AN- The next section, and hopefully this will pull in more reviews. Remember, I am open to suggestions. Read, enjoy, and review.
STATELY DINNER
'Twas a rare time for the peoples of Gondor. It was a time when the warriors who defended them silently but effectively joined together for a night of council and festivity. It was the day that fell on the anniversary of the Siege of Minas Tirith, and it was the day that the leading officers of the Durvagorian Army met at Minas Tirith.
Now, due to coincidence of the highest degree, it happened that this meeting just chanced upon the date that Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Gloin had arranged to meet with Aragorn in their own stately dinner. By happy chance, Aragorn came to the conclusion that it would be good for all gathered to join for one dinner. Surely Legolas and Gimli would remember the fathers and mothers of those joined.
There also was no doubt that the two unlikely friends would like to speak with Donovan and Elenloth, as well as their daughter, who had just returned from her wanderings. Would she have interesting tales to tell, or would she be more transfixed on the stories of the others gathered in happy ceremony?
And so, happy folk, doth we intrude upon the scene of our dear friends, whereupon we will find things that are not quite as they seem…
Boisterous laughter filtered out into the entrance hall of the court that had been altered for the sake of the King's merry company. The young lady who had cloak and cowl drawn tightly over her body strode without due hesitation towards the dinner, and she nodded wordlessly to the silent and fell guards who seemed to be apparitions from some untold nightmare, clothed and geared in pure black, with weapons rarely seen in the lands of man. Only one dared return the gesture so shamelessly given by the lady.
Who was this unknown figure who so callously acknowledged those that were to remain overlooked? Was it some cripple hiding her fell form by the darkened cloth of her dress; come to beg for table scraps? Nay, 'twas not so, for her stance was tall and proud. She paused at the entrance of the yard, where bright sunlight pooled at her feet shod in well-worn boots.
"-not so, my liege!" one of the women sitting at the table protested with a smile upon her lips. "Range makes all the difference in war, not physical prowess."
The lady who came late switched her attention to the lord being addressed. The very moment she laid eyes upon the man, she froze, and a small gasp came unbidden from her lips. 'Twas an elf who answered the challenge, and tall and fair was he. Never had the lady seen such physical perfection. If only not for the scar that marred his beautiful visage. "'Tis true," he retorted. "Unless I get within striking range of you, then you would fall to either my bow or my blades."
Even though the warrior-lady already seated started to answer, the newcomer's gaze stayed affixed upon the elf, so fair was he. "You have not seen an orc's head implode from the advent of a high-velocity round fired from my sniper rifle, my lord. I am master of the Durvagorian snipers, and I think it would be an interesting hunt, 'tween you and I."
One of the higher lords at the head of the table suddenly became aware of the newcomer, and he stood gracefully, though not without a small hint towards the pain that was his constant companion, be it day or night. The lady seated at his side also rose, a compassionate hand laid upon his hand to let him know that he was not alone. The lord smiled reassuringly towards his lady, then looked again to the lady cloaked in darkness.
"My majesties, lords, ladies, and masters and mistresses of war. My wayward daughter has graced us with her presence. Elanariel, come forth and remove your worn gear. Now is a time to be merry."
The lady stood hesitantly at the entrance, then strode forward, removing the cowl from her head. There was a gasp from those assembled, but none as loud as from the elf-lord. The lady's beauty rivaled if not surpassed her mother's, for there was a certain fey charm about her. Her skin was pale as the purest milk, and her lips as red as the most beautiful rose. Her long hair was a silky black with auburn highlights, and she was perfectly proportioned, at least in the opinion of the available males assembled.
'Twas then that those seated noticed the heavy blade girded at this maiden's waist, and the smooth gait that any dancer could envy. However, it was known that it was not dancing that gifted this young lady her grace. Elanariel seated herself in the darkest corner of the table, and the conversations shared by all continued once again. Take note, dear readers, that two pairs of eyes did often seek each other out and look away again, blushes coloring two faces. These two will meet again this fair Gondorian night, and then they will meet often as they could. Such is the tale of Legolas Thranduilion and Elanariel Donovaniel.
