Éowyn had outdone herself.
Rosemary and tarragon painted the air, as well as silk tapestries depicting all the great battles of Rohan. A lamb was laid upon a spit over the fire, and all the best casks had been pulled from the storerooms and shaped in great pyramids upon every table. Even the children - set at little rough-hewn pine tables on the edges of the hall - had been scrubbed clean.
The feast attendees sat in neat rows before Théoden's throne, and Éowyn was bearing forth the victory chalice. I stood at the rear of the hall – we had nearly missed our mark, and a pitcher of wine and empty cup had been thrust at Éowyn somewhat haphazardly as we entered.
Éowyn bowed before her uncle, and he smiled soberly. She took her place to his left as he raised the offering overhead.
"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!" Our King said, holding the chalice out to us.
"Hail!" was the response, and a moment of silence followed. Many were sending prayers to the halls of the dead; some were draining their cup in a single go. I sensed that there were few in attendance who did not seek to become utterly inebriated.
I myself took a generous gulp from my own goblet. 'For Eofel, and Haldir, and all others who perished,'
When Théoden lowered his glass, so too did the crowd before him. His eyes found mine at once.
"There are many great heroes in our history," the King said, and heads bobbed in agreement. "Eorl, of course, and his son Brego. And Fram who slew the foul beast Scatha. Aldor, of course – who secured the borders of our land," Théoden paused, and stretched out one hand. "But have you heard of Wídhild?"
The hall grew quiet.
Théoden continued. "Of Fram's daughter, Framdoina? What of Eriodot – the last Shieldmaiden of our time?"
Heads were shaking now, and furtive glances were exchanged.
"The proud warrior women of Rohan have long been lost to our histories. Perhaps that is an aftereffect if these perilous times of late… that heroines are not given their due."
The King's eyes – clear and blue - rested on me, and I was moved to stand a little straighter.
"I give you your heroine, whom we shall not forget. Calahdra, daughter of Cadda and a proud Lady of Fenmarch. Earendel, our bright dawn. And the first Shieldmaiden in many decades,"
The heads in the hall turned, and I stepped from the shadows. I heard a few women gasp, and the men murmured. Legolas, in the front row, and standing a hand taller than most, was beaming at me. I strode up the aisle, storm-colored silk wafting behind me, and Théoden rose both hands over his head.
"Westu Calahdra Hal,"
"Westu Calahdra Hal!" The crowd roared back.
Having reached the dais, I bowed my head before Théoden. He pressed a finger beneath my chin and tilted my face up to meet his gaze. He said nothing – he merely smiled.
"I am honored, my liege,"
The King's response was simple: "You honor us all,"
Éowyn brought me another glass, and I embraced her after taking it. I turned then and breathed deep. It seemed that a thousand eyes were upon me, anxiously waiting some response.
'What would my father have said?' I wondered to myself in the stillness. I met Legolas gaze, and then Aragorn's. 'What would the heir to a hallowed throne say?'
And then I recalled Lady Galadriel's words. "…will you chart another course, Calahdra Medlinniel?"
I lower my glass and reach back to Éowyn. I catch her cool hand in mine and tug her forward, smiling at her encouragingly. She is eyeing me inquisitively, but not in fear. I press her knuckles to my lips for a moment, and then I kneel at her side.
Turning back to the crowd, I open my mouth.
"Hail the mother! Hail the daughter! Hail the thorny roses of this country, those that have endured all! May the Queens of Rohan forever reign!"
The cheer that went up was deafening, and men turned to their wives and sweethearts and kissed them squarely on the lips. Éowyn was chuckling gleefully at my side, and she bid me up and into her arms.
"Thank you, my Shieldmaiden. Thank you, sister," she murmured into my ear, and then she stepped away and prodded my still undrunk glass. "Now… waste not!"
I did as my mistress bade, smiling all the while.
Though the feast commenced, I was pressed into a throng of nobles and warlords seeking my attentions. After too many pleasantries and as many drinks, at last I found a quiet corner where I was able to squirrel away a few morsels.
I was not left alone long – Legolas found me soon enough. Though I beamed at his coming, he was himself radiant in a silver silk tunic.
Wordlessly, he set my platter aside, clutched my wrists, and pressed me further into the shadows at the corner of the hall. All around us was merriment and din, but he managed to create some mystic shelter in which we were utterly alone.
His lips crashed into mine, and I was as eager as he.
"Mesmerizing," he whispered into my ear. "Transcendent,"
I could scarcely get a word out, the way he was nibbling at my neck and causing my pulse to sputter.
"How do you mean?"
"These were the words I wished I could translate into Rohirric when you ascended to the dais,"
I gasped, and he interpreted this as an invitation to press his hips to mine. His need was clear – so clear, I considered stealing him back to Éowyn's chambers.
He was wise enough to know it was too early in the night to steal me away, and he stepped back after a beat.
"I love you," I blurted, clutching desperately at his fingers in mine.
He squeezed my hands tight. "And I you, melethel. More than any language could convey,"
Then he pressed on of his hands to my shoulder and traced the seam of my dress down my side and across the curves it hugged.
"Where your Lady Éowyn found this, I could not guess. It could be a work of the Valar – it very nearly does your body justice,"
To this, I blushed, and Legolas caught my cheek when I tried to shrug away.
"You are the mightiest jewel of Rohan, if not Arda itself,"
And then he traced the sunbeams along my forehead. "And you make for a queen. I am pleased to see it,"
The way he said this made me tremble. There was such longing in his voice. Such… hope. He could not possibly mean….
"Dance with me," Legolas pleaded suddenly. There was enough drink in my veins that I was eager to oblige.
My elven prince took my hand and my waist and led me back towards the light and into an expanding mob of couples. He started as if to lead me into some sort of romantic, slow-metered waltz.
"Is this how you would dance in Mirkwood?" I asked skeptically.
He nodded earnestly and began to sway a little faster.
"Legolas look around you. This is not Mirkwood," And with a glance over my shoulder to make sure no one was careening towards us, I tugged him viciously into a sashay.
"This is how we dance in Rohan," I said, beaming at his bewildered expression. Twirling, I skipped in time and brought his arms up over my head. With shimmies and leaps, I spun him about the dance circle, being ever mindful to not crash into the other dancers. Before long, Legolas' confusion had melted into joy, and we escaped into the precarious rhythms and joyous motions of my people's traditions.
A second course was brought out, and Aragorn sat across from me, with Éomer at his left. Éowyn was at my right side, and I smiled at this, glad of her company. I had pestered the siblings into telling me tales of their childhood in Edoras, and they, having both enjoyed mead themselves, were obliged to do so. Théoden, being but a few seats down from us, interjected frequently with his commentary and corrections of their stories,
Legolas was somewhere down the table with Gimli, who was in the process of describing his deep and undying love of the Caves of Aglarond to several young boys and the hobbits.
Chatter, uproarious laughter, and the occasional belch rang even more merrily now that the main courses were through. My people were ever roused by good food and good drink. The song that was playing caught my ear, and I began to sing along.
"You sing, Calahdra?" Eomer prodded, having heard my humming. He had been paying more attention to me than I would care to admit.
I had blanched, but Aragorn was staring at me now, encouraging.
"A little. Mostly songs my mother taught me,"
"Sing us something elvish then,"
A few weeks prior and I would have refused, but the heads around me were nodding enthusiastically. I gulped, and I bid forward a man with a lyre.
I hummed the melody for him, and he caught on after a few refinements. With another sip of wine, I stood, and Aragorn patted my calla lily sleeve.
I sang then of Finduilas, and of her torn heart. I sang of the doom she cast upon Túrin Turambar, and of the evil of Glaurang and the sack of Nargothrond. And though I doubted that many more than two now before me understood what it was that I was singing, the eyes of the men and women and children gazing at me held hints of wonder, and grief, and adventure.
When at last I closed my eyes, and my accompanist ceased their serenade, applause came to my ears.
"That was beautiful," Éowyn said, and many shared her regards.
"Who knew that this lady warrior had such feeling," was Éomer's slightly sarcastic response, and Aragorn agreed, adding "Or such a fine voice,"
Legolas came up behind me and laid his hands upon my shoulders. "Well done,"
Emboldened, I stood, and kissed him in full.
The loudest cheer of the night so far rang about the hall, and I smiled as I gazed up at him. Over his shoulder, I saw Huor in a far, shadowed corner of the hall, scowling at me. He drained his tankard, and swiftly turned and fled through some rear door.
I shook my head, ridding myself of the thought of his presence before my mind wandered too far into his dark madness.
The night passed quickly into early morning, and yet the festivities went on. Much to my surprise, Gimli succeeded in challenging Legolas to a drinking game. I knew that Legolas was fond of wine and spirits, but I could not say that I had ever seen it affect him. Tonight, he seemed inclined to test the limits of his tolerance.
I left him to his games, and instead joined a copse of teenagers who sat round the wizard Gandalf. He was telling a frightening tale of mountain giants, and the wars they waged during thunderstorms. Intoxicated as I was, I absorbed only half of the tale – but being in the presence of a sorcerer was mystifying enough.
In time, the crowds thinned. Matched pairs of lovers escaped soon after the younger children, and then even the seasoned drinkers began to fall into their cups.
I found Legolas gathering Gimli up into his arms – the dwarf was snoring aggressively. As I approached, Legolas rolled his eyes at me, but I patted Gimli's head tenderly and gathered his cloak before following Legolas to the hall where cots had been made for Meduseld's many guests.
Legolas and I tiptoed through the sleeping forms and laid Gimli to sleep. It seemed the dwarf was not the only early victim of his antics – a dozen sleeping forms were already cloistered around the edges of the warm, dark room.
We made our way silently back to my quarters, occasionally exchanging glances of faux-scandal whenever we encountered a young couple in the throes of passion atop a straw bale, or a poor fool retching in some dark corner. Down the hill from the Great Hall, we could hear fiddles and drums still at work in the pubs and inns. At one point, Legolas quirked his brow at me quizzically, as if to ask me whether the night was truly over. I smiled and shook my head – no, the thought of my feather mattress and warm hearth was a more tempting lure.
In said quarters, the effect of alcohol on Legolas was made clear. He was by no means drunk – and nor was I at this late hour and after so many rounds of good food and dessert – but his pupils were dilated like a cat's in the night. I laughed at him good-naturedly.
"Well, they did bring out the best of our ale tonight. You can't be entirely blamed!"
Legolas inspected himself in my mirror. He held the tips of his fingers up to the slight flush on his cheeks and squinted. "I guess one might call this pink,"
I was giggling at him. "Pink as a baby's bum, I'd say,"
Legolas spun with comical viciousness and grasped my wrists in his cool, smooth hands.
"You dare mock me, Shieldmaiden? I am a Prince, and I'd have you beg my mercy if you cannot hold your tongue,"
I could hardly contain my chortles – though his eyes sparkled wildly, it was clearly not with ire.
I stepped into his grasp, so that the liquid silk across my hip bones faintly pressed against his upper thighs. His pupils contracted slightly, and I was not dissatisfied to see it.
"Beg?" I parried. "I have begged for no man prior, Master Greenleaf. And I do not think you shall be the one to break me,"
"Break you?" Legolas' tone shifted for just a beat, as if this was indeed a fear of his. But then he pulled his faux-rogue mask back up and grinned devilishly. "I mean to devour you,"
His lips besieged mine and for a moment my giggles broke through our kisses. His hands had gone to my waist, and through the very nearly sheer fabric, his fingertips tickled against my ribs markedly.
Then Legolas' let his hands trail lower, around my waist, and onto the round curve of my rear. When he squeezed, my breath came out in a noisy wave and I felt white spots dance on the edge of my vision. I reared back, exposing the column of my throat for him to dive towards.
"How do you hold this power over me?" I uttered. "To know my body as you do in so short a span of time?"
Warm, gentle lips pressed into the flesh of my neck just below my ear, and nipped playfully before saying – "I am nearly three millennia old, my love. I am not unpracticed in the way of squeezing arse,"
'Arse.' This was not a word I could have ever imagined coming out of his mouth. The ale must have truly worked its wonders. I laughed again, and feeling spry, I dug my own fingers into the toned flesh beneath the seat of his leggings.
Now it was Legolas' turn to exhale, and I was immediately whirled bodily onto my bed. I was on my hands and knees, and before I could fully comprehend how or with what means, Legolas was pressing himself behind me, hands around my hips to guide me back against him.
The force of having been spun had the effect of unsettling the drink I thought had been buried – blood was rushing to my ears and forehead, and the white stars in my vision were replaced with black sparks and whorls.
I sensed that Legolas was still teasing me jovially, but the words and time itself had become disjointed. I sensed that if I cast my mind just one half of heartbeat back in time, I might have captured the meaning of what he was saying, or truly felt the cool glide of my satin skirts from under my knees and then up my thighs.
Had I said something? I sensed I had muttered some form of assent. Because all at once I could feel Legolas' heat between my thighs, and his fingers thereafter, testing at my entrance.
Far in the depths of my mind – my memory, a future self? – a voice was crying no. A crueler voice was laughing. My brother's voice – which brother? – was moaning bestially in my ear. If I looked down at my hands on my ivory bed spread, they were plunged into sun-specked waters. 'No, that is silk. Blue silk. The sea of Dol Amroth.'
I looked back up. My sword was sheathed and stashed against my trunk. I had sparred with Huor a handful of times in my teenage years, and every time a foul vision enticed me to hamstring him, or cut a finger, or an ear. How many times had I dreamt of it, and woken in a salty pool of my own sweat and bile? The thought of claiming some recompense for what he had taken from me was tantalizing. Perhaps, if I just reached out now, the same power in my spirit that could seemingly topple wargs and uruk could…
The hands on my hips pulled me back, and flesh more substantive than fingers brushed against my sex. I collapsed completely, and outside of myself, I could hear my howling.
I was trapped in my dark nightmare only for a moment or so more before the world around began to regain its color. I was keenly aware of Legolas' face before mine, scrunched up in terror and grief. He had rounded the bed and was kneeling before me, holding his hands palms up in a desperate offering.
"Leg… Legolas," I breathed. "I am so, so sorry,"
And as I said it, I folded my arms beneath me and buried my face atop them. Burning hot tears were rolling from my eyes and dripping mercilessly over my arms and onto the blanket below.
"My love, no," Legolas was keening. "Do not be sorry, please. No,"
Very softly, he laid his hands on my forearms and endeavored to peel my arms away. "Please, Calahdra, let me hold you. Let me at least see you,"
I was adamant that I did not want him to see my puffy, stricken face. But I did unwind myself with time, and Legolas crawled up on the bed and sat before me.
"Calahdra, let me wrap you in a blanket. I will not touch you, my love, but you are shaking so hard,"
It was true – my entire body was vibrating, and I sensed that my breath was terribly labored. Legolas did as he offered – he coaxed me up, so I sat against my pillows, and he wound a knitted afghan around my shoulders.
"Breathe, melethel," he chanted, and with my permission, he placed a hand between my shoulders, pressing gently with each breath in so I filled my belly slowly and completely with the cool night air.
When I had come to some form of stasis, Legolas left me on my bed only momentarily to stoke the hearth and make tea. I looked down at the dress beneath my blanket wrap – the silk was mottled and darted with tear stains. If I had not had such faith in Éowyn's friendship and understanding, I was sure I would have been devastated.
When Legolas returned to me, he passed me a warm mug. For a moment, his hand lingered on mine, as if to test whether I was still shaking before he fully trusted me with the scalding beverage.
"Calahdra, I am so sorry," he said again, earnest and tender, after I had taken a long draw of tea. "I had too much to drink – I was careless, and presumptuous,"
There were tears at the corners of his eyes, and the sight burned me. I shook my head slowly. "No, Legolas. No, please,"
I gulped, and I shifted so my knee brushed his. "I… I wanted you. I was willing, so willing, and then…,"
I looked down into the steaming mug between my hands.
"It was the manner in which I had you?" he asked softly, as if he feared that stirring the memory too fiercely would send me spiraling all over again.
I nodded once. "Yes. The… manner,"
There was silence for a moment, except for the crackle of the fireplace. I could hear Legolas' breath, which was usually imperceptibly quiet. Elves needn't breathe at all, if they chose not to.
Finally, I spoke, and the words came from a place deep and unbidden within me.
"How will I square it all my life, Legolas? My passion, my desire… and the foul thing that haunts me. It seems so utterly unfair, to not be able to enjoy a pleasure as simple as a lover's touch in one position out of many,"
Legolas placed his hand tenderly over mine, and a melancholy smile played at his lips. "It is unfair. But Calahdra, love is not a simple thing. That you have given your trust to me at all, regardless of what you have endured, is the most powerful of all the Valar's gifts,"
I considered this wisdom he shared, and the conviction with which he spoke it buttressed the unfathomable reality that he was indeed 3,000 years old. Somehow, this thought pattern returned me to Huor's foul accusations – that elves such as Legolas engaged in queer and immoral practices where sexuality was concerned.
I boldly raised my eyes to Legolas'. He needn't apologize for anything on his part, of that I was certain; but perhaps he owed me this.
"Have you lain with men and women both?"
Though taken aback, my lover certainly did not appear offended. After blinking twice or thrice at me, he gave my hand a squeeze.
"Yes, Calahdra, both. Why do you ask?"
I swallowed. 'Because my brother is a wretched, wicked man and seeks to sow seeds of malcontent wherever he goes,' seemed a cruel response. "Haldir… he was so tender with you. It seemed you both shared a bond,"
"Ah," Legolas replied, and the melancholy returned to his face. "Haldir,"
He drew from his own mug and remained pensive for a moment. When he returned to look at me, he was smiling fondly, clearly recalling a past life.
"Haldir was a passing boyhood fantasy, come true for just one summer when my father sent me to Lorien for training. Galadriel's kin - they are brooding, possessive creatures, and Haldir's conquest of a prince – now that was a badge of honor. Perhaps that is why you sensed that Haldir's feelings still lingered,"
I could not help but smile at Legolas' recollection of teenage lust and jealousy, but now my interest was merely piqued.
"But… there were others?"
Legolas became pensive again. "Aye, there have been,"
He pressed his knee more firmly into mine. I appreciated his restraint, but as my pulse slowed, the urge to seek his warmth and closeness was growing. I scooted closer to him, careful not to slosh the contents of my beverage. Leaning into his side, I was relieved when he at last put an arm around me and leaned his face closed to mine.
"Why do you ask, Calahdra?" he murmured.
I was not sure of the reason. Certainly, I had no qualms about those of the same sex sharing each other as lovers – I had read that such was sometimes the case in my mother's books, even if Rohirric customs were less inclusive and accepting. Perhaps, rather, my question came from a place of insecurity. Though I was no saint, I was not a master of the ways of intimacy by any means. And as was plainly clear, I was seemingly damaged in that manner as well. But Legolas – 3,000 years he had spent learning the ways of elves, and men, and presumably far many more races and traditions. What could I offer that he could not find elsewhere?
Our minds were linked, as I had already suspected, and he clearly sensed the tenor of my trepidation. Slowly, he set my mug aside and laid me down beside and facing him, with a slight span of space between us except for where his fingers began to trace my scalp and hair.
"Male, female, and all manner of persons who identify in some other way – I have known them intimately, yes. The lives of elves are so long, Calahdra. To know another person, and to be bound up so tightly in their trust - that is not a bad way to spend one's time," he grinned, and I grinned too. I know of what he spoke – surely what was between us was utter trust, at least as far as I could possibly manage it.
"But in all my years, melethel, short though my life has been compared to many of my kin, I do feel I have learned this – pleasure, passion, pain even – these are fleeting things that can be wrought by all manner of persons. But, like seasons, they fade and pass. Love, on the other hand, is quite simply undying. And love lives far beyond the spectrum with which the languages of Arda can capture. It lives even beyond the imaginations of living beings, mortal and immortal. And love – that is undoubtedly what I feel for you,"
I was entirely transfixed, and I brought my hand up to press into Legolas' fair, kingly cheek. His own hand unentangled itself from my hair and laid on my chest, over my heart.
"It is what I feel for you, too, Legolas Thranduilon,"
The title seemed to please him, thought I had never used it before, and he pressed his forehead to mine contentedly. "Calahdra Medlinniel, my Amathgwend, I would love you until the very marrow of my bones fades to ash." And then he grew serious again. "And I shall not hurt you again, I swear it. Nay, I will love you so deeply and with such tenderness that I will show you all I have learned of pleasure. And I will fight for you, fight to undo this pain, as best I can,"
I closed my eyes and breathed in the power of his words. Oh, how desperately I wished that they would come true.