As the residents of Rahnshell busied themselves in preparation for the arrival of their guests, the central hall was buzzing with activity when Zilarynn rolled in an additional cart full of wine. She waved to several of her acquaintances and offered them a warm smile. Many of the townspeople considered her a friend, and Zilarynn never corrected them, even though she always ensured that they stayed an arm's length away. She always made sure never to let anyone get too close; she couldn't risk getting close to anyone just to see them grow old and inevitably pass on.
She was lost in her thoughts as she stopped the cart next to the service table, where she and Melanor would serve wine during the feast tomorrow evening. She made sure the bottles were aligned to her meticulous standards and moved her cart to the back of the hall. As she brushed her hands off on her apron, she suddenly felt a vice-like grip around her legs, almost knocking her over.
With a surprised chuckle, she looked down to see a mess of curly red hair, "And how are you today, young Master Dolanen?"
"Zilarynn!" A freckled face turned upward, and Zilarynn was greeted by a warm, toothy grin, "Guess what?!"
"Hmmm," Zilarynn pretended to think about the question as the young boy continued his attempt to cut off the blood circulation to her legs, "You… Have been recruited by the Rohirrim, and you'll be leading their entire battalion."
"No, silly," Dolanen laughed and stepped away, "My Papa got me this sword for my birthday!"
The young child produced one of the smallest swords that Zilarynn had ever seen; she eyed the weapon and was almost certain that she could snap it in half if she put forth a slight effort. She dropped down onto her knees to examine the sword as Dolanen held it out proudly for her to see. She took the small hilt of the sword and held it vertically as she continued her pretend assessment. She mused for another moment before she looked back down at the expectant child, "There is no finer weapon in all of Arda."
Dolanen beamed as he placed the sword back in its miniature sheath, and he looked back to her, "Will you teach me how to fight?"
"Dolanen!" A woman called as she crossed the hall to where they were, "What have I told you about bothering Zilarynn?"
"I wasn't, Mama," Dolanen whined, "I was showing her my new sword because she's an expert."
"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm an expert," Zilarynn commented as she stood back up, "I'm just the Tavern Keeper."
"But you have to be an expert!" Dolanen exclaimed, "You have those really fancy black swords and—"
"Dolanen, enough." His mother cut him off, "Go outside and find your father. He should be over by the stable."
Zilarynn watched as the young boy bounded through the hall and out the grand doors, and she let out a soft chuckle, "He's growing more like his father every day."
"That's what scares me," The other woman laughed, "I'm sorry about him pressing you about your knowledge of the blade."
"It's quite alright," Zilarynn waved her hand and offered a kind smile, "Children are curious by nature; I hope it is something that he never loses."
The woman gave Zilarynn a final smile and turned to find her son, who, no doubt, was interrogating someone else about whatever new topic had come across his mind.
Zilarynn smiled softly to herself as she looked around the hall. The new sconces were being lit that offered a soft glow to the room as the food was brought in and accommodated tomorrow's feast. Long tables had been placed around the hall with a large space in the middle, where the small hamlet of Rahnshell would learn traditional dances of Rohan, their own folk dances, and possibly some of the Elven dances.
Dancing under the stars.
Clinging to her father's hands as she stood on his toes.
Zilarynn was pulled from the brief memory at the sound of the heavy main doors opening, and ice ran through her veins. The Lothlorien delegation entered the hall and was greeted by the town elders, bowing politely to Lord Celeborn.
The last time Zilarynn had seen the Lothlorien elves was the Solstice celebration so long ago, the trip that changed her entire life. Their Marchwarden, Haldir, turned his gaze in her direction, and she immediately shielded her face.
"No," she breathed and quickly raised the hood of her cloak and tried to move to the side door unnoticed. As soon as she was in the hall, she walked around the corner and instantly ran into someone, "Oh, I'm sorry."
"That's quite alright."
ZIlarynn's head snapped up and met the kind eyes of Lady Galadriel. The Lady of Light stared at her for a moment before offering a smile that Zilarynn remembered well. She felt anxiety settle in her chest as she looked away again and stepped around her. "If you'll excuse me."
Lady Galadriel slightly bowed her head, "Of course, child."
ZIlarynn exited the hall and sprinted all the way back to the tavern and the safety of her room that sat above.
Thranduil held his head in his hands and massaged his temples. They had arrived just before dusk and began setting up their camp after a long day of travel; all he wanted now was to attempt to relax. He heard the soldiers finally settling in, and they were beginning to laugh and joke around the bonfire.
After they had made camp, Thranduil discarded his
"Aran nin (My King)?" Lord Allistair's voice came from the outside of his tent.
"Enter." Thranduil reclined back in his chair. Alistair entered and offered a respectful bow. "Did you inform the town elder's about the orcs we encountered along the edges of Fangorn Forest?"
"Yes, my Lord," Alistair said, "they will be increasing their security patrols around the perimeter of the village."
"Very good," Thranduil nodded, "Offer them our assistance of our soldiers to aid in the security."
"I will see it done."
A silence fell between the two; Thranduil looked toward the open entrance and the bonfire roaring outside. Alistair watched his King closely, "Are you well, my Lord?"
"I am simply weary from our travels," Thranduil explained, "tell me, have the wine carts been unloaded?"
"They have not," Alistair answered.
Thranduil arched an eyebrow, "Pity."
"If it is a drink you require, my Lord," Alistair continued, "I can venture to the tavern in the town and procure something for you."
Thranduil remained silent for a long moment, "That won't be necessary," Thranduil rose from his chair and removed his heavy outer robe, "I will accompany you."
"M- My Lord?" Alistair questioned. He watched as Thranduil changed his tunic into a simple green tunic. When he turned and looked at him, Alistair continued, "I don't know the security of this tavern. I cannot guarantee the safety of—"
"Nonsense," Thranduil interrupted Alistair with a wave of his hand, "I won't be going as the King of the Woodland Realm." At Alistair's confused expression, Thranduil smirked and walked over to his friend. With a wave of his hand, Alistair watched as a glamour transformed the Elvenking's blonde hair to a reddish-brown, "Because, for tonight, I will not be the King of the Woodland Realm."
Alistair couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head as the pair left the tent and slipped away from the camp. "I must admit," Alistair said as they made their way into the small village, "This reminds me of a time long past; sneaking out of the training barracks for an ale or two."
"If memory serves," Thranduil laughed, "You had tied up the third ellon in the room because he threatened to report us to the Captain."
"'You'?" Alistair stopped mid-stride and turned to his friend, "As I recall, you were the one who obtained the ropes so I could tie him up properly, mellon nin (my friend)." The pair laughed as they entered 'The Dancing Dragon' and took in the atmosphere.
They found an empty table by the front window and were almost immediately greeted by a buxom barmaid. Looking around, the tavern was full of rowdy Rahnshell townspeople and humans from Rohan. An occasional group of elves were scattered throughout the tavern but were much more subdued.
The barmaid returned with their drinks, and they had just settled in when two men at the bar started shouting at each other. One of the men punched the other and sent him careening into a nearby table, spilling drinks all over the floor. The man scrambled to his feet and lifted the man off his feet, and slammed him into a nearby wall, repeatedly punching him in the face.
Thranduil arched an eyebrow in amusement as he watched the two hulking barbarians as they continually punched each other. He grew concerned when both men drew swords, and he shifted in his chair. He saw Alistair grip the sword at his side from out of the corner of his eyes and followed suit, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword.
One of the men raised their sword to strike when a short sword spun through the air, pinning the man's sleeve to the wall. Thranduil audibly gasped at the sight of the short sword, the silver swirling design against the obsidian blade, and the black hilt.
"DARO! (STOP)"
Thranduil felt his breath catch in his throat. It's not possible, he thought to himself.
He knew her. The dark brown hair cascaded down her back, almost reaching the top of her leggings. Her harsh green eyes leveled a glare that could freeze all in its path.
Thranduil knew her.
Of course, he did.
He had killed her.