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Chapter 37: Poised
Four hundred years ago…
Not for the last time that evening, Thaliniel pulled her young sister to the side and straightened the bow on the sash of her new dress. It was a splendid dress, one from Prince Legolas himself, given to her on the occasion of coming to live with the royal family in King Thranduil's halls.
Naryfliel supposed she really did not have to call Legolas by his title any more. After all, he did marry her sister. That made him more like a brother. She had always wanted a brother—not that she would ever say so to Thaliniel!—but she was thrilled about the prospect of having unlimited access to Legolas. She already had plans to beg him to take her to the archery range, and to show her how to track through the forest, and to teach her how to throw knives, and maybe even to sword fight! Her sister Thaliniel didn't know how to do any of those things...
...but Prince Legolas knew. Narylfiel bet he was just a fount of information, of all sorts of interesting things. Things she would need to know to become a first-rate Forest Guard.
Narylfiel thought back to the night when she had first met the prince at her father's vineyard. Certainly, she had not always been so eager to meet his royal highness. It all began when Thaliniel had informed her that they would be sitting down for a formal dinner with a guest from the king's halls. At the time, Legolas had been posing as a courtier for the king.
Stuffy, to say the least. Not to mention, Narylfiel loathed formal dinners.
She sourly remembered Thaliniel dragging her into dinner that night. Just think: a formal dinner and a courtier from the king, sent to discuss trade ledgers? Deadly dull. Narylfiel had been less than enthused to make Legolas' acquaintance.
She may have even stuck her tongue out at him when she thought no one else at the table was looking.
Imagine her surprise when Legolas cheekily returned the gesture!
It was the beginning of what would become a beautiful friendship. Not long after, Prince Legolas married her sister, and now, well, now Narylfiel waited in the hall, in a starchy dress, to join a formal dinner with countless dull courtiers. It was one aspect of her new life in the Elvenking's halls that she did not look forward to.
In fact, Thaliniel had warned her that they would be joining the rest of the royal family at the high table, an honor reserved for family members and the king's most honored guests and friends. Her older sister reminded her for what was probably the twentieth, maybe even the thirtieth, time how important it was for Naryfliel to be on her best behavior.
No talking with her mouth full. Using her knife correctly. Not interrupting adults at the table. Eating everything on her plate. Having polished manners. Thaliniel called all of this stuff 'having poise.'
Not exactly her idea of a fun time.
But, on the other hand, she did have this lovely new dress to wear. With that happy thought in mind, Narylfiel followed her sister and the prince into the dining room. The high table was up at the front of the room, elevated by some sort of platform or dais, so the king might have the pleasure of observing his subjects as he dined. Thranduil was already seated, surrounded by a bevy of lords and ladies, all of whom looked like characters out of one her story books. But it was King Thranduil who caught her eye, Thranduil who gave her a small nod that gave her the confidence to take her seat among such elegant company. King Thranduil had poise.
Narylfiel did not realize she had been holding her breath until she sat down.
March 6th, 3019
Narylfiel woke up with a crick in her neck. She could not believe she dozed off like that. In spite of her sore neck, she smiled to herself. She just had the best dream. It may have involved Thranduil. At the thought of him, Narylfiel absently rubbed her chest. Their separation was a new and unpleasant experience for her. She wondered if he felt the same pang that she did, the same odd stretched feeling.
Although… Narylfiel rubbed her chest again, took a sip of water from the cup on her nightstand. Something just didn't feel quite right to her. She probably just needed to adjust to the effect of Thranduil's absence on her bond with him.
A smart rap sounded on her door. "My queen," Melui's voice called from the other side, "will you be coming to dinner tonight?"
Dinner. Narylfiel had much rather not attend. It was sure to be a gloomy affair and a half-empty room. She pushed herself off the bed anyway.
"Come in, Melui," she called.
The female guard entered and smothered a smile at her friend's unkempt appearance. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, no. I was up," Narylfiel said and glanced down at her clothes. "I suppose I should change."
Melui added. "Probably would be a good idea, but dinner will be starting soon."
"Well, I certainly don't want to be late," Narylfiel said, guiding her friend over to the closet. "I can already hear Rivenion going on about it: 'Queens don't arrive late, young lady.'"
"Oh my," Melui laughed. "You sound just like him. That's terrible."
Narylfiel pulled a stern face. "What's terrible is wearing a wrinkled dress to dinner. Queens are not wrinkled. Ever," she said again in her Rivenion voice.
"Best to get you properly attired then," Melui said, still laughing. "Here―this one." She handed Narylfiel a dress and gazed with wide eyes at the closet, the carefully ordered dresses and tunics. "This closet is just really beautiful."
"It really is, isn't it?" Narylfiel agreed as she slipped on the gown.
"It's a far cry from the wadded-up disaster of what used to be your wardrobe in your old room," Melui told her.
"Hey, I knew where things were!" Narylfiel said indignantly as she headed for the door alongside Melui. "Most of the time."
"Well, I suppose King Thranduil knew what he was getting into when he married you," Melui concluded, not unkindly, "wrinkles and all."
Narylfiel's hand paused on the door handle.
"What is it?" her friend asked softly.
She met Melui's eyes. "I already miss him so much―and it's only been a few hours!" Narylfiel placed her hand over her heart and grimaced. "It actually hurts, Melui."
Eyes worried, Melui put a comforting arm around Narylfiel's shoulders. She had not forgotten how ill Narylfiel was before she married the king. "Perhaps you should stay in and rest tonight. Perhaps I should call for a healer."
Narylfiel straightened up. "Are you serious? I just changed my dress. I am going to dinner."
"Very well," Melui agreed and followed her queen out the door.
Contrary to Narylfiel's prediction, the dining room was reasonably full when she arrived. It seemed as though most of the inhabitants of the king's halls had made their minds up to put on a brave face in light of their army's departure. The captains' wives all sat together along side many of the wives and family members of the Forest Guard who had left with the army. Narylfiel and Melui, having once been one of their number, knew most of their families and children; after all, on many long nights of keeping watch, one invariably ends up speaking of happier times and loved ones.
Taking their places in the dining hall was also a good number of elves not connected to the army, for they were either in trade or skilled workers. There too were older courtiers whom Thranduil had designated to remain behind and help with the running of the realm in his absence. Rhivenion was one of these.
Narylfiel shared a glance with Melui, glad that she had decided to come. She took the long way to her seat, weaving through several of the tables to greet her friends' families, stopping to talk along the way, giving and receiving a fair share of hugs, despite her new elevated status.
As the serving staff started bringing in the first course of soup, Narylfiel wound her way back to the head table. This particular soup had long been one of her favorites; in fact, she had only tried it originally because she heard Legolas say his father loved it. Trying not to let her eyes linger too long on Thranduil's vacant chair, she deliberately picked up her napkin, smiled at the server ladling soup into her bowl.
"Smells like cabbage," a voice drawled down the table.
Her ears pricked at the sound. Surely not, Narylfiel thought. Surely he would not be so bold.
Narylfiel set her spoon down gently and glanced out the corner of her eye to confirm her suspicions.
She hated being right. He was exactly that bold.
Lord Filron. Ousted from the high table by King Thranduil himself due to several demeaning comments about the new queen, Lord Filron had taken it upon himself to make the most of the king's absence.
And that included his return to the high table.
He had been incredibly insulting, even threatening to Narylfiel in the days following her marriage to Thranduil. Now Filron thought he could resume his old position, an honor reserved by the elves held in the king's highest regard? Narylfiel took a steadying breath, willing herself to remain calm. She wished Thranduil were here-not for the last time, mind you!
Across the table and several seats to her left, Rivenion cleared his throat. Naryfliel looked up, met his eyes, realizing that he too had observed Filron's ungracious return. Ever so slightly, he shook his head no, warning her not to lose her temper. Narylfiel looked down, noting that she had wadded the fine linen of her napkin into a tight ball—but the wrinkled stated of her napkin was not what caught her eye. For under the napkin was a thin piece of parchment folded into a triangle.
Narylfiel palmed it and slid it off the table, glancing up to see if anyone had noticed.
Rivenion caught her eye again. Stay calm, he mouthed to her.
Did he mean—? She glanced down at the note, now hidden in her lap. No, she was sure he meant Filron.
She attempted a small smile at Rivenion, picked up her spoon. As much as she wanted to open the note immediately, Narylfiel knew she should wait until later to do so, for whoever had hidden it must have meant for the communication to remain private. Patience, she reminded herself. Patience sadly never had been her strong suit.
Once again, Filron's laugh drifted down the table. "Who among us can predict what she might do in the king's absence?" He laughed again heartily, and Narylfiel's eyes flicked to Rhivenion once more.
He too had heard Filron's comment. Everyone at the high table had heard Filron's comment. Perhaps everyone in the entire dining hall had heard his comment.
Narylfiel angled her head, looked down the high table, her cool gaze directed at Filron. A hush fell over the table, nay, the entire room, and Filron stopped mid-chuckle as he realized his companions had stopped laughing.
"I am glad you are here tonight, Lord Filron," Narylfiel said evenly. "The continued support of the House Tirisul will mean much to the king upon his return. I look forward to telling him of your loyalty." Or lack thereof. The unspoken words hung in the air, and Narylfiel gestured for Elphir to approach her side at the table.
"My lady?" he whispered.
"Please see that Lord Filron does not return to the high table tomorrow," she told him.
He nodded briefly. "Yes, my lady" was all he said, but his eyes glinted dangerously, like he wouldn't have minded her ordering him to haul Filron down for an extended stay in the dungeons.
Narylfiel picked up her spoon and noticed that somehow she had missed her course of soup. Her bowl had already been taken away, and in its place were some lovely steamed vegetables. She set her spoon back down and swallowed drily, her eyes drifting toward the king's empty chair. The queen had lost her appetite.
Between Filron's presence and the note, now safely tucked into the narrow opening of her sleeve, Narylfiel could scarcely pay attention to her companions at dinner. She was sure that most of them blamed her distant replies and lack of attention on Thranduil's departure.
Narylfiel was more than ready to retire upon the close of dinner. She was dying to see what was in the note! What could possibly be so important and secretive that whoever wrote it could not just approach her in person? Her mind raced at the possibilities, yet at the same time the thought of curling up in her bed and burrowing into Thranduil's pillow sounded just about perfect to her. She said as much to Melui as she stood to leave.
"Are you sure you do not want to visit the healers?" Melui asked. "Lady Hûredhiel—"
Narylfiel cut her off. "No, no," she excused herself. "I am just tired. Nothing to bother Lady Hüredhiel with, I am sure."
Melui did not look entirely convinced, but did not attempt to argue. She knew first hand how stubborn her young queen could be. She followed Narylfiel back to the royal wing and deposited her in the king's suite.
"We will have one of the Royal Guard posted at the end of the hallway if you need us, my lady," Melui told her.
Narylfiel smothered a grin at her friend's formality. "Thank you, Melui," she said and slipped into her room. As soon as the door shut behind her, she pulled the small triangle of parchment from her sleeve and wasted no time in opening it and scanning the contents:
My Queen,
I need to meet with you concerning an urgent matter. I trust you, but I dare not speak more plainly in this letter for fear of discovery. Please keep our meeting in confidence, as I do not wish to raise suspicion. I will wait for you in the stables after dinner.
Your humble servant
Perplexed, Narylfiel folded the note over after reading it. She wondered at its purpose and who could have written it. Clearly the person was worried about being discovered...but discovered about what? If she actually wanted to meet this person, she supposed she could not have her royal guards tagging behind her. She sighed and glanced longingly at the bed, at Thranduil's pillow. Her plans in that regard would have to wait.
She set the note down on her bed and went to her dresser across the room. Opening the bottom drawer, she pushed aside her old guard's uniform and pulled out a long polished box that held a hunting knife given to her from Legolas for a past begetting day. Narylfiel took the knife and its sheath from the box and went to the closet to trade her pair of slippers for a pair of more serviceable boots. The boots made more sense for a visit to the stables, but really what Narylfiel wanted was an easy place to hide her knife.
Satisfied with her preparations, Narylfiel took a second to practice drawing the knife quickly from her boot. The long skirt of her gown kept getting in the way. She supposed she did not have enough time to change into a more comfortable tunic and leggings. Narylfiel settled on the idea of carrying the knife in her boot, but when she arrived at the stables, she could have it drawn and hidden behind her back. Narylfiel may have been curious about the note and its sender—chances were the message was sent by some paranoid member of Thranduil's court—but she certainly wasn't so naive as to think she should arrive unarmed or ill-prepared to defend herself.
Narylfiel eased the door to her chambers open and glanced down the hall, where Dorwil kept silent watch. She silently stepped into the hall and headed toward the servant's entrance, a door that usually remained locked but provided a shortcut to the kitchens. The only other person besides the king to have a key to it was Thranduil's butler, Galion. Thranduil had shown the door and the location of its key in their room to her before he left. To be used for emergencies only, he reminded her, and especially not for sneaking down to the kitchens for late night treats!
Well, she was not sneaking to the kitchens for food, Narylfiel told herself. She was meeting with a concerned subject. Narylfiel unlocked the door and pulled it shut behind her. Then she hurried down the corridor toward the stables, where someone waited nervously for the queen to appear.
Author's Note: Please review, favorite, and follow!
Thranduil: #Jealous #Where'sMYchapter?
Oh, dear...looks like Narylfiel may be heading for trouble. Who could have sent the note? Who is waiting in the stables?
I look forward to hearing from you!