Chapter Six
"My Lord, your father desires to speak with you." Thranduil's vassal delivered his short message to the Prince as he and Yavanna were slowly dancing through a waltz. Legolas obediently made a quick parting promise to Yavanna before making his way through the sea of dancers to his father.
"I wish you to ask the Lady Ëmara to dance. She is my personal guest and therefore yours as well…extend her the courtesy of a dance, for I daresay she has not touched the floor all night." Amidst the ever-swelling throng of elves and occasional foreign guests, Legolas had lost sight of Ëmara and had rather tried to forget her presence until his father's request. With hesitation, he began to slowly scan the crowd, taking no time in spying the dark red dress, more visible against the grays, greens, and pastels of the regular court.
She stood apart from all others, staring pensively at a large tapestry of the finest woven silk that stood displayed against a wall of the room. The picture it boasted was of the forest Lorien and the elves that lived there, moving about their daily lives in happiness and harmony. Ëmara's face denoted irony and cynicism as the hard lines of her brow came to a sharp point above the bridge of her nose. As Legolas approached, she spoke without glancing away from the tapestry.
"You need not ask, I do not desire to dance." The same chilling sensation crawled underneath his skin as he made the connection in his mind that her gift of seeing his thoughts must be accompanied by the coldness. Without daring to allow her the satisfaction of having the upper hand, he continued to approach her until he was right beside her.
"My request has already been refused? Why did you come to the ball if not to dance?" She turned from the tapestry and her heavy gray eyes fell upon his own deep navy irises. Her eyes however, were no longer a flat and lifeless gray, but a mass of teeming color; violets were mixing with blues which in turn were mixing with slates mixing with hazels. An opus of color spread itself beneath her lashes and filled his eyes with wonderment, as she was quick to notice, and once again, as if by magic, her eyes returned to their natural dull gray.
"I came to the ball at the insistence of your father…how can I refuse my King and captor?" Indignation rose in Legolas' voice to hear his father talked of in such a way as he spoke:
"Captor? How dare you speak of my father in such a manner, due to what offense does he merit such a base title?" Ëmara looked over his shoulder at where Thranduil now stood, talking intently with Yavanna and pointing in their direction.
"Then you say that I am free to leave this forest as and when I wish?" To her tone she now added a bit of scathing anger mixed with frustration. 'Ah, so that is it…the cage of Mirkwood has snapped about her and left her quite alone.' Legolas' face showed no signs of his revelation as he continued the conversation.
"Who is to stop you? You with all of your…powers?" A smile curled her lips as she turned her eyes upon the host of dancers now laughing merrily at a couple dancing to a very lively jig.
"Do you so carelessly sign the death warrants of so many? Is it your place…Prince of Mirkwood…to decide the fate of these people?" Her voice fell from its mocking tone into one of heavy sadness in a matter of seconds, evoking a deep sense of confused pity in Legolas. "I do not wish to harm this people…these…elves are such beautiful creatures and there are too many to die. Believe that any attempt of my escape would lead to your father's pursuit and the deaths of many." Fear paled Legolas' face as he desired more and more with each word that passed from her lips to ask the thousand questions that were running through his mind. The coldness shot through his body quickly and he noticed Ëmara's smile had returned.
"Save your questions, they will not be answered by me. I shall offer this one bit of advice however, to know the secrets of the past, you must find the keys of the future…and they lie in the hands of Leomë. I take my leave." She began to walk away, when Legolas called out for her to stop.
"I do not understand the things you have told me…nor do I fully understand by what power you have taken over my thoughts. I do know however, that I still seek your hand for a dance…and I shall not be refused." Ëmara was the one to be taken aback this time as she quizzically rationalized her own thoughts towards the persistent prince.
'There is nothing of attraction, for if I am not mistaken he finds me quite harsh and far too crude looking for his personal liking. For what purpose does he so desire a dance? For his father's sake? If for his father why does he not say so…unless I have been wrong in my assumptions…' She flew into his thoughts again, only to find them muddled and confused, a din of raging emotions so loud she could not bear the strain upon her own mind and so drew upon the only conclusion she could conjure.
"Why so persistent? Surely you care nothing for me?" Legolas laughed shortly and assured her he did not. As soon as the words left his mouth however, a small sliver of doubt lodged itself immovably in his mind and began to work its way imperceptibly towards his heart.
"I merely desired a dance, not an engagement." Ëmara sighed, and realizing that a simple yes would prevent a hundred annoying entreaties, she slipped her arm through his and allowed him to escort her to the dance floor.
Their ears were met by the final Imiliá of the evening as the crowd split and allowed them to enter into the middle. Legolas led her with ease, all the while feeling her mind advance and retreat from his thoughts as the point of contact between their bodies at their fingertips grew cold.
"Do you know the Imiliá My Lady?" Ëmara nodded, recognizing the opening bars of what was widely known amongst the elves as one of the most difficult and yet exhilarating dances of the kingdoms. It was normally danced by experienced couples for entertainment, however, the appearance of the prince with the strange lady in red had caused a murmur in the crowd as all stood aside and allowed them room.
Legolas extended his cursory bow and she in turn responded with a low curtsy, nearly bringing her head to the floor. All eyes turned towards the couple as their bodies met, clasping at the hands and stepping off with vigor into the first moves of the Imiliá.
Ëmara could no longer watch the thoughts of the Prince's mind as her own energy was being channeled into the dance, a dance which was quickly becoming overexerting but which she refused to back down from. The room pivoted and swayed with the motion of her body as they quickly moved from turn to turn, sometimes ending with a sudden halt or a low dip. Everything was moving too quickly, the colors and lights and eyes and bodies were flashing before her eyes, producing a dizzying spectrum she could no longer focus upon.
Legolas felt her moves become sluggish as he remembered her sickness and signaled for the minstrels to play another song while he escorted her from the floor. The room quickly filled again with the rustle of dresses and the lull of laughter as Legolas assisted Ëmara from the hall and towards her bedchamber.
"I did not need your pity. I have strength enough to dance a simple Imiliá!" She opened her fingers quickly and his grip upon her wrist was released. Legolas made a motion to grab her arm again, but this time thought the better of it, instead saying:
"Your indignation and anger are without reason! I know now your heart holds neither pity nor compassion…you are bent to survive alone…and alone you shall be." With that he left her in the hall, returning to the dancing as his heart burned with sadness and regret.