Chapter 5 - Laer
**
Laer
June 23 III 3017
It is Laer! It is Festival!
And even Vella's dark moods and Father's long absences cannot put a damper on the laughter and joy that ring throughout the Palace! The flowers blossom upon the sloping hills and the trees sing with their deep content; the animals care for their young, and the baby creatures venture out among the world for the very first time. Waking up each morning is an unbound happiness, surrounded by the golden streaming sun and blue blue skies. I try to find fault, and yet I cannot bear to bring myself to think bad of anything or anyone. Even when Vell threw a fit and hurled blue ink all over my new dress, I couldn't find the heart to get angry, which, oddly, seemed to infuriate her even more.
She has become erratic and unpredictable, restless in the worst way. She says the brightness of Laer makes her eyes hurt; it makes her head ache and pound, and her whole body shake with chills. Poor Vella, she skulks from one room to another, glaring all the time, while people give her wide berth as if she is afflicted with the plague. But even her mood cannot take the beauty of the world away during this season of Laer, during this time of Festival and brilliant Life. I am alive and it is Laer!
I am happy, if only for this time.
Until then,
Avaranthe
**
Avaranthe awoke from her slumber to the first day of the festival of Laer. The Festival, a tradition that took place once every year for one month during the middle of the summer season, was a time of joy and togetherness; a perpetual celebration in which the elves rejoiced the gift of Life and Immortality. Ava always loved the months of Laer, the summer season in which trees thrived and flowers blossomed; baby animals creeping away from their mothers for the very first time, feeding from the palms of maidens; blue blue skies echoing soft white clouds that held dreams which could suddenly be achieved.
She sighed, breathing in deeply of the crisp morning scent of sunshine and warmth. She basked in that early morning feeling of comfort and rest; that tingling that went straight down to her toes. A sudden memory of Legolas, Vella and herself rolling down hillsides covered with daisies back in their childhood crept into her mind, and an unbidden bubble of laughter escaped her lips.
It is a time for joy and laughter, she thought, grinning from ear to ear as she rose from her bed. As she made her way down to the gardens, she passed her older sister who stared sullenly at her bowl of oatmeal breakfast.
"What's wrong with you?" Vella muttered, scowling.
"I'm happy." Ava replied, smiling broadly. "And really, Vell, you should be too! It's the first day of Festival; a time to be happy."
Vella's eyes widened, surprised to see such happiness exhibited by Ava, who'd taken to sulking since the Prince had left.
"Sure." She said, shrugging. "Spare me the details."
"Oh Vella, you'd enjoy it if you only gave it a chance!"
"What rainbow caught and ate you up?" Vella demanded, wanting to know why Ava was in such a goddamn good mood while she, Vellesta, was stuck with a rain-cloud over her head. Ava glanced at her sister for a moment, wondering herself where the words that were coming out of her mouth came from; for that matter, where the happiness that shone from her found its source.
"I..umm...I don't know." She said, pausing to glance at the deep blue sky above. "I guess I feel...obligated."
"Obligated, hmm?" Vella said, pursing her lips and staring glumly at the bowl of oatmeal before her.
"Yes, obligated." Ava said slowly, the thoughts forming in her mind and in her heart. "I feel like I must be happy. Like....the time for happiness is running out, and I must catch it while it stays near."
Vella snorted, rolling her eyes. She spooned a glob of oatmeal, then watched it slowly drop back into the bowl with a squelch. Ava smiled thinly, shrugging.
"That is just how I feel this day. Perhaps, I am only being dramatic." She turned, walking away briskly.
Vellesta watched her little sister disappear into the green forest, the words circulating in her mind. ....Happiness...Time...Peace...Happiness...Joy...
Perhaps, what she felt, deep in the core of her being, was the exact opposite.
....Dread...Fear...Time...Running...Dread...Darkness...
She shivered despite the warm wind that blew gently into the dining room. She shook herself, closing and locking the door on the part of her that felt. The part of her that beat with Life; she had learned long ago to close the lock and forget that she could feel, that she had a heart, pulsing with life. It had become habit, to live without a heart; so much of a habit that she now awoke in the mornings and often had to wonder whether she was alive or dead, asleep or awake.
Asleep or awake, dead or alive...was there really a difference?
~
"Avaranthe." A loud booming voice filled the hallway, and startled, Ava whirled around right into Lord Delanthor.
"Father!" She exclaimed, smiling brightly. Lord Delanthor smiled as well, surprised and pleased to see the huge grin upon his youngest daughter's face. For weeks, he'd become accustomed to her sulking gaze, a distracted grimace at most. A smile suited her, he decided, it made her pale features brighten instantly and shine with an inner warmth. She was his daughter, the one who'd inherited his looks as well as his passions; the love of books and learning, the unsatiable hunger for knowledge. He'd missed her around, he thought whimsically, for the past weeks had been hectic and rushed and there had been little time to spend in the company of his daughters-well, one daughter.
Lord Delanthor was an old elf, old even by elven standards. He had seen much in his time and often found himself wishing his daughters to settle so that he may travel across the sea and be reunited with his love, the Lady Lelanna, once more. Though his proud, noble features hardly betrayed his years, the deep blue eyes that were the windows into his soul were filled with timeless knowledge and experience.
"Are you preparing for Festival this night Avie?" He asked, seeing her arms filled with bolts of clothe and jewels. Ava flushed, having stolen the jewels from Vella's collection and the bolts of clothe from the Palace linen closet.
"I have no dress, Father. It is a special occasion." She said meaningfully. "Anyway, the jewels Vella will not miss; she hardly even knows they're there."
Delanthor paused a moment, his gaze settling upon a silver chain adorned with only a simple white-gold pendant. He reached out hesitantly, as if even the mere touch of a slender-handed elf would instantly turn it to dust and crumble before his eyes. The expression in his eyes was unreadable and for a moment, Ava was afraid.
"Father?" She whispered, wanting to grab the chain and run; to get as far away from the pain so evident in her Father's eyes as possible. "Father! What is it?"
Shaking his head, Delanthor's deep eyes flickered to his daughter and seemed unrecognizable; the eyes of one who has sunken too deep and lost a part in the process of returning.
"I'm sorry, Avaranthe. I must be getting tired." He smiled thinly. "Hope that Vellesta does not notice the disappearance of her fine items."
"Of course, Father. I fear her wrath greatly." She replied wryly.
He smiled, patting her hand.
"I shall see you at Festival then. And you shall save a dance for me?"
His daughter smiled warmly, her elven beauty radiating in great waves of sunlight. Delanthor turned, drifting away as if still in a dream. Avaranthe watched her father leave, a sudden great weight in her heart. Glancing down at the chain, she wondered if it was cursed after all. That was what Vella had told her anyway.
With a shrug, Ava turned into her chambers and smiled, the brightness of Festival and Laer lifting her already high spirits.
~
The elven halls and courtyards were decorated by hanging lanterns and glistening fountains. Great pains were taken each year for the beauty and sheer magnificence of the Palace; elves worked day and night, stringing up lanterns and lights, arranging flowers and trees, hedging and pruning until a garden stood that was unsurpassed by any in Middle-Earth. It is said that even the hard-hearted dwarves of Moria make journeys to gaze upon the wonder-filled gardens of the Silvan elves during their season of Laer. And though a dwarf had never been seen in the Palaces of Mirkwood, the rumors grew and accumulated until it was said that the Dark Lord Sauron himself would fall, weeping, to the ground before of the beauty of the elves.
Ava took in the exquisite surroundings with awe in her eyes. Each year, a new design and layout was chosen so that one would never have to bear the same setting for Festival twice. This year, the Palace was decorated in the theme of sunrise and sunset, with lanterns and candles casting deep orange and purple glows and bright yellow sunflowers peeping out from behind screens of handcrafted silk. As night set, the glow of lanterns cast an eerie glow over the entire Palace, drawing the elves into a reverie.
With her long pale hair wound around her head into a circlet and wearing new dress, Ava felt quite the equal to the ladies that arrived one by one to the Great Hall that housed the dinner and the dancing that would go on for twenty-eight days straight. She had tried pulling Vella to accompany her, but the scowling elf-maid had declined with a thud of her slipper against the closed door.
"Avaranthe! Avaranthe Rivermoon!" She heard a voice calling her name and instantly turned, finding its source. Ilaya Louvres rushed up to her, her great azure eyes wide with awe and quiet contentment befitting to all unmarried elf-maidens.
"Isn't it wonderful, Avaranthe?" She said, her voice deep and gushing as she gestured towards the wide Hall alighted in shades of purple and red. "It's like some elven myth brought to life! It is beautiful this year, do you not think?"
Ilaya was a companion, if not a friend, and Ava nodded her agreement. The beautifully adorned elf was dressed in a deep lavender low-cut ensemble that brought out her eyes wonderfully and the accents in her pale blonde hair. The graceful arch of her neck rose from a low-collared neckline, showing just enough to ensnare even the most faithful elf lord. Ilaya was beautiful, as most elves went, and she knew it too. They had met each other at their first Festival, each braving the new experience with the support of the other. And though their friendship never lasted past the last day of Laer, Avaranthe was glad to see her once-a-year compatriot make an appearance once more; there was something deeply fulfilling in the continuous waves of routine and pattern.
"Oh, Avaranthe, look over there. It's Lord Melguire." Ilaya turned, her eyes huge. "Is he not handsome?" She tittered; Ava was reminded of a certain mocking imitation Vella had done of the ladies at court once, Ilaya sounded exactly the same. "Oh oh! And look, over there, it's Lady Akilliea. I so envy that gorgeous dress." Ilaya turned, her lips pursed. "I hear they say that she had it brought all the way from the lands of Valinor itself, though I hardly believe her tales." Ilaya smiled furtively, as if about to pass on a piece of confidential, coveted information. " She actually had the nerve to tell my sister that she was to marry Prince Legolas!" Ilaya rolled her eyes.
Ava glanced at the appointed elves, then smiled to herself.
"I do not actually think the Prince is yet betrothed."
"Oh, not to Akilliea for sure!" Ilaya said, shaking her head in a way that blatantly spoke other thoughts. "Come, let me introduce you to my dearest friend.." Ilaya took hold of Ava's arm and, linking it with hers, proceeded to drag the poor girl from one end of the Hall to the other, pointing out the latest gossip and news and stopping in between just long enough to exchange flirtatious smiles with the Lords she marked out as 'cream-of-the-crop'.
Finally, the dancing began. After a long exhausting meal seated next to Ilaya and a egotistical Lord Jonquin, Ava felt a certain giddiness on the dance floor. With a little too much elven wine in her, Ava even managed to enjoy Ilaya's non-stop gossip and chirping laughter.
"'My dearth Ilayath, allow meth to pressth my lipsth againsth your fair handst.." Ilaya paused, heaving a great sigh. "Was I the only one that wished to throw myself from the peaks of the Misty Mountains?!" Ilaya giggled, mocking the voice of an unfortunate lord named Belforam who, unluckily, spoke with a lisp. "Dear lord, I could hardly get away fast enough!"
"My dear, Ilayath!" Ava joined in, the wine making her giddy and bold. "Allow meth to kissth the hem of your dressth!" She bowed. Ilaya burst into giggles as did Avaranthe a moment later as she stumbled backwards. The two girls beamed, giggling, and with arms linked, sought out the noblest elf lords in the Palace.
Near midnight, the dancing was in full swing and couples began drifting out into the gardens to enjoy private moments in sheltered glazes. Ava, resting after a particularly quick waltz, watched Ilaya laughing in delight in the arms of her latest partner, some Lord Bryony. Ava felt a joy welling up in her being on this night when Vella was not around to ruin the mood; the lords and ladies had even begun casting glances in her direction, wondering at the appearance of this beautiful lady that had appeared from within the shadow of the "hell-bringer's" wake. Ava felt a smug satisfaction at their open-faced wonder; she'd show them 'normal'; she'd show them how ladylike a Rivermoon could be.
A breathless Ilaya fell gasping into a reclining sofa next to Ava. Lord Bryony smiled at both girls, hoping to hint at another dance, this time with the blue-eyed maid with the chiseled fine features. Ava, however, had other thoughts.
"Lord Bryony, would you, perhaps, get Lady Ilaya and I some pillows so we shall rest our feet?" She asked, the wine in her making her bold enough to flutter her eyes prettily as she had seen Ilaya do. Next to her, Ilaya burst into giggles at the outrageous request. Bryony, not wanting to become a serving boy yet enraptured by the suddenly wanton creature before him, fumbled for words.
"Uhhh...Lady Avaranthe...umm..." Bryony cursed himself for being tongue-tied. He was not a young elf, and was definitely not inexperienced in the ways of love! So why was this one making him confused and muddled? It was, he decided, the fact that she was two very different persons. One was Ava Rivermoon, the pale-faced shadow of that terrible Vellesta Rivermoon, the demon who terrorized the entire Palace. That Ava was boring and shy, stuck with her pert nose deep in a book and glancing up only to blush and stammer a few words in reply when spoken to. The lady before him was not that Ava, it was, in fact, a totally different person. This was Lady Avaranthe, a stunningly beautiful elf with aquamarine eyes and shimmering hair; the wine made her flush prettily, while her long eyelashes fluttered ever so prettily. She spoke with poise and confidence, and made ridiculous requests befitting to such a beautiful elf. Bryony decided he rather liked this new side of Avaranthe Rivermoon and made a mental note to watch her more often; she was, after all, the daughter of the very powerful and important Lord Delanthor Rivermoon who sat at the right hand of the King. It would never hurt to have such high associations.
"Well, Lord Byrony?" Ilaya sat up, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. "Shall we pass the honor onto another elf? Perhaps one more manly?"
Byrony stiffened.
"I am quite capable, my ladies." Bowing stiffly, he turned and began a search for some pillows. Ilaya burst into quiet giggles, leaning back against Ava and studying Byrony's retreating form.
"I have to say, Avaranthe, he is not lacking, that for sure!"
"A little shallow, don't you think?" Ava said, thinking of the way Byrony's eyes had skimmed her over, his dark eyes probably planning a thousand different ways to use her family name to enhance his own status.
"I'm talking surface, my dear." Ilaya said. Ava smiled, understanding the tease.
"Oh I see. Well then, I really have nothing to say against that."
"I didn't' think so." Suddenly, Ilaya sat up. "Quick, quick. Straighten your skirts, you're hair! Look who's glancing this way!" The elf-maid began patting her hair, adjusting her long skirts to perfection. She gazed, not too often, in the general direction of her cause of concern.
Ava sat up straighter, putting on her best demure smile. The two girls sat perfectly still, their expressions distant yet peaked, as the elven lady passed with her group of followers and admirers. Ava let out a breath after she had passed, feeling as if her entire being had been compressed into one cubic centimeter; she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Ilaya turned to her,
"The Lady Amethys!" She whispered loudly, "they say she's the most beautiful elf to ever have graced Middle-Earth." She said earnestly, her eyes trailing the retreating noble, brazen envy in her eyes.
Ava studied the great lady from a distance, a certain growing pit of apprehension in her stomach. Lady Amethys certainly befit her name, for her eyes were the color of amethysts, a deep violet-blue framed by impossibly dark long lashes. Her slender, yet curvaceous figure, was adorned with crystals and sapphires given to her as gifts from suitors. Silvery hair glistened down her back in rivulets of streaming waves, enhanced only by a thin circlet of pure gold. Perfectly carved features accented each other to create a masterpiece of artwork. At least ten prospective suitors followed her trail, their eyes full of adoration. Avaranthe thought that if one man looked at her the way twenty gazed at Amethys, she might cross over the sea quite happy after all.
"She is...quite beautiful." Ava said, the words choking in her throat.
"Quite beautiful?" Ilaya turned, her eyes round. "They say even orcs could not bear to lay eyes on her when she passed their midst." Ilaya swooned with the romance of it all. "... that the Dark Lord himself grovels at her feet; Avaranthe, this is no ordinary lady!"
Looks ordinary to me, Ava thought with a sniff. But then, she realized she was being petty and jealous so she stopped to study the Lady more carefully. If there was a social circle to belong to in the elven court of Mirkwood, it was Lady Amethys' circle no doubt.
"Perhaps she will come speak to us!" Ilaya said, hope tinting the lyrical quality of all elven voices.
No such luck, however, for Lady Amethys proceeded onwards towards the moonlit gardens with half a dozen suitors beside her. Ava shrugged, the deep sense of longing never leaving her. The night drove onward; Festival had begun.
~
Vellesta sat silently in the treetops, the night ticking by so slowly that she had begun to count the leaves that surrounded her. The sounds of Festival echoed dimly from the Palace and Vella knew, from experience, that the dancing would continue well into dawn and daybreak. Already, a week had passed of the god-awful Festival of Laer, and instead of becoming accustomed to the constant cheery mood of her younger sibling and all those around her, Vella was starting to become more and more irritated; at the smiling and laughing, at the secret grins and all-out chuckles. It was too damn sunny, she decided.
And so, the elf had taken to escaping the palace and heading into the dark woods alone, as if distance itself would put her mood to rest. Vellesta lay back against the rough bark of the beech tree and gazed up through the leaves, counting the sparkling stars above. A part of her longed to join the festivities, to experience the joys of Festival as the other ladies did. A part of her longed to be normal (really!); normal and beautiful and accepted.
Of course, that part never won out and instead, Vella stared at the stars and dreamed of adventure in faraway lands in which her skills as an archer and tracker would be highly valued rather than looked down upon; where others would not judge her by her beauty, but rather, by her spirit; where courage and heart meant life or death; where love was a thing shown by actions rather than by poems. Vella chuckled, knowing herself to be a fool to even dream of such a place, of such a life.
"And yet, Mother, you spoke of a place as such, didn't you?" Her voice echoed clear and soft through the midnight velvet. She imagined each word wrapped in a gauze of clouds and star-shine, whisked high over the mountains and the sea, to the ears that would hear and understand so faraway in the lands of Valinor.
"You told me of a world where I will be accepted for what I can do and be, rather than who I am." For a moment, Vella had the urge to burst into tears. Imagine, the hell-bringer in tears; even she had to laugh afterwards.
"Mother..." She said softly, thinking of the one who had always listened and understood, the one who had crept away from home as a maiden and traveled the world at the side of the elf who would one day be her husband. Vella closed her eyes and brought up a picture of the Lady Lelanna. Dark hair like hers and flashing green eyes. 'My green-eyed one, the witchery in you comes from me.', Mother had said, one night as Vella had cried dry tears into her bosom, hearing the taunts of the palace elves deep in her heart. Be proud, Mother said, always proud. And take care of those you love most, she had said, just days before she'd passed over.
"I'm wallowing again." Vella muttered, listening to the distant cheers from the Palace. She turned away from the Palace and climbed higher for a better view, so close to the night sky that she could imagine reaching out to teach those silver-tinted gems in the sky. She shut down her heart and her passions and instead, turned to how much she hated Festival and all its participants once more. That, at least, didn't hurt. That, at least, included no pain.
No more pain, Vella vowed, no more.
