Thank you for reading, if you've come along with me this far! And thank you, La Femme Absurde, for your kind comment. This is turning out to be a fun world to play in.
Legolas clapped along with the rest of the court as the young ellon Khidell finished his performance, but was still unable to tear his eyes away from the south dais and the elleth with the coppery brown hair.
Her co-initiate Vestele rose then and took the stage.
Thraduil had mostly finished his meal and was listening languidly to the small talk around him. He had a habit—well, no, a compulsion, really—of eavesdropping. His excellent hearing was his credit, but also a downfall. He had found from a very young age that by concentrating he was able to single out a lone conversation out of many, discerning all comments made with perfect clarity. He told no one. It was too valuable—and amusing! a skill.
At the moment, one of the dignitaries just off of the North dais was saying to her friend, "Stop touching it! It looks fine!"
"It does not," her counterpart remarked fretfully. "If only I'd gone home early today, I'd have had time to brush and braid it properly!"
Thradruil switched imperceptibly to a different couple.
This pair was obviously romantically involved. "Let's leave," he was saying to her. "I can think of several other things I'd rather be doing right now."
"Patience," said his mate. "Not that I do not return your affections, but our daughter will be initiated next year, and I want to see the process for our own edification."
"I'll edify you," the other remarked sullenly. "Tease."
Thranduil chuckled silently to himself.
Legolas noticed, surprised. "Father? Something amuses you?"
And the Elvenking gave a smooth excuse. "Not at all. Just reminiscing about my own initiation."
"Ah."
On the South Dais, the elleth called Vestele had begun to dance. In most cases, elves danced in large groups, with each other, and to accompanying music. But the format for this performance was very traditional. The young elleth danced in deep and meditative silence, allowing onlookers to hear the sounds of her feet hitting the floor, the fall of her gown's fabric as she moved. It was at once sensual and contemplative.
The guests had begun to converse again.
"Father," Legolas asked idly. "Do you know of that elleth on the South dais? I believe Filauria is her name, if I heard Hamalitia correctly."
Thraduil's eyes darted over to regard the young elleth in question. "I know that she is being presented at court this evening," he remarked dryly.
Legolas tried not to roll his eyes.
Ayduin, one of the king's consort, spoke up. "She is a friend of a friend, your majesty, though I am not acquainted with her myself. I hear she is remarkably talented for her age."
"All elves are accomplished," said Thranduil matter-of-factly. "The training they receive is excellent. In my lifetime, I have not once been disappointed at the aging ceremony."
Ayduin bowed his head. "As you say, your Highness."
"I would meet her, if it please you, my King," Legolas persisted.
Thranduil's keen eyes flicked over to the South Dais once more to appraise the elleth in question, but he replied casually, carelessly, as if he were insufferably bored with the whole idea. "As you wish, my son. I trust and expect us all to engage socially with many courtiers this evening. This Filauria need not be excluded."
In spite of himself, Thranduil was curious. Romantic and a little dramatic, yes—but his son Legolas had not professed vocal interest in an elleth since his foolish infatuation with Tauriel. What a disaster a match like that might have been.
The Mirkwood court was applauding around them in conclusion of young Vestele's performance. Father and son alike joined in.
Connak was clapping heartily beside them. "What a lovely, evocative dance. Very pleasing."
Legolas nodded, still watching the proceedings at the other end of the hall.
The elleth named Filauria stood gracefully and took the front of the podium. Her movements were careful and measured, her breath moving fluidly through her slim frame. Legolas was taken with the fragile, lace-like collarbone and the gentle turn of her long neck. Even from here, he could see her pulse move there when she swallowed.
The gathering of elves had allowed their collective conversation to dwindle to soft fragments, but as the young elleth took a deep breath, all diminished into total silence.
It was the last offering of the evening, and they didn't want to miss a moment of it.
She began on a low, soft note.
At the start of the song there was a series of arpeggios that built around one another and subtly changed key one by one, a tricky thing to accomplish for one singing sans accompaniment.
The tone of the elleth's voice was youthful, high and clear, like a young ellon who had been cut and designated a singer for life. But to this was somehow added a silkiness that was unmistakably feminine—and very alluring. Her consonants were clear, and she tasted each one. It was altogether one of the most pleasing experiences Legolas had ever had where music was concerned.
She demonstrated her knowledge and mastery of held high notes with perfect vowel modification, complex rhythms, and even trills.
Then he remembered to listen to the lyrics!
He'd never heard this particular song before. It was in Sindarin.
It was about a seed planted deep within the earth, cradled in the dark, loamy soil. It spoke of soaking rains and the warmth of the sun before the plantling emerged out into the light and then tentatively stretched out delicate green tendrils to touch the swift currents of the air. The part of the song that was the climax bespoke the getting and flowering of the bloom and its bright, colorful glory—its completion in feeding visiting bees and fluttering hummingbirds.
He found himself becoming frustrated. How was he to pay attention to the words when her sweet voice floated so enticingly above them all? But if he focused on the mere sound of her, he missed the lyrics!
Toward the end, the song slowed, and the elleth sang of the deadly frosts reaching to finger the plant, crushing the flowers, causing the tender flesh of the stem to wither and the leaves to faint. But as the petals wept in the coming storms of Winter, a new seed dropped to sprawl in the dirt below, ready to sleep deeply, covered by a blanket of crushed leaves and soil until the Spring.
There was a brief stunned silence, and Legolas realized she had stopped singing several heartbeats prior. He heard a few sharp intakes of breath and an emotional sniff or two. His vision seemed to cloud, and then clear. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, he lifted long fingers to his own face, and they came away wet.
In the instant before the applause thundered forth from the group, he happened to look at his father.
The Elvenking was staring at the young elleth as if she'd personally wounded him.
At Legolas' glance, the King recovered himself, and as the court began to applaud, Thranduil himself joined in, even standing to show his respect for such skill. The homage he paid was proud, and grand, and generous, and the King's now schooled features bespoke none of the appreciation he'd privately espoused. Legolas shook his head, also clapping for this young Filauria. What was his father so afraid of? Was it so dangerous to demonstrate one's feelings?
With the monarchs at their feet, it was incumbent upon the rest of the court to follow.
Hamalitia rose to say a few words in conclusion, and to congratulate this cohort on their aging and consequent merging with the rest of the court populace in Mirkwood.
Then Prince Legolas' heart began to beat again.
