This was a writing experiment for myself- sit a bunch of my OCs down and ask them to eat something. Consider it a prototype of the Round Two of the Beren’s Band of the Red Hand series. (Updated Version)

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Aglar’s sister, the elder one who stayed with their mother and youngest brother, hosts a luncheon for her brother and his companions once they have all reunited from the healing gardens of Estë. Amanië relishes the opportunity to play as gracious host, and she has a fondness for lemon cakes. It is the first warning Aglar gives when describing his sister, her passion for lemon cakes and that she shares this treat at every party that she hosts. Many in Nargothrond knew only this fact of the daughter of Herenvarno who did not join her siblings and cousins in Exile, her love of a certain treat. Aglar’s companions, who have newly named themselves the Band of the Red Hand, are not surprised at what greets them in Amanië’s parlor. The tall, beautiful elven maiden welcomes them graciously, the gray and blue iridescent threads of her shawl sparkling as she swings her arms to reveal the centerpiece of this luncheon. Multiple platters of lemon tarts piled high and miruvórë in delicate glass flutes have been placed before her guests. 

Wishing not to accidentally offend their hostess, the Band struggles to contain and suppress their laughter. Amanië would misinterpret, and her actions have all been gestures of kindness.

Faelindis has quickly bonded with the older woman as a replacement for the deep friendship that she once shared with Princess Finduilas. This is not her first visit to Amanië, and Faelindis already knows that she equally adores the tart yet sweet treats. Faelindis’s husband, Faron, splits one of the cakes with his wife, then leans back in his chair and watches with bemusement as Faelindis and Amanië devour a platter of cakes together. The two lean their heads together and giggle, but of what their topic of amusement is, Faron has no idea. Nor does he truly care.

Next to them sits Aglar and his wife, Faelineth. Faelineth, with her thick curly brown hair, heart-shaped face, warm brown eyes, and accent of Nargothrond, shares a few superficial traits with the similarly named Faelindis, but neither woman would be mistaken for the other. This is especially true when Faelineth is several months pregnant with twins, the yellow cotton dress draping over her wide middle, with her cheeks and other curves more plump than normal.

Faelindis, though healed from the horrors of her long captivity in Angband, cannot shake the thinness of her features, the shadow suggestion of gauntness to her cheeks. Once more, Faron thinks, Faelindis is a pale girl flanked by two more vivacious and beautiful women. Faelineth is voluptuous, and Amanië is accredited as one of the foremost upcoming beauties in Valinor. With her striking red hair and bright blue eyes, Amanië would have been accounted a beauty nonetheless, but she also towers over her brother and other women, that tree-slender-and-tall body prized among Noldor high society. This same standard of beauty that prizes height garners Amanië comparisons to Princess Galadriel, but of the kinswomen of Prince Finrod, Amanië resembles Princess Finduilas in personality, at least somewhat. Hence why Faelindis has no qualms in striking an immediate friendship with Amanië, despite their tenuous connections and lack of shared interests or experiences, love of lemon cakes not withstanding. Still, though Faron cannot help but admire Amanië’s beauty, his attention returns again and again to Faelindis. His wife will never be compared favorably to any Noldor princess, but she is the only one his eyes find worthy. Later, when they are alone, Faron will call Faelindis his soul’s miruvórë. Her lips will taste of lemon and sugar.

Aglar watches his best friend with the knowing smirk of an expectant father who anticipates his experiences with fatherhood soon to be mutual. The social calendar for the Band of the Red Hand has been full of weddings, and more conception celebrations are soon to come. Aglar has wagers on that. He hopes to win some of those bets to finally lord over his former commander. To do so, Aglar is willing to nudge his best friend towards the idea of fatherhood. He also entertains the idea of committing light sabotage on others if necessary. Heledir has placed his wager on Bân and Aereth, Aglar on Faron and Faelindis. No one has bet on Prince Finrod. In fairness, neither have they asked Finrod to use his foresight. Aglar bites into a lemon cake to hide his triumphant smirk.

Ethirdor eyes the lemon cakes, which are closer to a tartlet despite the name, with a bit of confusion. Visually they look most like savory custards, the steamed egg dishes that he loved back in Beleriand. He eats one and is surprised at the sweetness and texture. Eagerly he eats a second.

Tacholdir takes a bite of the lemon cake, makes a face at the unexpected tartness of the lemon, attempts a second bite, then places the remaining cake back on his plate with a forlorn and disappointed look. His dismay at his own unwillingness to finish the proffered treat makes his fiance laugh, and the blonde man filches the half-eaten tart off Tacholdir’s plate and tosses in into his mouth. After he swallows the cake, he teases his fiance. “Not sweet enough?”

“I thought the lemon flavor would not be as strong,” Tacholdir admits quietly. He glances towards Amanië, who is still deeply enthralled in her conversation with Faelindis. Relieved that their hostess has not been offended, the former pin-maker and clerk, now employee with the same publisher as Princess Findis, twists the chain of jewels around his neck and tries to calm his nerves. His fiance rests a hand atop his, stilling the nervous action. 

“And I thought I would be the one ill at ease today,” he murmurs. This is not the first time that Tacholdir’s fiance has been invited to a gathering of his beloved’s companions, but he feels an outsider still.

Neither Heledir nor Arodreth have touched a lemon cake: Heledir because he is too engrossed in a story that he is relating to Edrahil and Prince Finrod, an update from Finrod’s aunt, Princess Findis, about their current writing project; Arodreth because he has no wish to try a taste of lemon.

Edrahil eats the lemon cake out of familiarity, his actions mechanical, his appreciation of the taste relying on his memory of eating these treats often in his childhood. His father is the younger brother of Aglar and Amanië’s mother, although Edrahil was born more than a century before his cousins, and thus family visits always included a dish of lemon cakes. Amanië inherited her love for lemon cakes from their mutual grandmother. Edrahil cannot say if he actually likes the treat or not, but it is something comforting in its familiarity, like the way Heledir moves his arms while reenacting an impersonation, or how loose dog hairs cover the seat cushions of Amanië’s sitting room. 

One of the giant hounds sits in the room with them, silently begging with mournful eyes by placing a head on Aglar’s lap. Amanië’s brother pets the dog’s head with a soft, familiar action, then shoves the nose away as it presses towards the plate of treats. The hound tries not to draw attention to itself, mindful of the trauma that Finrod’s companions had faced in relation to their deaths, and knowing that if it tries to paw a treat off the table or reach its long muzzle over the edge of the table and extend that long pink tongue to lick the sugar off the cakes, as it so desperately desires to, then Amanië will scold it and shoo it out of the room to pout with the rest of the pack on the other side of the doors. In quiet lulls in conversation, the elves can hear the muffled howls of pleading canines, and the tentative scrape of nails against the bottom of doors. Bân and Ethirdor visible flinch the first time it happens, and Amanië calls a servant to shoo the dogs to a room further away from this one, but the soft-coated pale hound that is Amanië’s favorite crawls under the reclining couch and beseeches Prince Finrod with a most doleful expression. The prince artfully drapes the folds of his robe to hide the hound from view until afterwards. The dog licks his hand. Amanië is too softhearted to banish the hound once she discovers this subterfuge. Before the end of the luncheon, Prince Finrod will have fed all of his lemon cakes to the hound instead of eating them himself. No one will reprimand him for this.

Bân stuffs his mouth with several of the lemon cakes, but he vigorously argues with Amanië that the recipe that her pastry chef uses is inferior, and that the superior choice for citrus-flavored dessert is a specific variety of lime. Said lime is not the specialty of Bân’s home village, but his birthplace does have another variety whose leaves instead of fruit are more commonly used for cuisine. This spurs a long discussion of various citrus trees that grow in Aman and herbs that have a lemony flavor or scent. Bân’s friend, Fân, is exhausted from a long delivery, dust still clinging despite his best efforts to the new black leather boots that his best friend bought for him as a name-day gift.

Fân

tries not to fall asleep on the soft cushions of Amanië’s new-style armchairs. He almost succeeds in surviving this luncheon without succumbing to exhaustion. Before Fân falls asleep, Bân cajoles him into eating one of the lemon cakes. His blond friend offers no opinionated commentary on the merits or defects of lemon as a flavor option.

Consael tries one. He is torn between listening to the conversations of Heledir or Bân, unsure of which topic holds his interest. His sister, Faelineth, attempts to draw him into small talk with her husband and Faron, for Aglar has decided to move back to ancestral manor of Taras Hesin up in Formenos if the Valar allow it, whereas Faron and Faelindis, along with Aglar’s younger brother, have decided to stay in Tol Eressëa. Aglar’s family is spread out still, even after the War and reunions via release from Mandos, and Faelineth agrees with her mother-in-law that their family should be close by in time for the birth of their twins. Consael pretends to continue to chew his lemon cake to avoid a statement in favor or against, nodding his head and making noncommittal noises.

Arodreth leans over to whisper a question into Prince Finrod’s ear, wondering if Faelineth has asked her brother where he has chosen to settle. Feeding the first of the lemon cakes to Amanië’s giant hound, Finrod brings up the notion of a Falmari houseboat. 

Gadwar had brought his brother Galuven to this get-together, even if -like Faron- Galuven was a ranger of Nargothrond but not a veteran of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. The brothers share a plate of lemon cakes between them and make polite conversation with the ladies. Amanië blushes at their courtesy, even if painful past experiences make her initially distrustful of Galuven’s exquisitely beautiful face. His half-brother, Gadwar, notices this reaction and privately gloats at how he is more popular for once.

When pressed, Gadwar admits that he thinks the cakes a tad too sweet and the texture of the crust uninspired. This instantly demotes him in Amanië’s affections, a move that Aglar tried to warn him of.

Bân and Fân’s respective sweethearts had been invited, though Aereth was called away to deal with a minor injury and Indomunië promised to drive her from the patient’s house to Amanië’s once the injury -a child’s broken bone- was dealt with. A covered plate with lemon cakes has been carefully saved for the ladies to taste once they arrive. It sits on the couch cushion next to Arodreth and Finrod. The hound is not allowed to lick it. Arodreth still refuses to take one.

The Band of the Red Hand proclaim as a group that Gwindor’s absence is sorely missed, and that he would have enjoyed the taste of lemon cakes. When he is released from Mandos, they vow, they shall repeat this luncheon.

This time, no one mentions Beren, but everyone present thinks of him, and his eleven companions each wish they could have shared this sweet with their dear lost mortal friend.