Title: First Sight
Chapter: 2: An Inauspicious Meeting
Author: Alkalphiel and The Scribe
Summary: Alkalphiel meets Legolas for the first time, with disastrous results.
Feedback: Yes, please! Post reviews or email alkalphiel@yahoo.com
A/N: The Scribe: Usual disclaimers apply. Here goes!
Alkalphiel: Many thanks to Lady Jerika, also known as Chatelaine, for her kind review. Here for you is more of my story!
~*~
"Mellaithwen, you are possibly my dearest friend. I trust you to the ends of Middle Earth - I'd do anything for you. But this is crazy! I won't do it!"
"Alkalphiel, come on. You look fantastic. Just go ask him to dance!" Mellaithwen's eyes lit up as an idea struck her. "Let's get a second opinion."
I looked up just in time to see the approach of Telepechorien. She and Mellaithwen were even closer to me than my sisters, and indeed might as well be part of my family. We'd grown up together and it was rare to find one of us without the other two. Not even Tele's recent marriage had done much to separate us, although it had certainly inspired my mother to new heights of matchmaking. It had simply added to our group - there, as expected, was Gorothfanaion following his wife. He had the unfortunate habit of becoming engrossed in the pleasantries he exchanged with many of the elves they passed, and then nearly running to catch up with Tele. Nonetheless, Gorothfanaion was an excellent husband and Mell and I approved the match.
"Telepechorien! Gorothfanaion! Over here!" Mellaithwen couldn't contain her enthusiasm any longer and hurried the couple over to us. "Now tell me honestly," she started with a wink, "don't you think that Alkalphiel should go ask that fellow to dance?" She pointed out a young guardsman, only a few hundred years older than we.
Telepechorien and Gorothfanaion nodded their concurrence. Tele winked at me and asked, "How could you possibly resist an elf in uniform?"
"Like this."
"Seriously, Alkalphiel. You need to meet new people! And your mother made me promise ."
"She made you promise?! Mell, you've been scheming with my family behind my back. Who else is in on this?"
Mellaithwen looked at me sheepishly. "Quellenarien is a very intimidating elf when she wishes to be."
"For the last time, Amme is not scary. There is nothing frightening about my mother." I sighed. "And please, I will dance with someone new. Almost any elf you might choose. But NOT that one. And do not ask me to explain."
Three baffled faces looked back at me. I hadn't told them of my unsuccessful relationship with Quellepaural, the very elf Mell had picked out for me to dance with. Indeed, my most recent romantic exploits and disaster had been hidden even from my family, thus leading my mother into the belief that I lived a life of isolation. And thus sparking the current endeavors of my nearest and dearest. I sighed again.
"All right, then, dance with him." Telepechorien pointed out a dark-haired elf, whirling by with a lady in his arms.
"With him? Do you know who that is?"
My perfectly reasonable question prompted Gorothfanaion's perfectly reasonable response. "Tanhuinëion."
"Indeed. The only one of my dear friends not to stoop to scheming and matchmaking. The elf who might as well be my twin brother. And, evidently, the elf who is quite enamoured of the Lorien maiden in his arms." Tanhuinëion's latest catch was one with the long wavy hair of Lothlorien. I knew that I would hear about her later, as I always did.
"Oh." Tele rarely allowed herself to look sheepish, but she did now. "I didn't realize that it was Tanhuinëion."
Mell spoke up. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I get to pick who our dear Alkalphiel dances with."
And my dread knew no bounds. "Mellaithwen, please."
"I pick . . . him!"
I couldn't bring myself to turn around and see who my new acquaintance was to be. "This is ridiculous. I am 2718 years old! YOU are nearly 2800! There is no need for such childish games. When you are ready to be an adult, you may join me. I'll be at the punch bowl." I strode off determinedly, wishing only to be left alone.
I hadn't reckoned with Mellaithwen's strong will. She was, perhaps, the only elf I knew more stubborn than I. "At least look and see who he is!" she demanded.
There was no choice. Mell had somehow managed to throw herself in front of me. It was either do as she asked, or wrestle her to the ground. I began rolling up my sleeves.
"I know what you're thinking, Alkalphiel. May I remind you that we are at a feast in the royal Palace of Mirkwood? That brawling is not something good Elven ladies do?"
"May I remind you that you will pay for this later?" I sighed for possibly the thousandth time that evening. "Let's see who he is."
Mell grasped my shoulders and pivoted me, declaring proudly, "There. Him!"
I gasped. "That . . . I must be mistaken. That's the prince!"
"Yes."
I've daydreamed as often as any other elf maiden about the Prince of Mirkwood. About being the one lucky elf destined to be his soul mate. About sitting beside him on the throne and running beside him in the woods. But that's all those ever were: daydreams. When I turned back to face Mellaithwen, some of my horror at the idea of imposing myself upon the prince must have made its way on to my face.
Mell's reaction was swift and decisive. "I've chosen. You are bound by your word, Alkalphiel. I have witnesses!"
"Mellaithwen, I cannot and you know that. Look at me! I would be an offense to the prince if I were merely to speak with him! I am the daughter of a swordsmith, no more. Not a lady. Not even beauteous. And my ears are too short."
"One need not be royalty to speak with royalty. King Thranduil and Prince Legolas are elves, the same as the rest of us. Do not make them more than what they are, Alkalphiel. Go, introduce yourself to the prince and ask him to dance."
It was easy for Mellaithwen to say such things. She was close kin to the royals of Mirkwood, and although she would never admit it, she was the daughter of courtiers. And she was lovely, white-blonde hair even lighter than the prince's and eyes the shade of a summer sky. Graceful ears, long legs . . . and then I had it. "YOU ask him to dance. Mell, you're much more suited to royalty than I am. Please, you do it. Pick someone more achievable for me."
Mellaithwen looked down.
I didn't wait for her response. I stepped around her and continued for the punchbowl. When she didn't follow me, though, a sense of foreboding entered my heart. Turning back I saw that Mell had indeed gone to speak with Prince Legolas . . . but she was pointing at me. He looked at me with his half-smile, and sheer panic filled me. Mellaithwen didn't know what she was doing.
My recent affair, if one could call it that, with Quellepaural had left me unwilling to believe that I had a soul mate. Meeting Quellepaural had seemed to be a life changing experience - I felt an instant connection to him, and he confessed to feeling strangely drawn to me. Shortly after he met, he was sent to Rivendell as part of an escort, but as soon as he'd returned, we'd spent the better part of an afternoon, an evening and a night dallying together. And then it ended. My guardsman no longer spoke to me; it seemed as if I were dead to Quellepaural. Because I couldn't ignore the feelings he'd stirred in me, my conclusion was that perhaps I didn't have a soul mate. There was something faulty about me, that I could feel so close, so quickly, to one who would only leave me.
Even setting aside my physical quirks, that internal failing was enough to make me unsuitable to meet Prince Legolas. Rumor said he was an elf of unusual sensitivity - what if I offended him with my defect? Or worse yet, what if those false soul mate feelings started again, deceiving me and perhaps also the prince? It could not be allowed. I looked up and saw him moving towards me, having been dispatched by Mellaithwen while I mused. I turned and bolted blindly for the punchbowl.
Unfortunately, I was closer my target than I anticipated. Rather than hiding behind it, I ran directly into the table, collapsing one of its legs and toppling the punchbowl all over myself. Sticky pale liquid cascaded over me. Peering through a gap in the hair now plastered to my face, I saw a hand extended to help me up. I took it without thought, rising and smoothing back my hair with my other hand.
Straightening, I looked up into the smiling face of my rescuer - Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.
Chapter: 2: An Inauspicious Meeting
Author: Alkalphiel and The Scribe
Summary: Alkalphiel meets Legolas for the first time, with disastrous results.
Feedback: Yes, please! Post reviews or email alkalphiel@yahoo.com
A/N: The Scribe: Usual disclaimers apply. Here goes!
Alkalphiel: Many thanks to Lady Jerika, also known as Chatelaine, for her kind review. Here for you is more of my story!
~*~
"Mellaithwen, you are possibly my dearest friend. I trust you to the ends of Middle Earth - I'd do anything for you. But this is crazy! I won't do it!"
"Alkalphiel, come on. You look fantastic. Just go ask him to dance!" Mellaithwen's eyes lit up as an idea struck her. "Let's get a second opinion."
I looked up just in time to see the approach of Telepechorien. She and Mellaithwen were even closer to me than my sisters, and indeed might as well be part of my family. We'd grown up together and it was rare to find one of us without the other two. Not even Tele's recent marriage had done much to separate us, although it had certainly inspired my mother to new heights of matchmaking. It had simply added to our group - there, as expected, was Gorothfanaion following his wife. He had the unfortunate habit of becoming engrossed in the pleasantries he exchanged with many of the elves they passed, and then nearly running to catch up with Tele. Nonetheless, Gorothfanaion was an excellent husband and Mell and I approved the match.
"Telepechorien! Gorothfanaion! Over here!" Mellaithwen couldn't contain her enthusiasm any longer and hurried the couple over to us. "Now tell me honestly," she started with a wink, "don't you think that Alkalphiel should go ask that fellow to dance?" She pointed out a young guardsman, only a few hundred years older than we.
Telepechorien and Gorothfanaion nodded their concurrence. Tele winked at me and asked, "How could you possibly resist an elf in uniform?"
"Like this."
"Seriously, Alkalphiel. You need to meet new people! And your mother made me promise ."
"She made you promise?! Mell, you've been scheming with my family behind my back. Who else is in on this?"
Mellaithwen looked at me sheepishly. "Quellenarien is a very intimidating elf when she wishes to be."
"For the last time, Amme is not scary. There is nothing frightening about my mother." I sighed. "And please, I will dance with someone new. Almost any elf you might choose. But NOT that one. And do not ask me to explain."
Three baffled faces looked back at me. I hadn't told them of my unsuccessful relationship with Quellepaural, the very elf Mell had picked out for me to dance with. Indeed, my most recent romantic exploits and disaster had been hidden even from my family, thus leading my mother into the belief that I lived a life of isolation. And thus sparking the current endeavors of my nearest and dearest. I sighed again.
"All right, then, dance with him." Telepechorien pointed out a dark-haired elf, whirling by with a lady in his arms.
"With him? Do you know who that is?"
My perfectly reasonable question prompted Gorothfanaion's perfectly reasonable response. "Tanhuinëion."
"Indeed. The only one of my dear friends not to stoop to scheming and matchmaking. The elf who might as well be my twin brother. And, evidently, the elf who is quite enamoured of the Lorien maiden in his arms." Tanhuinëion's latest catch was one with the long wavy hair of Lothlorien. I knew that I would hear about her later, as I always did.
"Oh." Tele rarely allowed herself to look sheepish, but she did now. "I didn't realize that it was Tanhuinëion."
Mell spoke up. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I get to pick who our dear Alkalphiel dances with."
And my dread knew no bounds. "Mellaithwen, please."
"I pick . . . him!"
I couldn't bring myself to turn around and see who my new acquaintance was to be. "This is ridiculous. I am 2718 years old! YOU are nearly 2800! There is no need for such childish games. When you are ready to be an adult, you may join me. I'll be at the punch bowl." I strode off determinedly, wishing only to be left alone.
I hadn't reckoned with Mellaithwen's strong will. She was, perhaps, the only elf I knew more stubborn than I. "At least look and see who he is!" she demanded.
There was no choice. Mell had somehow managed to throw herself in front of me. It was either do as she asked, or wrestle her to the ground. I began rolling up my sleeves.
"I know what you're thinking, Alkalphiel. May I remind you that we are at a feast in the royal Palace of Mirkwood? That brawling is not something good Elven ladies do?"
"May I remind you that you will pay for this later?" I sighed for possibly the thousandth time that evening. "Let's see who he is."
Mell grasped my shoulders and pivoted me, declaring proudly, "There. Him!"
I gasped. "That . . . I must be mistaken. That's the prince!"
"Yes."
I've daydreamed as often as any other elf maiden about the Prince of Mirkwood. About being the one lucky elf destined to be his soul mate. About sitting beside him on the throne and running beside him in the woods. But that's all those ever were: daydreams. When I turned back to face Mellaithwen, some of my horror at the idea of imposing myself upon the prince must have made its way on to my face.
Mell's reaction was swift and decisive. "I've chosen. You are bound by your word, Alkalphiel. I have witnesses!"
"Mellaithwen, I cannot and you know that. Look at me! I would be an offense to the prince if I were merely to speak with him! I am the daughter of a swordsmith, no more. Not a lady. Not even beauteous. And my ears are too short."
"One need not be royalty to speak with royalty. King Thranduil and Prince Legolas are elves, the same as the rest of us. Do not make them more than what they are, Alkalphiel. Go, introduce yourself to the prince and ask him to dance."
It was easy for Mellaithwen to say such things. She was close kin to the royals of Mirkwood, and although she would never admit it, she was the daughter of courtiers. And she was lovely, white-blonde hair even lighter than the prince's and eyes the shade of a summer sky. Graceful ears, long legs . . . and then I had it. "YOU ask him to dance. Mell, you're much more suited to royalty than I am. Please, you do it. Pick someone more achievable for me."
Mellaithwen looked down.
I didn't wait for her response. I stepped around her and continued for the punchbowl. When she didn't follow me, though, a sense of foreboding entered my heart. Turning back I saw that Mell had indeed gone to speak with Prince Legolas . . . but she was pointing at me. He looked at me with his half-smile, and sheer panic filled me. Mellaithwen didn't know what she was doing.
My recent affair, if one could call it that, with Quellepaural had left me unwilling to believe that I had a soul mate. Meeting Quellepaural had seemed to be a life changing experience - I felt an instant connection to him, and he confessed to feeling strangely drawn to me. Shortly after he met, he was sent to Rivendell as part of an escort, but as soon as he'd returned, we'd spent the better part of an afternoon, an evening and a night dallying together. And then it ended. My guardsman no longer spoke to me; it seemed as if I were dead to Quellepaural. Because I couldn't ignore the feelings he'd stirred in me, my conclusion was that perhaps I didn't have a soul mate. There was something faulty about me, that I could feel so close, so quickly, to one who would only leave me.
Even setting aside my physical quirks, that internal failing was enough to make me unsuitable to meet Prince Legolas. Rumor said he was an elf of unusual sensitivity - what if I offended him with my defect? Or worse yet, what if those false soul mate feelings started again, deceiving me and perhaps also the prince? It could not be allowed. I looked up and saw him moving towards me, having been dispatched by Mellaithwen while I mused. I turned and bolted blindly for the punchbowl.
Unfortunately, I was closer my target than I anticipated. Rather than hiding behind it, I ran directly into the table, collapsing one of its legs and toppling the punchbowl all over myself. Sticky pale liquid cascaded over me. Peering through a gap in the hair now plastered to my face, I saw a hand extended to help me up. I took it without thought, rising and smoothing back my hair with my other hand.
Straightening, I looked up into the smiling face of my rescuer - Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.