breeze that ruffled their hair. Dol Amroth was a fascinating place, and as they walked the cobbled streets along the quays, Seraphine told them stories from her homeland, about daring princes who had set out to explore the wide oceans, having many adventures along the way.

“One man, on his way home from a distant war, was captured by a goddess of the sea, a great lady who loved him and refused to let him leave her. It was only after he plead for days to be allowed to return to his family that she let him go,” Seraphine said. “And even then, he did not have an easy time returning, for he had to pass the dreaded isles of the syrena, the singing women, whose music could lure a man to his death.”

“How did they do that?” asked Eldarion, skeptical.

“Their island was surrounded by dangerous rocks. When the ships came too close, they were destroyed. Or if a man were foolish enough to jump overboard and swim to shore, the syrena would come to embrace him, and drag him down to drowned under the waves.”

Eldarion considered this. Swimming in the ocean was difficult, and Imrahil had warned him about submerged rocks when they had gone sailing the summer before. It made sense.

“That’s a terrible story,” he told Seraphine appreciatively. “I like it. Do you know any more?”

Miriel spoke up. She had reached out to take Seraphine’s hand, and was looking rather frightened. “I don’t want to hear anymore about people drowning. Let’s hear a nice story, please,” she said, and gave Seraphine a beseeching look.

Seraphine considered for a moment. “There is a tale in my land of a mermaid, a daughter of the sea, who fell in love with a mortal king and left her watery home to be with him. Have you heard of mermaids before?”

Miriel nodded; Eldarion shoved his hands in his pockets. Mermaids were for girls.

“They say that the sea queen and her mortal king were the strongest and most beautiful couple in their land, and that their children became great kings and queens. Some took to the seas, but there was one, a prince, who hated the sea, and had his eldest sister, who would have become queen, cast off her ship. She fell down into the water and became a mermaid, and was then on confined to the ocean. She would surface and ask sailors who ruled, and if the answer was satisfactory, she would not destroy the ship,” Seraphine said.

“That,” Miriel said, “Is still scary.”

“I liked it,” Eldarion said, and his sister scowled at him.

Seraphine laughed and launched into another tale, this one of a man who caught a seal woman on the beach and stole her coat, marrying her. Eldarion listened with one ear, watching the ships. One small sailing vessel was captained by an old man and his grandson, and they were watching Seraphine curiously.

“That’s the princess,” Eldarion heard the man say quietly to the boy. “Shame about her husband and child. No one deserves that.”

Eldarion glanced back at Seraphine, now walking ahead with Miriel. Making his mind up, he left them to their stories and hurried over to the fisherman.

“Excuse me, sir, but I heard you talking about Lady Seraphine,” he said.

The old fisherman looked at him with surprise; Eldarion flushed and bowed. “Pardon me, sir, I am Eldarion son of Aragorn. The princess is my friend.”

Grandfather and grandson traded a look. Then the old fisherman settled onto a barrel and busied himself lighting a pipe. “’Tis a sad story, lad, but if you swear not to repeat it, I will tell you. Settle yourself down, then. Ringan, bring the lad a barrel.”

The boy, Ringan, grinned at Eldarion as he slid a crate over. Eldarion grinned back, and then both boys turned their attention to the old man.

“Well,” he began, “It started a few years back, see, when Princess Seraphine was the daughter of the most powerful family in the land.”

TBC