Legolas tucked into his meal happily. There was grilled squab, mushrooms, and summer salads with roasted vegetables, all perfectly seasoned. The elven wine this evening was particularly good.
Celebratory observances were a splendid departure from the norm, and Legolas welcomed every single one.
At court in general, there was much to be desired. There was the growing and shifting, nay, evolving of the forest itself, the strained relationships with their neighbors the dwarves, and the fearsome spiders that roamed the land in and around the Mirkwood. Tauriel, the captain of the King's guard, did her best every season to keep them at bay, but it was difficult to battle them without the full permission of his father… His father, Legolas thought, troubled.
Thranduil was such a cold ellon. He rarely spoke to his son, and when he did, the words were clipped, formal, and usually instructional.
Tauriel, beautiful, strong Tauriel, one of his dearest friends, had withdrawn since the Winter, leaving Prince Legolas hurt and confused. It hadn't taken long to guess that her grudging silence had something to do with Thranduil. If he knew his father at all, Legolas would bet that the King was less than impressed with Tauriel's bloodline. In a kingdom as backward as Mirkwood, that mattered.
Very carefully and slowly, the prince had disengaged his feelings for the young elleth, thankful that they hadn't entered into an agreement at least. It still hurt, but he would recover in time.
Still longing for companionship, Legolas had begun to consider forming an attachment with someone at court. If the elleth in question was properly bred and trained, she would be welcome to join the royal family. He hoped for a little brightness, some comfort in his life. Happiness, even.
This latest crop of young elves was particularly accomplished, if what Legolas had heard at court was to be believed. Only four this year, he thought to himself. By the Valar, if his people diminished and went into the Undying Lands before he had a chance to wed, he would simply… he would just…
A movement from the south dais caught his eye.
One of the younger ellith was telling a story there, a grand, heroic tale. She stood before the others, her voice resonant without sounding shrill. Her movements were perfect. But Legolas was not watching her.
One of the seated ellith watched her friend with a gentle smile. She slowly, unconsciously brought her long graceful hands together and folded them, interlocking the fingers.
Legolas found himself spellbound. This simple gesture, though done absently, was inexplicably provocative to him.
Interested, he began to study her. She had smooth, clear skin, a high forehead, and shining coppery brown hair. Above all, her mysterious and intelligent eyes drew him in.
Unaware she was being watched, the elleth continued to enjoy the storytelling portion of the evening. When she laughed, she flashed a bright set of perfect white teeth. She wielded all of the grace and dignity expected from the elvenkind.
He smiled a little, reminding himself not to get too carried away. He must ask for the proper introductions later.
As the evening tripped on, I forgot my nerves. I was sure that the gravity of the situation would drag me down, and I would be reduced to a sweating, tense mass of anxiety, but instead, something wonderful happened.
My colleagues. My fellow students pulled me out of the mire and set my mind at ease somehow.
It started with Tanulia. She had committed to memory the legend of Durothil and the Stag, and had rewritten it in her own profound words. Then she'd tirelessly worked and practiced, and whispered and screamed and shouted until the story was absolutely perfect. Her delivery was perfect!
Her voice was commanding. One moment, she stroked the listener's ears gently and the next she gripped them hard like steel.
I was in awe. I had thought we would all be up for the fire of Subjective Elven Judgement, but Tanulia's excellence made me forget all of that, forget even where I was. I simply lost myself to her story and enjoyed it.
Toward the end, I heard a few scattered sniffles and realized that my own eyes were wet. Tanulia's voice slowed, and her voice carried every bit of the broken pathos she felt as Durothil approached the Stag for the last time.
The creature lay still as ice, never more to move,
And the great warrior Durothil, in admiration of the beast,
Knelt out of the deepest respect.
For two fortnights had they raced the meadows green,
And with the bright flame of pursuit finally dimmed,
The great Durothil found the answer he had sought.
The beauty and the pleasure lies not in the goal,
But always in the chasing of it.
Tanulia took a moment to allow the story to fall, as though it were a single, silent snowflake. She bowed her head, and for a few seconds, no one moved. Then she glanced up with a gentle smile, and the hall positively exploded with applause.
Her recitation had been perfect, and she knew it. Slowly, gratefully, she bowed in the deep style of the Sindarin, then, rising, stretched a hand toward the north dais in salute. She turned her back on the guests filling the hall to return to her seat, and I caught her eye.
She raised her eyebrows, clearly glad the whole ordeal was over. Her aura was pink and glowing. I was proud of her.
Khidell was to play next. I don't know what I was expecting. I supposed I'd imagined him fumbling with the pipe, his breath coming in shaky, uneven breaths that ruined the music. But I'd forgotten just who he was—who we were. We were some of the best entertainers in Middle Earth. Well, us and our thousands of brethren. Though I knew he must have been trembling, his outward demeanor was calm and confident.
His song was Maiden Fair by the legendary elvish composer Cirisil Lulen. Music by this ellon was an extremely traditional choice, but not many ever opted to play this work in particular. Unlike much of our music—slow, heartfelt, and stately, it moved forward steadily, with melodic intricacies that spellbound the listener. Khidell handled it beautifully.
Hamalitia had told everyone to continue with their meals during the presentations, but hardly anyone moved.
And just like that, it was Vestele's turn. I watched her rise with all the grace of the moon emerging from its sheath to hang over the hills.