Chapter three: Love is a glass of water
To repeat what others have said, requires education; to challenge it, requires brains.
Mary Pettibone Poole, A Glass Eye at a Keyhole, 1938
Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. March 1st of 2923.
It was all Amaellys's fault, really.
Selton's daughter had insisted so much on seeing the tree shepherds that in the end even Hayden was excited about it. "We are already here," the king had pointed, "We might as well pay him our respects. Antar owes much to his support, after all."
That, Solene thought, was a huge understatement. Problem is, Fangorn was one of the few creatures in Middle-earth that could recognize her.
But apparently God was on her side for a while, for Fangorn did not remember.
So the half-elven spent one month in the Fangorn forest, enjoying Treebeard's hospitality, exploring the woods and exchanging tales. The forest was angry and the air was close, but even so, the environment was fascinating. They parted with vows of sending word if they had any clue about the missing entwives.
They were all somewhat relieved to enter the open fields of Rohan once again. Nice as the ents might be, there was much tension in the closed air of Fangorn. The prairies were luxurious, beautiful and evergreen.
The antarians did not find the entwives, obviously. They found elves instead.
More specifically, two hundred and fifty warrior elves.
Hayden was so not pleased. The king feared his companions would suffer in the hands of the elves.
And then the elven company arrived, and Solene almost wished it were so. Because that she would have been able to handle. What she could not handle, however, was Legolas. They were not supposed to meet at all. Hayden was such a bunch of nerves (and who was to blame him, really?) - that he almost ruined everything. In the end, Solene had to step in and stop them before Legolas' anger boiled even more and the diplomatic ties were doomed before they started.
The renegades talked among themselves and agreed Hayden (much to his chagrin) would return home as soon as possible. A small party would stay in Mirkwood and study the woodland elves and determine whether they were trustworthy.
That was why the renegades had travelled around the Mirkwood Forest – to avoid the super spiders. They were guests, and a diplomatic mission at that, so the woodland elves could not willingly put them in harm's way – and headed to Thranduil's underground Kingdom, Taur-e-Ndaedelos, through the lesser used Road that connected the elven court to Dalle – the preferred commercial route was the river.
The forest itself was a bit like Fangorn, but without the anger. It was also surprisingly green and full of life, and the closer they got to the elven city the fainter the darkness was, till there was nothing but the soothing light and the soft sounds of distant music.
The march wardens guarding the borders cheered and saluted their returning prince and companions. Large metallic gates opened from a wall that had been sculpted in the mountains. Most the slow rank soldiers turned in one of the several tunnels going to their own homes whilst the antarian committee was being led to the heart of the city, the palace of Lord Thranduil.
Feriel escorted the seven ladies to their chambers to freshen up, but Hayden and his counsellor would be brought to Thranduil before dinner. Then a welcome party should be held, for the Prince was home, and brought with him guests as well.
Mirkwood, Taur-e-Ndaedelos. March 11th of 2923.
When Tuillion burst into his Throne room, Thranduil's first reaction was a momentary panic-after all, such break of protocol could only be motivated by urgent and disastrous events. But his herald was announcing his son's arrival. No matter how deeply Thranduil cared about Legolas and was anxious for his safe return, the fuss was hardly convenient. After all, the company was expected, they were even late. When the king said so, Tuillion said they were escorting some of the most exotic looking elves ever seen on these shores.
Now why haven't the elf said that before?
Word was sent ahead to prepare the guest rooms, to separate some of the wine and delicacies in preparation for the upcoming Festival and serve it at that evening's meal, and to tell the musicians to be ready fro a banquet.
By Elbereth! Leave the elfling alone for a few years and he comes home with a pack of unaccounted for peredhil isolated from civilisation since the beginning of the Age of the Trees!
Had Thranduil not been warned, it might have been difficult to conceal his surprise at the half-elven that entered his Throne Room. The colouring, the features, it all had something that just screamed mortal blood, without losing the grace of the First Born. They would certainly be entertaining. Thranduil could so see the frenzy they'd cause. Their blond hair was darker than the usual pale gold elven hair, eyes bright grey and green – green! Not only green, but also emerald green at that, the colour of the leaves at the peak of summer.
The repercussions of such a meeting were just too huge to be considered on an empty stomach, with only a couple hours' warning.
"It might be a little odd at first," the emerald-eyed peredhil said, a king's counsellor named Dalton who was older than both Thranduil and the young half-elven king, explaining the complex ruling system, "But once you open your mind and accept the notion, democracy was the one system the antarians could accept."
"We elect a new King or Queen every thirty years, and they might be re-elected but once and then the ruler has to step aside from elections for three elections at least. The same occurs with the senators, but the Province governors serve for twenty years only. Ministers and counsellors are appointed by the King and the Senate," Hayden explained a bit more didactically, waving his slender hands in the air as he did so.
Thranduil frowned ever so slightly, thinking hard. It was highly unlikely that such system would fascinate the woodland elves; especially after his family had served them for so many ages… it was a symbiotic system, really. But it was odd. Why go through all the strife and trouble instead of sticking with the ones you know are worthy of it?
"This is the way things developed for us some fifteen millennia ago," Dalton stated, apparently looking right through the woodland king like some elves could, particularly those who had been in Valinor. Most unsettling. And irritating.
"I do not believe other realms would adopt our system, as we could not adopt theirs. Faulty as the Republic may be sometimes, we grew fond of it," Hayden stated with amazing accuracy and tact in an elf so young, particularly noting he was not born and raised into the role. The grey-eyed peredhil could not be much older than Legolas.
Faulty? Wonder what's that about.
Thranduil decided he needed some time to digest the news. There was just too much. There would be no doubt about their isolation, that much was certain, the people before him, though wise in their own way, and cordial, held an air of naiveté that was simply not seen in any of the other elves Thranduil ever knew. Even their wariness showed they had no previous contact with the world and knew not what to expect of it, it was a wonder they had held themselves with the proper etiquette really.
These people had built themselves their own version of Valinor and shut the whole world out, living safely hidden while all other people of Middle-earth had to struggle for their survival against Melkor and Sauron. But now the elves were leaving Middle-earth, and Men were few, scattered, and, if Isildur was a taste of it, not at all trustworthy. What would save them when Sauron rose in power again? What knowledge did they have of the ways of the world, of war, of malice?
They'd be taken down as lambs if things did not change quickly.
And Thranduil had more than enough problems with his own realm and Dol Guldur.
"Legolas mentioned something about something that entered your realm, warning you to leave your isolation. I'm rather curious."
"Not something, two somethings," Hayden said with a sad smile. "The twins were the first to enter in Antar since the End of the Age of Chaos and the Foundation of the Republic. In the midst of the Mortal Winter no less, and started making a show as if the world was to end the next day. It took relatively little persuasion, especially because the safety of our country was at risk. I had my doubts myself; I thought there might be a little exaggeration from the two impressive young minds. But it had to be checked."
Thranduil nodded. That called for further investigation, but he just had to leave and think alone for a few moments. The problems about the trading with the mortals of Dalle had to wait for a few days, as Thranduil now had a lost nation's representatives to host, not to mention the upcoming festival. He'd be dead and rotten before his people forgone their traditions and culture out of fear.
He'd talk to the girls later.
"I see. But I ask of you to forget those matters for a few hours. This is a festive evening after all. I bid you to go to your chambers and prepare for dinner, a courier shall come to take you to the Banquet Halls."
As both half-elven left his office after a gracious bow, Thranduil got lost in his thoughts, trying to figure what he should do about them.
Stella, Solene and Amaellys were given joint rooms, as family they were. Valkyria and the other ladies of their little committee were given bedchambers nearby. At the moment, Amaellys was staring at the few presentable gowns they had brought with themselves in what would be naught but a journey into the wilds, dismayed, while Stella calmly dried Solene's hair from the bath they had taken earlier. The twins were too lazy to change from their robes yet, comfortably seated on the large bed whilst idly contemplating their sister fret over the lack of attires in the choice department.
The room itself was rather large, which somewhat dulled the twins uneasiness at being trapped several metres under the mountains. The ceiling was high and curtains wisely placed gave them the illusion of open air. The beds were as luxurious as one might desire after months of sleeping in the cold stone or grass, and the quarters were beautifully decorated. Taur-e-Ndaedelos had its own and unique charm.
It was not hard to figure why Legolas loved the place so.
"So," Amaellys stood before the twins in her undershirt, "blue or yellow?"
"May I remind you you're already married?" asked Stella, Short Fuse Extraordinaire, with a sly arching of her eyebrows.
"You're no fun," Amaellys pouted, utterly unimpressed by the child's rambling, and turned to Solene for guidance, "which one?"
"First of all, I really have to insist once more on how ridiculous those undergarments are. Really. It must give you one hell of a job to impress your husband with that thing, all day. If only you'd let me I'd make you something far nicer. And second, both of you are quite correct – You, Amaellys, are married already. And you, Stella, are no fun at all. The yellow one brings out your hair, sweetie."
A loud knock in the door interrupted their family bickering. Amaellys ran to the dressing room.
"Come in," Stella cried.
Hayden and Dalton entered cautiously, closing the door behind them. Informal greetings were exchanged.
"I find it hard to believe you have come just to see our faces," Stella commented teasingly, with a somewhat acidic tone in her voice. "Anything the matter?"
"I'd be flattered," Solene continued as if they were one person speaking rather than sisters, "but I have to agree there are fairer ladies to look at. Did the meeting with the king not go well?"
"You are both most humble," the antarian king replied, knowing sometimes mockery was the only answer one could give either of them, "but indeed, I did not come to socialise. I have just talked with the king Thranduil."
"A most fascinating character, I might add," Dalton said quietly, "it was particularly interesting trying to explain the democracy without being unrespectful or misunderstood."
"He might call you sometime soon," Hayden warned, his grey eyes burning with unsaid warnings.
"Ah," Solene stated simply, winking to Stella who was looking at the gowns scattered over the bed trying to decide what gown she would wear. "And the plot thickens."
"That's so cliché!" Stella scolded.
"Still fits," Solene defended herself.
"You were right, dear," Amaellys announced, flouncing out of the dressing room in a pale yellow dress, "this one is much better."
"I thought you were already married, Ama," her uncle said disapprovingly.
"Not you too! Can't a lady have a little fun?" Amaellys cried in mock despair.
When Thranduil decided to give a party, all of Mirkwood felt the effects. The woodland king had ordered that the Great Halls be 'specially magnificent' and his people had obliged happily. Rumours about the unexpected guests were flying all day, leaving the court in excited expectation.
Legolas accompanied his father to the thrones, fashionably late as was Thranduil's custom, both clad in their finest aristocratic attires, complete with exquisitely crafted circlets of gold in their foreheads. Often the prince wore clothes that were in the middle ground between royalty and just fashionable, especially if it was an intimate party for friends and family, but tonight was a different thing. Apparently Thranduil had been somewhat insulted by the half elven's point of view about ruling systems.
Elbereth Gilthoniel, that meant even more pomp and fanfare than normal in one of his father's banquets.
The herald announced the Antarian committee and the procession walked in, with several degrees of anxiousness. They were surely a sight for sore eyes, and the court would have something other than planning and doing festivals, reading books, taking care of the gardens or worse - organising campaigns to defend the realm from orcs and spiders- to do. They now had a whole new world to explore, a people who had kept themselves out of the ugliness of this world for all the ages of the sun and who had a rather interesting story themselves as well. The scribes would have lots of work to documentate the tales.
The peredhil walked towards the tables assigned to them, in their own country's traditional attire. Now that was going to provoke a revolution of sorts. The fabric of their clothes were just slightly less silky, the ladies' gowns just a little bit tighter, the neckline just a little bit lower. They seemed to be utterly comfortable with their own skin, even considering they were showing way too much skin in a foreign country banquet.
Legolas could see some of his friends arguing over who would call who to dance already.
"Today is a day that will mark both our histories," Thranduil spoke loudly as the half-elven were seated, "We welcome our kin, and hope you may come to consider this your home as well."
The hall erupted in applauses.
'The old rascal was always good with speeches.' Legolas thought with a small smile.
"To a new beginning," the king held his goblet high in the air, and the people – carefully chosen guests from the highest lines of Mirkwood, counsellors, marshals, close friends and family- cheered and toasted with him.
Legolas had the very strange feeling that one of the twins – the one seated at his side, in a strapless dress (and how on Middle-earth does she keep that thing from falling?)- was suppressing a fit of laughter, but that ought to be an impression. There was nothing in her face that showed anything but polite attentiveness.
Odd.
The food was outstandingly delicious, by the way.
Feriel, who was two seats from the prince, was flirting discreetly with the twin seated between himself and Herolin, his father – and surprisingly, the lady was giving him the cold shoulder, engaging Herolin in conversation instead; while Legolas observed amused the lady on his left trying to drink little enough not to get in too high spirits and enough to not appear offensive.
Herolin, the scoundrel, had inadvertently encouraged the lady he was talking to into speaking too much – that, or the strong wine of Mirkwood had loosened her tongue more than one should find proper. They did say peredhil were weak to alcohol. Legolas grew more and more alarmed as the lady proceeded with her conversation, oblivious to the stir she was causing.
"In Antar we have counsellors too, but of course!" her voice was not so loud, but in the pregnant expectancy of the room she might as well have shouted. "They're part of the King's staff. Under his authority are also the Ministers and the Senate. Most tiresome, in fact."
"Sounds like a complex thing, really," Herolin stated trying not to commit himself nor the realm. The counsellor had already heard most of it whilst Thranduil and Hayden talked.
"How does anyone understand it?" Feriel asked quietly, flabbergasted.
"One does not, most the time," Stella teased.
Now they had the attention of the whole table.
"It does sound complicated," Legolas tried to make amends, cursing the fact his father was uncharacteristically quiet and looking rather smug with his predicament, "for it is different. I think once we have some time to grow used to the idea it will not sound so strange."
'Why do they not choose someone worthy of the rank and be done with it?' he thought to himself, giving his immediate neighbour a sympathetic smile. It must be hard to have a sister who thought creating awkward situations was fun.
Very much like Feriel. If those two hit it off, may the Valar help them!
"Somehow it works, and when it doesn't, we can always make reforms. But let us please change the subject, this is too pleasant an evening to discuss politics," Solene pleaded.
Legolas smiled relieved, along with some others on the table - from both allegiances. "Let us speak of other things then. Care to tell us a little of your tales and your music?"
The lady at his side – he wanted to bet she was the older girl, but one could not be sure really… - took some time to answer.
That neckline's too low, period! And how can she act as if this is the most natural thing of the world?
"Music cannot be told, only experienced," she said at last – definitely Solene -, "of tales we divide them in legends and fiction, the later being a tale that only happened in its creator's mind. You should ask Dalton some, I'm a rather poor story teller."
"Not so poor as you remember the sad ones better," Dalton protested. He was brother to the twin's foster mother, as Legolas remembered, and acted as a friend rather than as an uncle. At least with others around.
"Sadness has its own sweetness, methinks. What of you, Your Highness, what kind of tales you like better?" Solene asked as the servants removed the empty plates. Legolas smiled, throwing his lifelong friend Feriel a glance before answering.
"I like the ones about friendship better."
Feriel sobered from his flirting immediately, appreciating the thoughtfulness and meaning of the gesture. Both being only children, they had bonded easily in childhood, and it was often said in the halls that they completed each other. Legolas was more serious, whilst Feriel was a hopeless prankster.
After a couple of millennia, they even rubbed off on each other.
"And I particularly like the way in which you avoided the request," Feriel teased charmingly.
Before anything else could be said, Stella cut in, "She's great with getaways. Dalton himself has been trying to corner her for years."
Definitely the woodland wine was too strong for her.
"However, I have much room for improvement when it comes to my choice of allies, even among my kin," the older twin answered, with an undeniable stop this right now tone.
"Alas, slippery as a fish. My father is most intrigued, too. And Verlat is one very cunning creature. One of these days, Sol, you'll meet someone whose questions you cannot answer. I only hope I'm there to see it," Dalton said maliciously, winking at the twins.
"Gee, thanks," Solene hissed.
"She'd marry him, most likely," Stella winked back at her uncle.
"Stella!"
"Sorry," she said, not looking at all repentant.
Legolas could not help but laugh.
"It sounds like a challenge," Feriel turned an intent gaze upon Solene.
"It sounds like you are in need of rescue, milady," Legolas said smiling, trying to ease the redhead's apparent discomfort. Not that he could blame her, really.
'Clearly, Antarians were not behind woodland elves in mischief-making'Legolas thought, a smile tugging at his lips.
"I am most grateful. I realise a conspiration is unfolding, and it shall be wise to leave while I may. Where's the closest way out?" Solene said, only half-jesting.
"I shall escort you then. This way."
In spite of Legolas' efforts (it was all going downhill!), the guests seemed to think the teasing quite a nice ice-breaker, and even king Thranduil was in high spirits – but that could be in anticipation of all the teasing Thranduil would make Legolas suffer for rescuing the damsel in distress (regardless to the fact the king had taught his son to do so).
"What, leaving the arena so soon, my lady? A challenge was thrown, it is fair you give us a chance to take it. Would you not let me try to make such a question —" Feriel, to Legolas' dismay, rose up the second the prince took Solene's hand to take her out of the room, oblivious that his jesting had gone one step too far –the diplomat was practically begging to leave the room, embarrassed.
"You woodland folk sure are quick," Stella attacked him immediately, with a frown that was not entirely playful; earning a wave of reverberating laughter from the room. Her sister glared at her, but anyone could see the annoyance was half-hearted at best.
"Remember you get what you give, young lady," she warned Stella.
"Aye, I do," was the answer.
"I would, milord Feriel. You have your answer, and I bid my leave." Some people cheered across the room, delighted by the fact Feriel seemed to have met someone he could not outsmart. But they needed a decent duel. Legolas led her in the direction of the inner gardens of the southern quarter, noticing his father and Hayden were whispering back and forth like trickster elflings in primary school.
He better take her out soon or she'd not make it.
"Give the lad a decent chance, lady Solene. I give you my word no one would force you into marrying him," Thranduil asked with deceptive sweetness, and in the king's eyes Legolas saw such cold calculation it sent shivers down his spine..
"Should I be afraid?" Solene asked Legolas, and he had the impression her body was too close. But it was not - she was a good arm's length from him.
He grasped her arm tighter. "Very."
"So be it. I'll give the lad a few words, if that is what he wants, and words only," she said graciously to Feriel, glancing across the room to see that she had, indeed, gathered quite the audience. Even the servants were now still. Dalton was so paying for that.
"I am grateful, milady. But the lady threw quite the challenge in this room, and it is fair I return the favour in kind. I shall humbly ask of you to explain the nature of love."
Solene closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
'Dalton, you're so friggin' dead!' she thought angrily.
"Tricky," she stated, while the elves in the halls were still discussing Feriel's question. Obviously, a simplistic answer would be crushed down mercilessly before them. How does one answer that, anyway?
Solene called for one of the servants and asked for a glass of water, which was brought with a rather supercilious expression of condescendence. Solene drank carefully, measuring the water against the light, making sure the water filled the glass halfway.
If only they knew.
No one would take her down while she was trying to impress Legolas. No way.
Solene raised her goblet in full view. "A deceptively easy question. If that's what your young elves can do, I shall run whenever some of the oldest try to corner me for a debate." That got some chuckles from the audience. The redhead lady turned to Legolas, " what do you say, my lord… full or empty?"
"It is half-full," Legolas answered carefully. The glint of mischief in her eyes told him that Feriel was in deep trouble. And it also made Legolas analyse every word, looking for hidden meanings. Could it be she was asking whether elves considered peredhil more like elves or more like mortals?
He was probably over-reading it.
"Thank you. What do you say, dear uncle of mine. Since you put me in this situation it's only fair I drag you down with me."
"It's half-empty. And I'm not responsible for that either, at least not solely," Dalton replied good-naturedly.
As if.
"Oh, yes. My dearest Stella, I haven't forgotten her. What do you say?" Solene turned to the direction where Stella was seated, half-hidden by Feriel's figure so the younger twin had to bend forward to be seen.
"The glass is not nearly tall enough. And I remember there was more water on it before, Sol."
Solene chuckled. "That's my girl," she said approvingly, "and now what of our eager pupil? What does he say of the glass?"
"It could do with some more water, methinks. But what of love?"
"Oh, yes. Love," Solene let go of Legolas' arm and walked towards Feriel, placing the goblet in his hands. "We all see the same thing, but hardly two agree on the definition. Love is a glass of water, my dear friend."
Feriel bowed and kissed Solene's hands for longer than was strictly necessary.
"Do I get to escape now?' Solene whispered as soon as she got herself free of Feriel.
"We rather, or else they'll never let us. This way, we'll be safe till the dancing begins."
When the doors closed behind them, the chattering was resumed as if all guests were long-time friends. They walked to the gardens in silence, as there were some people around, and Legolas was not quite sure of what to say to a lady who'd been so insulted in his house, by his friend. Legolas would have to have a conversation with Feriel, and quickly. If the prankster kept that pace, they could lose a potential ally.
"Will your friend be angry with me?"
The inner gardens were a beacon of light in that underground city. His mother had planned them carefully, filling the alleys of Taur-e-Ndaedelos with light and life. If it were not for them, more than half of the woodland elves might have found it impossible to live underground. The mere sight could lift one's spirits.
"Angry is the last thing he'll be, milady," Legolas replied with a slight frown. A talk with Feriel, most definitely, was in order. His friend would not escape.
"Do not hold it against Stella. She acted thusly because she knew I could bear it, and the incident would break that awkward atmosphere. She's probably comforting Feriel's bruised ego, the brat. My sister, not your friend."
"I'd rather say my friend is, not your sister."
They laughed.
But Legolas would not bypass how they had manipulated the situation, so silently, so carefully, as to influenciate everyone without being obvious. He'd be extremely careful with them.
The antarians may be less innocent than they look.