Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Esgalromen, Melodie, and EMerald Queen for your lovely reviews on Chapter 5. Reviews are truly one of the best parts of writing fan-fiction!

EMerald Queen: You poor kid! Never getting to see the stars! I live in the woods, so I see them every night...also, I'm aware that "Legolas" is correctly translated "Greenleaf". "Green-ears" is just his brother's joke...sort of like calling "Brittney" "Bratt-ney".

The only Sindarin word used in this chapter is "glî", which means "honey". I'm not sure if Tolkien's Elves would have used it in the same context as I have, but you never know!

Also, Tolkien doesn't say if there was dancing or not...I like to think there was!

My next update probably won't be until this weekend..I have a long week ahead of me.

Rated for angst, this is over for the most part. If ratings went by chapters, this one would be "G".

---Aranel

aranels@hotmail.com

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Chapter 6---Sparkles at Dusk

Thilómë worked her fingers through her hair, separating out a section to plait. Working in front of the mirror, she studied her reflection for a moment. Had she always looked so tired? Sighing, she started the braid. She certainly felt tired; she had for a long time. It wasn't a weak feeling, really. No, it was a drained feeling. She had figured that and much more out long ago. The problem was how to rid herself of it.

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Thranduil hummed as he pulled a dark green robe out of the wardrobe. How he loved Fall Feasting! Night after night of food, song, and dance in the forest or upper halls! Why, this very day he'd ridden out with a hunting party in search of game to roast over a blazing fire. The thoughts of juicy venison and partridge---not to mention wine---nearly made him dizzy. Pulling the robe on, he turned and caught sight of something else that made him feel just as lightheaded.

"You look like a star dropped from the heavens," Thranduil stepped over to his wife, taking in the sight before kissing her. Thilómë had so many jewels pinned into the silver braids piled around her head that she seemed to sparkle. Emeralds---his favorite. They hung around her neck and across her forehead. And---mmm! The smell of the tender white blooms woven into her hair was sweeter than any perfume she had ever worn. Thranduil bent to kiss her again, "Can you still dance with so many gems on your person?"

Thilómë gave him a wry smile, "Of course I can." She wondered to herself, though, how long she'd be able to keep it up tonight.

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Legolas sat on the grass, picking flowers and leaves out of his little circlet. He didn't like having the thing on his head, but every time he pulled it off, his mother shoved it back on. "Legolas, glî, eat your food," she adjusted it yet again, then handed him his plate.

Just then his father waltzed by, taking his mother's hand, "Come, love, and dance with me!" Off they glided, clapping in time with the song in the air.

Legolas ignored his food and looked around. So many people! The whole clearing was full of them, clapping and singing, playing harps, eating and talking, dancing and laughing. And the fires! They blazed warm and friendly, and the little lights the people carried twinkled in the night. There was his mother, her whole head sparkling, and his father, the jewels on his robes catching the lights with a gleam, a garland of scarlet leaves twined around his head. Aldandil, too, was dancing, flitting between the people, a blur of silver and green glints.

Well, if they were all going to dance, then he must too! He got up from the ground, already caught up in the music. He wasn't sure of the song's words, so he hummed and clapped, hopping towards his whirling parents.

"Ah, here is the only 'Green-leaf' left in the forest tonight!" Thranduil caught sight of his younger son skipping around. Laughing, he picked the child up, glad he hadn't gotten lost in the crowd.

As his parents twirled through the steps of another dance, Legolas felt the air rush past him and the bounce of his father's steps. He continued to clap, listening to the voices of the people gathered in the forest. He heard something else too, other voices, also singing. Was that the trees? Yes! The trees were singing, not the same song, but one that seemed to flow with that of the elves. He let the music fill his head, delighted.

Thilómë smiled, putting her hands together in the air above her head. Her sons, not to mention her husband, were certainly enjoying themselves. She glanced over at Aldandil, prancing and laughing with a circle of young elves. Legolas was still wide awake, his eyes sparkling. Sparkling? She paused a moment, looking harder. Yes, the child was absolutely shining.

"Is something the matter?" Thranduil had noticed his wife's break, and it was strange for Thilómë to miss a step.

A pleasant, musical laugh filled the air as Thilómë tipped her head back with a smile, "No, everything is wonderful!"

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The evening had been more excellent than Thranduil expected it to be. His people had enjoyed themselves thoroughly, thrilled with the opportunity to feast, celebrate, and revel in the forest. And this was only the first of many nights! He put an arm around his wife's shoulders as they walked across the stone bridge over the Forest River on their way back to the palace. It was so good to see her enjoy herself so much. When was the last time he had seen her so happy? Why, tonight she had danced far into the night, and she had even laughed. Not her usual quiet laugh, but a now rare, long, light vibration that reminded him of silver bells.

How he loved that sound! It had caught his attention so many years ago, when he had returned home, depressed and tired. Yes, the Last Alliance had been successful and Sauron had been overthrown, but not without a price. Gil-galad, high king of the Noldor, was dead; Elendil, king of Men, was dead; and Oropher, king of Greenwood the Great, was also dead. His father.

Taking up his father's position had not been easy, but the task couldn't be avoided. The days, not to mention the nights, had been long and purposeless. His only comfort was the wood, the voices of the trees, the sweet forest air. And then there was Thilómë.

He had caught that sparkle at dusk one night, her silver hair catching the moonlight as she walked along the edge of the river. Surprised, he had asked why she was out so late.

"The river is so still tonight," she had responded, "And the stars never look as beautiful as they do reflected in the water." He had glanced into the water then, and she was right, the wavery bits of light had a particular appeal. He had seen, also, her reflection, framed with those stars. It seemed as though he had never beheld anything so lovely before. He told her so.

And then she had laughed. He wasn't sure why, but the sound was just as beautiful as the stars, as her reflection, as the love that he started feeling for her.
He looked into the water again now, and there were the stars, their reflections glimmering. Funny, the river was hardly ever this still.