Chapter 2 – Eryn Lasgalen

It was completely dark when the time for the Feast arrived. In consideration of their recent reunion, Thranduil had graciously allowed the Prince and Princess to arrive afterall the guests has assembled, giving them more time on their own. Legolas sighed as he settled his crown securely on his head; he supposed he should have been grateful to his father, but as he dressed in his room – alone – he felt numb.

He had promised Rhinure time to trust him, but it did not stop him from hurting when she did not. Watching her leave, knowing that she did not wish to stay with him, had wounded him. In her absence, Legolas had longed for his wife so much that he had almost forgotten the person behind the title. But now that she was actually here, in the next room, Legolas found himself confused. It hurt to be away from her, but it hurt even more to have her near.

Every time he closed his eyes he could see Rhinure as she lay across his arm, eyes closed in unbearable pleasure, lips trembling, begging to be kissed.

Legolas roughly yanked his collar into place, dressing with an efficiency that held little, if no, enthusiasm; he could feel anger boil up in him, threatening to spill over and scald all around him – anger he did not know how to pacify. He was angry with Rhinure for causing this … mess in the first place, for not caring about him enough to want to spend time with him.

Legolas knew they had obstacles to overcome. He did not entirely trust his wife, and he certainly did not trust her unconditionally when it came to the security of his Realm – but that did not mean he ignored what they shared. He was trying hard to separate their public and private personas, why could she not do the same? All he asked was that she share his bed, that they might find some measure of rest together. Was it really too much to ask of her?

Legolas shuddered, having to clutch at the mirror to steady himself, as another image of Rhinure assailed him. This time her eye’s burned with shame and unspoken pain, pain that he had caused. Her lips were tightly squeezed together, holding in her displeasure at his insistence. But despite her will and restraint, the image was one of her weakness contrasted with his power – the power he had over her, the power to strip and humiliate her, to make her want him with a premeditated intensity. He could manipulate her and he had learnt that he would do so, even in the privacy of his bed, to get what he wanted. To do it to protect his people, to safeguard the lives of many was perhaps justifiable. But to do so for his own, selfish pleasure, sickened him.

True, what he wanted was insignificant – just some time alone with her – but Rhinure did not want to give it to him. Instead of accepting with a patience and intelligence to be expected from an immortal being, he had lost control – something rare enough to be frightening in itself. He had always been taught to respect others’ choices, no matter how painful they may be to endure. But for some reason he could not do that with Rhinure. Why was his instinctive reaction to have her near, even when it meant having her near against her will?

Even now, the memory of Rhinure’s swollen lips still enticed him, even though he could hear the unwelcome words they formed, the feel of an exposed shoulder under his mouth still drew him, even though the muscles were stiff from rejection. But most of all, the thought of his wife in his bed excited him, even though she did not want to be there. He desired her, perhaps too much. It made him doubt himself and break the precepts he had always lived his life by, and that frustrated him.

Still, Legolas could not help the perverse feeling of pride at the thought that if he had taken her in his arms again and made love to her, she would not have been able to resist him. Even if it were temporary, she would have given in.

Legolas rested his head against the cool mirror. The Valar help him, he was still tempted to take that moment and just ignore the consequences. The more he thought about it the more attractive the idea seemed. To just take what he wanted now and let tomorrow handle itself. The intensity of the feeling alarmed him; he had never been so tempted to act selfishly, to disregard all the principles he had been taught – to go against what he has always believed to be his nature.

He was not impatient, not given to taking what he wanted without carefully measuring the cost. Being a Prince had drilled a strong sense of responsibility in him, had taught him to be cautious and always weigh all sides before making decisions.

He could be decisive if need arose, in battle or in judgment – but those decision carried a sense of urgency with them, a dire proportion that necessitated action.

But this marriage was not a matter of life or death; it was not something that needed to be rushed. It required patience and care. Legolas knew this intellectually, but somehow could not force his mind to abide by these qualities. In the end, he could handle passion and anger, he could even handle the insanity Rhinure invoked – but he could not handle the thought that his feelings themselves could be wrong.

As Legolas finished dressing, becoming the Woodland Prince – calm, gracious, charming and thoroughly confused – he thought sardonically that it was ironic that the person who caused all this confusion was also the only one who could stop it. If being away from Rhinure caused all this anxiety, Legolas knew with a sinking certainty that all he had to do was kiss her to make his troubles disappear.

He had to restrain himself from marching into Rhinure’s room and doing just that. Only a residual sense of patience and an unwavering loyalty to his father prevented such action. Thranduil was expecting him and Legolas could not disappoint him – not even for his tempting wife.

He clung to that thread of loyalty with great determination. As he left for the Princess’ chambers he kept repeating that to himself – one tiny slip of an elleth would not unhinge him so completely. He was a Prince, he had faced deadlier challenges than her before. He just had to keep that guise in the forefront for Legolas, Rhinure’s husband, had no chance whatsoever of completing the evening unscathed.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Istion waited patiently outside the Princess’ chambers as the time for the Feast approached. Ehtewen had allowed him to take the second watch so that he would be able to rest before the Feast. Now, she was doing the same so that both would be alert tonight. Tonight, when Mistress walked into the Great Hall, both her Guards would be present. Tonight, Mistress would be escorted as befitted her position as Sacrifice, leader of the Avari people, not like last time when only Ehtewen has been allowed to attend.

This time the Prince would not be able to stop them. He would not be able to leave Mistress unprotected.

Now, in some dark, oft ignored part of his mind where all unwelcome realisations were relegated, Istion knew that his disapproval of the Prince was unreasonable. That previous feast had happened a long time ago – a lifetime ago, a lifetime where he was not Second Guard, when someone more capable and suited for the job was. A lot had changed since then: Morion was dead, Istion was now responsible for his beloved Mistress, and the Prince – the Prince was now Mistress’ lover as well as her husband.

That thought worried Istion sometimes, though he was careful to keep his thoughts to himself. Was Mistress still the elleth he had known all his life, or had coming to this place ruined her completely? There was always a price to pay when one played games with Fate and Necessity, but was not losing Rhinure too high a price? Sometimes Istion thought so, but then if Mistress was willingly doing this then what right did he have to say that her sacrifice was unnecessary? Duty was paramount in an Avari’s life. Then again, if she was willing to give up being an Avari so easily, what kind of Avari was she in the first place?

Rhinure had always been the strength in Istion’s life. After his parent’s death, she had given him purpose and re-forged his ties to the Clan and thus to life. If she crumbled, Istion was afraid of what would happen to him.

Istion resolutely brought his chaotic thoughts to order, suppressing his emotions since he could not sift through them satisfactorily. Istion shook his head, as if to shake the unwanted thoughts from his mind like droplets of water.

It was his duty to protect Mistress. Instead of pondering over things he should not be thinking about in the first place he should concentrate on his duty. Duty was the anchor to life – it was definite and unchanging – it was direction in a time of uncertainty.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Across from where Istion stood, another bodyguard waited for his charge to emerge. This elf was lost in thought, but it was a pleasant sojourn. This elf was calm – even amused by the tension that dripped from the air. Princess Rhinure’s arrival had stirred a lot of emotions, even in the supposedly unaffected Avari.

Take the little elf in front of him – Herenion believed his name was Istion – who looked as if he were preparing for battle. Which, all things considered, he probably was. Maenon was off somewhere wrecking havoc in the Avari ranks and delighting in it. Thranduil was probably holed up in his room, plotting some dire new scheme.

Oropher would be proud of his son, Herenion thought fondly. His elfling had grown up to be a fine ruler, a little too prone to scheming and a little too superior on occasion, as Herenion reminded Thranduil every so often. If Herenion missed the fire that Oropher brought to life, he loved Thranduil like the son he never had. And he recognised that Thranduil could remove those in his path as easily, if not easier, than his father.

As he was going to do with the Avari. Thranduil was working against the dark elves, Herenion could feel it in his bones – he just did not know the details yet. He hoped it was necessary and reasonable, for Legolas would not be happy at any unnecessary pain caused to the Wood-elves or his wife’s people. If there was one reliable check on Thranduil it was his son – but even that had been known to fail on occasion.

His Prince was caught between two scheming, manipulative elves. Herenion consistently found it surprising that Legolas did not get crushed between the two like a grain of wheat between a mortar and a pestle.

Legolas was used to obedience, it was such a fundamental duty of a Prince to his King that sometimes Herenion was afraid that he forgot how to break the rules to get what he wanted. He had seen glimpses of a strong will, but the truth was that Legolas was too well loved and readily obeyed by his people to every really need to pull rank or command. Legolas led by the gentle hand of love – a subtler, and in Herenion’s opinion, more difficult path than his father, who had the implicit ability to make people obey automatically.

It was not that Thranduil did not care or love his people – it was just that his love, like the rest of him, was fierce and powerful. It inspired an equally strong devotion, a devotion that engendered a deference that the more placid Legolas could not.

Herenion feared that his young charge would be irrevocably torn between his father – who he adored – and his wife – who he was fast on the way to adoring. The day Legolas fell in love with Rhinure would be the day he would be hurt. But then, it was not as if he were not hurting now.

Herenion sighed, it was a difficult situation and one that even he had difficulty being optimistic about.

Of course, Legolas had surprised him on occasion. It was not good to underestimate this son of the House of Oropher. He might not be as volatile as his sires, but in the end it did not matter how much strength you had, what mattered was how it was used. And Legolas knew how to make the best of any situation.

Look how he had handled this marriage. There was still room for improvement – lots of room – but Legolas had still managed to adapt well, even grow a little. He was a little more aggressive, which could not hurt, and a little more ready to get his own way.

Herenion just wished that it was not just because of the frustration and trouble Rhinure caused him. She turned him inside out and pushed him beyond his limits. It was not surprising that Legolas was reacting to the constant strain; Herenion wondered when it would degenerate to retaliation. If Rhinure did not allow Legolas some victories in this battle that was their marriage, Legolas would soon defend himself by going on the offensive. Herenion refused to even think of the outcome of that possibility.

With a little bit of luck and lots of patience, Legolas and Rhinure could make this relationship work. They could have a relationship where they trusted and depended on each other. Perhaps one day they could live happily ever after.

*~ And I will become a warg’s uncle. ~* Herenion smiled at his own naivety. No matter what he wished, Legolas – and his stubborn wife – would do things their own way, no matter how frustrating it became for Herenion. Sometimes, he wished he could just knock both their heads together and then lock them in a room for a few centuries or so. It would be so much simpler.

 Herenion laughed silently at the thought. No wonder that young Avari was nervous. He was right to be – things were going to get difficult.

*~ Poor child. ~*

In a fit of generosity, Herenion decided to speak to the Avari – see if he could reassure him. “So, is this your first assignment?”

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Istion visibly started when he heard the other elf speak to him. He had noticed Herenion standing in front of the Prince’s door, but he had not paid much attention to him. Ehtewen would not be pleased. This did not bode well for his vigilance.

Neither did the fact that Herenion had to repeat the question before it registered with him that he was supposed to answer. He was sorely tempted to blush like a naughty elfling which, he supposed with some self-mockery, he was compared to Herenion.

“No, First Guard, I have attended Mistress before.” The Avari honorific slipped out without Istion’s realisation, but it seemed appropriate for the older elf.

Herenion stepped close, but taking care not to move too far from Legolas’ door. “But this is your first time at a formal gathering here?”

“This is my first time in any gathering with the Eldar.”

“And that makes you nervous?”

Despite the gentle tone of the question, Istion drew himself up. There was so much offended pride in the move that Herenion could not help smiling. “It makes me cautious. Would you deny the need to be so?”

“Sadly, I cannot,” Herenion paused speculatively.  If the mere mention of nervousness raised Istion’s hackles so, then what would a more aggressive approach do? “Do you not feel regret too?”

Istion folded his arms behind his back, feeling a necessity to appear calm and collected in front of this elf, even though he had a vague misgiving that he was failing miserably. “Regret for what, First Guard?”

“Why, the lamentable situation the Prince and his Princess find themselves in?”

“Is it lamentable?” Istion successfully managed to stop himself from stepping back. Even though he really did not want to be having this conversation, he was not going to appear jumpy.

“Do you not think so? Would it not be so much better for all if they were not so hostile towards each other?” Herenion asked innocently.

“That is really Mistress’ and her husband’s concern.” Istion wondered if running would be too obvious an escape tactic.

“Yes, but,” Herenion smiled as Istion stiffened even further at that ‘but’. Any straighter and the Avari would resemble an axe-pole. “But do you not think it would be better if Princess Rhinure sat down and discussed things with the Prince? They could be completely honest with each other. Really open up, lay bare their hearts.” Herenion could almost see the Avari shudder at the mental picture. Still, he had been only half joking when he made the suggestion.

“I think …”

“Yes?” said Herenion pleasantly.

“I think I should go in and see if Mistress Rhinure needs any help.” Istion decided that running was not too obvious a ploy after all.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Istion quickly stepped inside the Princess’ chambers, shutting the door with giddy relief. He took a moment to compose himself, not wanting to face his Mistress in such a state. By now, he truly felt like an elfling who had just escaped a well-meaning but highly awkward parental lecture.

Istion took a deep breath while pretending to secure the door. He was annoyed and he did not know whether it had to do with his cowardly retreat or the fact that he had thought of Herenion in a paternal context, in fact in any context at all. What would Mistress say if she found out? What explanation would he give for his hasty entrance?

Istion turned carefully, projecting that air of competent indifference that he had seen so often on the First Guard’s face when she was on duty. The room was quiet and Istion could almost feel his Mistress’ eyes boring through his back. She had not spoken yet, which led Istion to conclude that she must have heard the conversation.

Facing into the room, Istion could not see where Rhinure was. Her bureau was unoccupied and the partition to her dressing chamber was drawn, showing that it was empty. The silken material of her gown rustled in the breeze coming in from the balcony.

*~ Is she still with her husband? ~* Istion frowned, Prince Legolas should have let her go by now. She had travelled hard and needed her rest. Sometimes, that Eldar could be most inconsiderate.

Istion was about to exit and march right into the Prince’s Chambers when the soft sound of breathing halted his steps. There, lying cocooned in her bed was Istion’s missing Mistress. She was curled on her side. One hand was under the pillow, supporting her cheek while the other was kept close to her heart. From the vacant look in her beautiful eyes, Istion knew she was still asleep. Deeply asleep for she had obviously not heard him enter.

Istion smiled at the innocent picture Rhinure made. She looked so peaceful, with a stray lock of hair falling over her cheek and her face clear of the troubles she usually carried. Istion was tempted to let her sleep, but the Feast was approaching and Rhinure would not be happy if she was late because of Istion’s unneeded compassion.

Istion moved towards the bed, amazed that Mistress Rhinure had still not awakened. She must have been more exhausted that he had thought.

Istion tenderly tucked her hair behind her ear, calling, “Mistress, it is time …”

That was as far as got because at his first touch, Rhinure’s hand shot up to grab his wrist while the one resting under her pillow came out gripping one of her knives. It was against his neck before Istion had a chance to swallow. If she had been even a little more careless, he would have been bleeding all over her.

“You should not have done that,” Rhinure said calmly, not moving her knife from his throat, letting the cold metal reinforce her words. Istion knew not to approach her surreptitiously. He was lucky that she had been aware enough to stop her reflex response and had not wedged her knife in his throat.

“You should get dressed. The King will expect you to make an appearance soon.” To Istion’s credit his voice did not waver a bit, even though the metal was pressed close to his skin. But then, this was his Sacrifice; she would not hurt him – much.

“I know.”

“You were asleep.”

“Really? How observant of you.” Rhinure withdrew her knife and pointedly looked at Istion until he stepped back.

“You would have been late if I had not woken you up.” Istion helped Rhinure out of bed, intrigued to see that she wore a robe obviously not hers. For one, it was too big and even though she belted it securely twice over, the sleeves still hung past her hands and the hem still got in the way of her feet. It was a male’s robe – the Prince’s perhaps.

“We will never know the truth of that statement, will we?” Rhinure walked past Istion to where her dress was laid out for her.

“I guess not.” Istion looked at what Rhinure had chosen and stated, “You are going to wear that tonight.”

“You are full of observations this evening.” Rhinure picked up the gown and walked towards the dressing room.

“Mistress, is it not a bit … dull?” Istion asked carefully as he looked over the pale green gown with something akin to distaste.

“I think this is the dress I am expected wear. It compliments what the Prince will be wearing.” Rhinure held it out in front of her. It was a delicate creation, a green so pale it was almost white. Pearls had been sown into the skirt in a subtle but particularly feminine pattern. The full sleeves were slashed to lay bare her pale skin. The full skirt rose slightly in the front to reveal a pure, innocent white underskirt.

“It compliments the Prince perhaps but not you, Mistress.”

“It is an elegant dress,” Rhinure replied, though she privately agreed with Istion’s judgement.

“Yes, perfectly elegant and charming. It would look wonderful on one of the Wood-elves, what with their smiling faces and flushed cheeks.”

“Are you implying that I am not ‘perfectly elegant and charming’, Istion?” Rhinure glanced back with an arched eyebrow and teasing expression.

“You are beautiful, Mistress,” said Istion sincerely. “But you are also Avari and this dress is not.”

“No, it is not, is it? However, I am supposed to wear this tonight,” Rhinure repeated.

“Why must you do what they expect? You are Avari.”

“I will not wear black again. These Eldar would take it as an insult and I would see it as a dereliction of my duty. Besides, you do remember what happened last time?”

“Then wear one of your other dresses. I know you brought some from Tirnen,” Istion persisted.  This dress would not flatter Rhinure at all, he was sure of it. It would cause people to look at her wonderingly and make them question how the Prince could bear to be with someone so colourless, especially when he had his pick of all the ellyth in Mirkwood.

“Those dresses are meant to be worn when I am not on duty and tonight I am,” said Rhinure simply. As she stepped behind the screen she turned to look at the younger elf. “Though this might not be Avari, let us see if we can come close.”

“As my Mistress wishes.”

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

“Done.”

Rhinure smoothed the last strand of hair into place and stepped back from the mirror. She was satisfied – even if the dress was a little too clinging and exposed more of her chest that she was used to.

Too much skin; it was tantamount to a sign that said, ‘Look at me.’ Rhinure was tempted to try yanking up the neckline but desisted for it would only wrinkle the dress without changing the actual display of flesh. It was sufficient for the evening or until she found a more suitable seamstress.

“What do you think?” Rhinure turned to let Istion take in her full appearance.

“You will do,” he answered shortly.

And she would too. If there was little to recommend her appearance, there was little to object to either.  Her dark hair was swept off her face into a tight, proper chignon. The dress floated around her ankles in soft, un-Rhinure-like waves. Istion could not think of a word to describe how the dress looked on her – it was just not her. But at least the rest of her look was Avari, even if the willowy dress was not. She wore no jewellery, her throat was bare and her ears empty. Only her karha adorned her hand – four silver rings bound together by slender chains, shining in the firelight. But even that great complication was simple in appearance, much like Rhinure herself.

Over the years, with very little material wealth at their disposal the Avari had developed a sense of style – if it could be called that – which was austere in its practicality and beautiful in its determination. Travelling constantly prevented them from keeping frivolous items like jewellery, silks – books – but each clung to some little token that reminded them of the beauty that still existed in Arda – somewhere. Rhinure had a few dresses that she kept for some mysterious feminine reason that Istion had never understood but respected. That and weapons – weapons were something the Avari had an abundance of.

But in the end, what they had or had not was irrelevant to Istion. The Avari were beautiful – Mistress was beautiful. In her simplicity and realistic approach to life she brought beauty to everything that was around her. She was the perfect setting against which the flawed beauty of this land could still be appreciated – perhaps not beautiful in herself, but fitting so perfectly into everything else that she completed the canvas. For Istion, the opulence of the dress clashed with the inherent frame that Rhinure was, but who was he to argue? 

“The First Guard will be pleased.”

“And the Commander?”

 “I believe so, you are Avari – even in that Eldar dress.”

Rhinure bowed her head in thanks, appreciating those words probably more than Istion understood. Being back in the Woodland Realm, being so close to Legolas again, unnerved and overwhelmed her. Istion’s words had reminded her that no matter where she was and what she wore, she was still Avari.

“Where are the First Guard and the Commander?”

“The First Guard said that they would join us when you were ready. She decided that the Commander will accompany you into the feast.”

“And he agreed?” Rhinure asked sceptically

 “Mistress, the First Guard can be most persuasive.”

“She bullied him into agreeing.”

“I would not exactly put it that way, but the Commander did have different plans originally.”

“I would,” said Rhinure emphatically. “No one refuses the First Guard.”

“You do.”

Rhinure glanced back at him and smiled briefly, “And that shows how little you know.”

Istion opened his mouth to reply only to be cut short by Rhinure.

“I am ready. Let us leave.”

Istion straightened his shoulder; made sure his sword was loose in his scabbard and then followed his Sacrifice.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Rhinure stepped out of the room to find Ehtewen and Cothion waiting for her. As expected, the First Guard was dressed in uncompromising black since she was on duty tonight. Even so, to Rhinure’s prejudiced eyes, she was lovely. High cheekbones, smooth sun-kissed skin, brown eyes, a striking if stubborn mouth and a toned physique made up the First Guard. She was attractive in a bold sense but that was not what made her unique. Elves were meant to be beautiful – Iluvatar had lavished much attention on his First Born children and it showed. But beauty alone did not and could not ever hope to describe she who was Ehtewen.

Rhinure had always believed that the one defining characteristic of Ehtewen above all others was her pride – the pride she took in everything and anything she did, the pride that covered her like a mantle at all times. With her head held high and her shoulders squared she faced life with an unchanging pride that made her beautiful. She was what she was and never would she hide in shame.

Such pride could harden into inflexibility and stubbornness on occasion, when needed, but it was an ideal to aspire to. To not live life in the shadows, to accept one’s actions and all their consequences like one’s own children – unconditionally – that was beauty for the younger elleth.

“Salaam, dai.”             (Greetings, care-giver/nanny.)

“Salaam, Malkin.”      (Greeting, Mistress.)

Ehtewen turned from Cothion to look over her Sacrifice, “You will do. It is good that you did not wear black tonight.”

Cothion raised his eyebrows, but did not comment. The dress was pretty enough but it did not particularly suit Mistress, and Cothion saw no reason for her to wear it. Besides, she was on duty tonight as well, no matter what she thought. She should have been in black or at least have made more of a compromise than she did.

Since he was not on attendance tonight, strictly speaking, there was no necessity for him to wear black but he still did it – as a warning and a declaration of what he was. But, in deference to the customs of these elves – no matter how strange they might seem to him – his black tunic was embroidered with pure silver thread in the sigil of his house. It was a striking motif and one sure to stand out in the cacophony of colour tonight. If these elves wanted so much to be noticed then he would show them how it should be done – with an Avari twist.

Besides, he liked black – it complimented his colouring.

“It makes you look like walking marble.”

Rhinure raised an eyebrow at Cothion’s flat tone. “I take it you disapprove.”

“It makes you look too pale. You are fatigued as it is from the ride from Tirnen. Instead of giving yourself some colour and vibrancy you have leeched the little you have by wearing this.”

“All this from someone wearing black! Not too much colour in that. You do not practice what you so vehemently preach, Commander,” said Rhinure archly. Cothion had chosen the most inopportune time to break the silence he had maintained since leaving Tirnen.

“I would not have said anything if you were wearing black – one does not choose a uniform on the criteria of charm. However, if you are going to wear something other than a uniform, it should flatter you.”

Rhinure was tempted to fold her hands and tap her foot impatiently but she restrained herself. Living marble had a reputation to live up to after all. It would be unseemly to throw a temper tantrum, especially since Rhinure had already agreed with Istion’s all too similar opinion.

“This dress was chosen by the Prince,” Rhinure explained.

“Then let him wear it.”

The image of Legolas in the dress made Rhinure smile. It also made her irritation disappear. It was such a lovely image – Istion had been right when he had said that the dress would compliment Legolas.

When she spoke again, her voice was calm, with just the right touch of mischievous archness that Cothion smiled back. “Well, it is done now.” With that, Rhinure headed towards Legolas’ rooms.

As Rhinure passed Cothion, he reached out to gently tap her bare arm, signalling to Ehtewen and Istion to precede her. She looked up questioningly at him but he did not reply. Instead he reached into his pocket and gingerly drew out a long-stemmed, deep red rose.

“It was a good thing I had the foresight to pick this today.” He broke off the wicked thorns from the stem and placed the bloom in Rhinure’s hair, just behind her ear. Startled, Rhinure reached up to touch the rose but Cothion stopped her. “Leave it be. It looks good in your hair.”

And it did – nestled against her dark hair, the red colour almost pulsated, drawing attention to the highlights in her hair. “Since you will not wear something more vibrant, it is fortunate I had this with me.”

Rhinure touched the flower delicately, caressing the soft petals. “It really does not suit my gown.”

“The gown does not really suit you.”

Rhinure nodded and when she spoke her voice was soft and a little bewildered. “Why?”

“I would have had you look beautiful tonight, Mistress so that all may see that even the Unwilling have gems enough to adorn the Eldar. Since the Prince’s choice prevents this, I give you this flower,” Cothion touched the bloom, where Rhinure’s fingers still rested, “to remind you that you are still beautiful – whether the Eldar realise it or not.”

“Thank you,” Rhinure whispered.

Cothion nodded and continued, “I know that circumstances have been difficult for the Clan recently and you and I have not seen eye to eye, but you are still my Sacrifice and Avari. Whatever happens and whatever changes, that will not.”

Rhinure stepped back and brought her right palm first to her heart, then her lips and finally her forehead, the traditional response to an Avari salute, thanking Cothion without words for his reminder. She had and would continue to have problems with him, but it was moments such as these that reminded her why Cothion was Heir. He had a knack for doing the right thing for his people. For that, Rhinure loved him – whether she told him or not.

“Come, Commander, we are expected.” Rhinure’s manner no longer carried any hint of softness to it. The only sign that this exchange had ever happened was the crimson flower shining against her dark hair.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

After stepping out from his room, Legolas immediately headed towards Rhinure’s room, nodding to Herenion who immediately fell in behind him. He would escort Rhinure to the Great Hall. The sooner the got there, the sooner they could leave. 

With that commendable idea, Legolas set off to collect his wife. His determined stride caused his robes to billow out in front of him, doing their best to accommodate their irate user. It would have been a grand sight – the golden-haired Prince dressed in all his finery, a classic picture of virile male beauty – if it had not been for the calamitous frown on his face. Or the fact that he marched as if into battle, instead of gliding elegantly to a celebration. 

It was no wonder that Herenion trailed after him with a highly amused but knowing smile. Somehow, Princess Rhinure had managed to get beneath the smiling façade of the Prince to stir up the side he had so obviously inherited from his father. The annoyance and the determination to master it were timeless Thranduil – so much so that Herenion was reminded of a tiny elfling crossing his arms and standing with his feet set apart, trying to copy his Royal father in a bad mood.

Oropher had been most amused at his tiny son that day.

Herenion smiled at the memory of his King – it never failed to make his heart warm. No wonder he was smiling now, at a situation he suspected was no laughing matter.

So lost in contemplation was he that he did not notice Legolas stop abruptly in front of him. To his deepest shame, it was only when he bumped into Legolas’ back did he realise that his charge was no longer walking. It was fortunate that Herenion was not in the habit of marching or poor Legolas would have been on the floor from the impact. As it was, he threw a sharp look at his bodyguard, to which Herenion only sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, all the while trying to look around Legolas to see what had caused him to stop. Since he was taller than the Prince, it was not too difficult – with a little strategic neck-craning that is.

Behind Legolas, too far to overhear but near enough to see, was the Princess surrounded by her Avari. The First Guard – an attractive elleth she, the little Avari and the new arrival. The one who watched his Prince with a little too much interest. Herenion instinctively moved to Legolas’ side, ready to shield him with his own body if the need arose.

Herenion glanced at Legolas’ profile, taking in the tightly clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. He felt the younger elf stiffen as the Avari affixed a flower in Princess Rhinure’s hair. Herenion would not have to worry about this new problem for long if he continued as he was. Legolas would remove him personally – probably somewhere far away from his wife.

And soon.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Legolas watched with stiff anger as the tall, handsome Avari elf placed a rose in his wife’s hair. He watched as she asked him something while caressing the bloom. He watched with something close to helplessness as Rhinure left the flower in place instead of thanking the elf and removing it.

If he had been angry before, he was furious now. And all because some elf had the temerity to give Rhinure a flower – which she had accepted. How could she?

As Rhinure turned from the Avari, their eyes met across the distance and Legolas frowned in displeasure. Her brow furrowed for just a moment before she stepped forward to greet him.

“My Lord, I was just coming to your chambers.”

“That is a change. Generally you are leaving them – and with as much haste as possible.”

Rhinure cocked her head as she looked speculatively over her husband. That barb had been unwarranted, especially considering his behaviour earlier in the evening. Her movement caused the red rose to glow in the candlelight. Legolas was angry – again. Did he not get tired from expending so much energy?

Deciding not to get into another verbal sparring match with Cothion listening she said, “Should we progress to the Hall? They will be waiting for us.”

Legolas frowned, tempted to answer with something along the lines that it had never bothered her before if people waited for her, but he desisted. There was no point baiting her if she was going to ignore him.

He looked her over, taking in the dress she wore. It was the one he had especially chosen for her – and it did not suit her much. She was much too pale to wear something like this. It was such a lovely, feminine dress that Legolas had fallen in love with it at first sight – much to Herenion’s eternal amusement. He had wanted nothing more than for Rhinure to wear it, for him. But he forgotten that Rhinure was not the kind of elleth this dress was made for – soft in her grace, gentle in her beauty and gracious in her welcome.

Rhinure was … she just was. With her hair viciously pulled back from her face, her shoulders squared, like a shoulders, she was not the kind of beauty that poets went into rapture for. Legolas found her beautiful, very beautiful in fact, but it was the splendour of a well-honed blade, inherently graceful and well-balanced, but dangerous. Rhinure had an air of competence around her that was distancing even now, when she was tired. There was no gentle smile or welcome on this elleth. If not for the few glimpses of vulnerability that seeped through now and again, Legolas would have believed her to be made of stone – an exquisite statue but stone nonetheless.

As it was, she needed a dress that was as striking as she, something that would highlight her rarity, not seek to extinguish it. Something like that red bloom nestled in her hair.

Legolas’ fingers itched to remove the flower. He had chosen badly, no doubt, but it did not sit well with him that someone had chosen better – that someone knew his wife better than he. It was only the fact that it was the unpleasant truth that Legolas kept silent and only offered his arm.

To her credit, Rhinure kept her questions to herself and silently let her husband lead her away.

Both missed the speculative and slightly bewildered look that Cothion gave them.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

The Great Hall, deep in the heart of the Palace, glowed in the combined lights of the candles and the many elves gathered there. As far as the eye could see, elves mingled with others, all dressed in their finery, laughing as if the cares of the world mattered not. It was such a festive, beautiful sight.

The high domed hall, covered with branches artfully arranged to suggest a canopy of trees, reverberated with the joy of the Wood-elves. Off to one side, musicians tuned their instruments – harassed but still laughing. Young, impatient couples did not wait for them but danced impromptu, carefree waltzes on the dance floor in the centre, punctuated by frequent giggles.

Around them, older, more patient elves – but no less in love – waited their turn for the floor. Hands intertwined, fair heads resting on strong shoulders, ears bent close to catch whispered words.

For the King, seated alone on his throne, these nights were almost worth the loneliness they caused.

At the far end, on a raised dais of oak green, was the throne of the Woodland King. In times past, another chair had stood besides his – keeping his company. But since Eruante had sailed, Thranduil could not bear the reminder of his loss. If Legolas ever had the misfortunate of becoming King he could have another installed for his wife. So he had thought when he had smashed the Queen’s throne after too many lonely nights.

For such a long time – if not in years, then in experience – there had been no need for a third seat on the dais. So many elves were startled to see a third seat tonight. Granted it was not the Queen’s, for it was placed slightly lower than the King’s, but it was there.

For many – too many – it was a reminder of the one who could not be there. A symbol of all who could not. But equally, it was a reminder that Mirkwood’s Royal family had a princess once more. Three thrones in the Palace once more. Would that they had been four but, somewhere, the Queen’s grace watched over them even still and it was enough.

Perhaps that had been the King’s intention when he had commanded a raised dais tonight, slightly removed from the rest of the seated elves but in clear view of all. It would have been a fitting change.

But then, who knew with the King? He played a deep game and sometimes it was best to let him play it. The elves were alive, the forest grew uninhibited once more and the land was at peace – most of it anyway. That was all that mattered – games or not.

Life was grand.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

There was a momentary lull in the chatter when the Prince and his Princess entered the Hall. Many noted with appreciation that the Prince looked especially fine tonight, if a little glum. Set against the backdrop of the three Avari, Prince Legolas seemed to shine even more than usual. It was unfortunate that it also eclipsed his wife. It was a pity that she was such a colourless little thing. Not unpleasant but nothing like her magnificent husband.

And how magnificent was he! Words failed to come even close – at least for the ellyth who cast longing glances at the fair Prince. Glances that Rhinure noticed and did not appreciate. As long as the invitation in those eyes remained silent, she would do nothing – Legolas brought pleasure to many eyes, hers included – but he was hers, and she would not share.

Legolas led her to the King, oblivious to the ellyth still trying to catch his eyes and to the silent but potent message Rhinure sent out to the beautiful throng. The more daring of the ellyth who dared approach the Prince wisely backed off when the Princess looked at them.

Rhinure wondered if Legolas noticed the havoc he caused amongst others. Stealing a glance at his profile, she thought it unlikely. He must have become inured to all this attention.

Rhinure smiled at herself. Here she was, an Avari, conscious and displeased at all the emotions her husband stirred in others. Emotions were private and they were not to be commented upon or rebuked against. One could feel what one wished. Even though Rhinure found the ellyth’s obviousness a little crass, she could not – should not –reprimand them for something that was their concern. As long as they kept their hands to themselves and away from Legolas, they could feel whatever they wished.

Was that not the Avari way? It was the one, and most important, freedom they allowed themselves. What they felt was theirs, as their lives were not, and no once should take that away from them. Did she not believe that? If so, why then was the desire Legolas stirred in them, so unbearable? By telling the ellyth to back off from Legolas, was she not telling them that to want him as they did, was wrong?

What she should be doing was ignoring the whole thing, as was proper. That is, until one of them made a definite invitation. Now, actions could be reprimanded. It was not amorphous like emotion, it could be acted against.

Still – Rhinure wished the entire giggling mass would go somewhere private and sigh longingly. Preferably far, far away from her husband.

No one could stop her from feeling what she did, either.

Probably the most ironic thing about this whole charade was that Rhinure looked at Legolas and wondered how she, too, could achieve his impassivity. The Avari Sacrifice was looking for lessons from the Eldar Prince.

Fate truly had a sense of humour.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Despite what Rhinure thought, or perhaps because of it, Legolas was all too aware of the ellyth around him. How could he not be, when there were so many of them? Legolas felt like the honey that drew of out the bees from their hive. He was also male and ever appreciative of beauty – especially in the female form. He liked ellyth, the way they looked, the way they moved, the way they made him feel. Though he rarely looked for the attention – why waste the effort when it would come no matter what he did – he was not averse to it. He had been known, on occasion, to revel in it, delighting in his ability to make the ones he was with sparkle and blush with pleasure.

But not tonight.

Tonight was different – tonight he had a wife who, despite all the tension she caused him, made everything pale around her. No matter what she did or did not look like physically, her strength of will was enough to cut down everything in her path. Everything around her became insignificant for she would not give it any importance. The ellyth were just one more example in a long list of examples.

Legolas could not concentrate on the more pleasing ellyth around him when he was so conscious of the one on his arm, and the rose in her beautiful hair. Every time she moved her head to acknowledge a greeting or salutation, Legolas could not help but notice how rich the red looked against the black of her hair. The velvet petals looked perfect against the silk of her hair, calling to Legolas to caress them, to sink his fingers in the thick strands.

The rose annoyed him, but he could not say why, which annoyed him even further. But above all, for reasons even more unclear, Rhinure’s warning to his admirers annoyed him the most. Though he did not know exactly what message she sent, it obviously scared the ellyth. She had no right to behave so. If Legolas wanted the ellyth to leave, he would tell them, not her. It was his choice. If he wanted to pay attention to some other elf – male or female – he would do so. If Rhinure could accept gifts from others, then he could gift his attention elsewhere.

Rhinure had made clear earlier tonight that she did not appreciate his attention towards her, but others did. There were many here tonight who would gladly spend time with him and not try to escape on the first notice. They would not make him feel as if had committed a crime by asking them to stay.

Rhinure would not be able to drive them off tonight. If she wanted to be left alone, she would not force that solitude upon him as well.

And so, Legolas smiled at the crowd, drawing them back. If Rhinure’s warning drove them off, they always came back – unable to resist the Prince for long. It was worth all the coldness from the Princess if he just smiled at them.

The ebb and flow of the crowd continued as the couple walked towards the King. It was like the tide, surging forward but then retreating again, only to try once more.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

King Thranduil raised a questioning eyebrow at Legolas when he rose to greet his Heir and Princess. Legolas only shook his head slightly as he helped Rhinure to her chair, reminding his father that this was neither the time nor the place to be asking questions whose answers he really did not want to hear.

Thranduil sighed as Legolas took his place on the King’s right. His son had had another tiff with his wife – at least Thranduil hoped it was a tiff and not a full blown fight. Looking at Legolas’ set jaw and Rhinure’s stiff shoulders, he revised that hope to that it had not come to blows. That much he could be confident about, his children would never hurt each other physically. Since Thranduil detested being wrong, he did not place any bets on the amount of emotional damage they could cause each other.

Though ostensibly he kept his gaze on his guests, now taking their seats for the feast, Thranduil’s attention was on the two elves sitting beside him. They did not glance at each other but both were extremely conscious of the other, that much Thranduil was willing to wager.

Thranduil turned to acknowledge the black garbed Avari as he took his seat beside Rhinure. He would have to ask Rhinure to introduce this Cothion to him formally once the Feast had started. He was obviously a person of some importance. The way the Avari deferred to him was proof enough of that.

And he was clearly important to Rhinure. Or she was important to him. Either way, they shared an intimate relationship. The way he lent over to whisper in her ear and she tilted her head to catch his words, bespoke a long familiarity. Their heads were close enough to for no one else to hear what was being said but far enough to be comfortable. There was no shuffling back or forth to fix the angle, no all too audible whispers or slightly bumped foreheads that made it clear that the person had never done this before. There was not of that awkwardness in the way Rhinure and Cothion accommodated each other.

The two heads angled towards each other looked right and comfortable – almost beautiful. Against Cothion’s dark background, Rhinure glowed as if she were darkness illuminated. Unlike Legolas, Cothion did not overwhelm her. Instead, he bolstered her so that she was lovely, even in that unflattering dress.

It seemed as if Legolas noticed this change too and was none to happy about it.

Thranduil could almost feel the anger and resentment boiling out of him. He wanted to turn around and reassure his son that no matter who this Cothion was to Rhinure, Legolas remained her husband. It was he who would share he bed and hold her close long into the night. In the end, he would have this comfort with her that Cothion now shared. All it would take was time, perhaps more than a little but elves could afford to be patient.

But Legolas had been correct when he had pointed out that this was neither the time nor place. For now, the King had duties to attend to and Legolas, his son, would have to wait.

Putting aside his regret, Thranduil stood to bring everyone’s attention to him.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Cothion leaned across his chair to whisper in Rhinure’s ear, “Your Prince does not seem pleased tonight.”

Instinctively, Rhinure shifted closer so that Thranduil would not overhear this conversation. “He does not, does he?”

“Do you know why?”

“That is his concern, Commander.”

“Do you not share your thoughts and feelings with your husband, Mistress?”

“I share what is necessary with my husband. My thoughts and feelings are not.” Cothion was surprised that the glass Rhinure was holding had not frosted over; so chilly was the atmosphere.

“I am glad you remember.”

“I never forget. However, you are skirting very close to impertinence. Perhaps it is you who need a reminder about codes of conduct?”

Cothion was saved an answer when King Thranduil rose from his seat, cutting off the opportunity for any more whispering.

Next time.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Thranduil stood, silently waiting until the very last murmur died out and the Great Hall was still. Only then he spoke, his powerful voice carrying to the furthest corner of the Hall.

“A new Age is upon us. As I look around this Hall, it is with great sadness that I note the many who are not hear with us tonight. We have paid for this Age in blood, our blood, that of our friends and loved ones. But even though that thought saddens me, I honour their sacrifice and rejoice tonight.

“Many years we have spent fighting to keep what is ours. This land grows on the blood we have spilt, and it is with pride that I say, thrives. Today the forest sings once more and thanks us for all we – you – have done for it.

“I have never been as proud of you all as I am tonight. Tonight, I was reminded of the reason why life is worth living and fighting for. As I heard your song reverberate, I was reminded why it is such an honour for me to be your King – why I have love you all, why I have always loved you. You make everything worthwhile.”

Thranduil paused to raise his glass in salute to the silent Wood-elves, who watched their King with tears in their eyes. They loved this elf, with all the fierceness and devotion that was a hallmark of their lives.. All their love for their people, for their forest, for themselves, crystallised in this one elf – their King. He was the focal point of their lives and thus their hearts. No one watching them tonight could have doubted that.

Least of all the Avari. The intensity in the room was frightening to the four. They had never seen anything like this before, it was anathema to the way they lived, to everything they believed – such a public declaration of feeling – but neither could they deny that it held a strange grandeur to it.

It also made them feel more isolated than ever before. These elves were not like them. As Thranduil continued the four Avari shifted a little closer to each other, like drawing comfort from like, in the face of such differences.

“As we move into this new Age, we are a little more battered than before, a little more tired. I see in your faces the fatigue from the thousands of battles you have fought, the weariness of a life lived constantly in the state of war. But we are also a little wiser and a lot stronger than before for we are together still – and nothing will change that.”

Thranduil had to pause for this statement caused the Wood-elves to cheer. Together they were, and together they would remain. Rhinure glanced at Legolas and saw an answering pride and determination that his father’s words evoked. Gone was the petulant elf who had walked her across the Hall. In his place was an Eldar Prince, renewing his vows to his people.

“We are together – and I promise you this, nothing will tear us apart. I know that trouble still plagues our forest, but we will overcome even that. If Sauron himself could not make us break, then the sad remnants of these accursed creatures will not. We will defeat them, if not today then tomorrow. This I vow.

“When Dol Guldor finally fell with the help of Lord Celeborn and his elves, I thought we had seen the end of the war. And end it was but battles remain. Battles that we have to fight, battles which we will win. I have faith in you – we will see the end to this night as well and one day, we will have peace.

“Till then, I say to you. We have our freedom and we have our forest. That is enough for the rest will fall into place – we will make so.”

Again Thranduil paused for the thunderous agreement made further speech impossible. The Wood-elves would win. How could they not when there was so much spirit in them?

“Let this night be a new beginning for us all. We have fought for our lives, for our very existence. We have fought for our forest and we have won. From this day on let us fight for peace – for the right to live for what we have forfeited so much for. I do not know when this fight will end or how long it will take, but end it shall and victory will be ours.

“How can it not, when we have overcome so much already? We have been to the lands of Mordor itself and come back to our Trees.” Thranduil waved a hand in Legolas’ direction, much to his acute embarrassment.

“We have made friends with the most unlikeliest of creatures in the process as well. Who would have thought that one day a Dwarf would be able to count an Elven Prince as one of his dear friends? If we can do that, then what are a few thousand orcs or so?”

The Wood-elves laughed and Legolas wryly bowed to his father, acknowledging the hit.

“So for all you who look at the shadows and despair, I say to you – do not. This is not the end but a new beginning. Let trouble come, for we will meet it head one as we have always done. Fate will not find the Wood-elves cowering in a corner.

“No matter how dire circumstances seem, remember that shadow has already lost, it just does not seem to have accepted that fact yet. We will make it see its folly soon enough. We will make it see that Eryn Lasgalen is not a place to be taken lightly. For that is what we are – the Forest of the Green Leaves. No longer will we be Mirkwood – a dark place avoided by all. A new Age is upon is and we will face it with pride and welcome. This is a new beginning for us all – and new beginnings deserve new names.

“So I ask you. Lift your glasses and toast Eryn Lasgalen – our home.”

The Wood-elves all stood up at their King’s words. Raising their glasses they drank deeply to their homes, to their forest, to new beginnings – to Eryn Lasgalen.

The four Avari too stood up and drank. But what they drank to was a little less clear.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x