Okay kids, here it is, chapter 16. Sorry it took so long. Expect maybe four or five more chapters before the end.
Chapter 16
"Éoden, you can stand in front of that mirror for hours, but nothing is going to change!"
Thengel was tired of waiting for his friend, who'd been primping in front of the mirror for what seemed like years. The feast at the Golden Hall would begin soon, and still Éoden fretted over his appearance.
"I bet even your lady friend does not waste this much time getting ready," Thengel grumbled, slumping forward on the firm cushions of the couch in Éoden's small home.''
At his friend's comment, Éoden visibly started, but tried to pretend as if the statement had no effect on him. But it was too late. Thengel had noticed his reaction.
"Ah, so now I understand. Worried about what the lady will think of you, eh?" Thengel said, standing to lurk behind Éoden. "Don't worry darling, you look beautiful," he said, his voice rising mockingly to sound feminine as he shook his friend's shoulders good-naturedly.
"Besides, no matter how hard you try, you won't look prettier than she does. Gods, she is beautiful."
Ever observant, Thengel caught the jealousy as it flashed through Éoden's eyes. Still, he dismissed it with a laugh.
"Suppose I shall have to be more careful about talking about her in your presence. I didn't realize the depth of your feelings," he said, the merriment bleeding from his voice as Éoden sighed.
But, when Éoden stayed silent, Thengel could only answer with his own exasperated sigh as the threw himself back onto the couch. He watched the shadows march across the floor. They shifted to obscure a new place as the sun sank into the horizon, and still Éoden was silent. The room darkened until the reflection in the mirror was no longer distinguishable from the surrounding gloom.
Sitting in the dark, Thengel grew more and more frustrated until finally he stood, lit a torch on the wall, and near shouted, "Talk to me, Éoden!"
In response, Éoden turned to face his friend, anxiety creasing his face around his eyes and mouth.
"I do not even know who she is, Thengel. She is silent, nameless, without laughter, and yet she possesses my mind."
Thengel nodded sagely, and thought on this for a moment. Finally he asked, "Do you love her?"
Éoden paused, thinking, and sat down heavily on his couch, next to Thengel. "No," he said softly, "I do not. But I could, Thengel. I could, and it would not take much to move me to such an emotion. If I but knew her name..." His voice drifted into silence, the words spinning up to join the twisting smoke of the sputtering torch.
"You'll not learn it here, sitting on this couch," Thengel said merrily. "Besides, all this laying about will wrinkle your dress, sweeting!"
With this last playful jab directed at his friend, Thengel jumped up from the couch. "Come on!" he said, walking toward the doorway, "The night has only just begun and there are festivities waiting at the Golden Hall!"
The sounds of music and laughter greeted the two men as they ascended the wide stone steps to the Hall. The giant columns glittered as if with golden dust under the pale light of the moon and the tremulous illumination of the torches set to guide the guests into the feast. Under this torchlight, Éoden paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. He could hear Thengel's deep-throated laugh behind him, and lurched forward as he slapped Éoden good-naturedly in the back. At this none-so-gentle provocation, Éoden took the remaining few steps into the Hall, blinking at the sudden wash of light and color.
In the wide, open space, couples danced to a slow, lilting melody, their colorfully dressed bodies forming an interweaving pattern like so many vibrantly-toned ribbons. Amongst the sea of blurred faces, Éoden recognized a few, but skirted the group to walk toward the throne.
Upon the throne sat the King, dressed in royal finery, and looking uncomfortable in it. He was meant for warfare, Éoden mused, a private smile decorating his face. Beside the King sat his wife, radiant in the torchlight. He held one of her hands, delicately, as if she could be easily broken. But, her face glowed with health and she sat straight, a fur-trimmed robe, the color of the sky at dawn, draped about her shoulders. Though this would be her first child, she handled the pregnancy with determined strength.
Below the King, at his left, sat the lady, the silk of her gown spilling upon the stone steps on which she reposed. In vain, he tried to ignore her as he bowed to the King and Queen.
"You are late, my lord Éoden," Lothiriel said, as he fell to one knee before her. She leaned forward, her face next to his, and whispered, "But you look quite handsome. For the lady, hmm?" She inclined her head toward the lady, a sparkle in her eyes.
To deny it would be foolish, but to admit it would be equally so.
He leaned back and smiled, "How could I stand before so beautiful a queen in anything less than my best?"
The honest smile she returned this comment with proved that she was little fooled by his evasion, but flattery kept her quiet.
"There is food and drink if you desire it, my friend," Éomer said, gesturing with an open palm toward heavily-laden tables.
"No thank you, my lord," Éoden replied, standing. "I am not yet hungry."
The casual banter ceased and Éoden turned toward the lady before again speaking to the King. Or rather, he opened his mouth to speak but was met by a knowing look and an open hand.
"Say no more, my friend. You wish to spend your time elsewhere. This I understand."
"Thank you, my Lord," Éoden said, then descended the few stairs to greet the lady.
No sooner had he bowed to her than a new melody began, lively, and yet haunting. Words seemed unnecessary as the music expressed anything he needed to say. Silently, he extended one hand, wordlessly asking her to dance. She hesitated for only a moment before gently placing her hand in his. Her eyes widened and met his, perhaps surprised with her own boldness. But as he helped her to her feet, she calmed and the look in her eyes softened from surprise to contentment.
The soft material of her gown rustled as it settled around her. Éoden took a step back, still holding her hand, and took a long moment to admire her.
She was dressed in lilac-colored silk which fell off her shoulders to rest on the pearly skin of her upper arms. Wide, silver straps held up the draping folds of the gown's front, contrasting with the dark gray of her eyes and the black of her hair. These long strands were loosely pulled back and held in place with a clasp of two silver leaves whose stems met and looped together, holding thin silvery chains which fell in an interlocking pattern down the back of her head. She sparkled as she moved, her entire body shimmering. The purple silk glowed in the torchlight, and the net of pearly beads that wrapped around her hips shattered the light into effulgent beauty.
"You look positively lovely, my lady," Éoden said softly, sincerity shining in his voice.
A flattered blush bloomed on her cheeks and she nodded in thanks as he led her toward the open dance floor. A great many of the couples had left it, to partake in the feast, leaving only a few to share in the beautiful song.
Slowly, he pulled her closer, until they were merely a hair's width apart, and placed his free hand on her lower back. Without hesitation, she placed her left hand on his right shoulder and waited for him to take a step. And as he did so, Éoden found himself entranced. The lady moved as gracefully and silently as a shadow, as smoothly as water. She followed his steps confidently, even as they became more complicated.
The music reached a swelling pitch, and Éoden responded by turning the lady in a slow spin, held out at arm's length. Time seemed to slow as she turned under his hand. Her beauty was unmatched by any in the room, and did not go unnoticed. Indeed, almost every male eye turned to catch her as she moved. Even the King watched as Éoden pulled her back into his arms, just in time for the music to slow and the last notes, fade.
The silence did not last long as a new, slower melody began. As if moving merely on instinct, Éoden dropped the lady's hand to place both of his on her waist. No longer nervous, no longer hesitant, she wrapped both her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.
They danced almost without moving, the music a soft whisper in the background. For the thousandth time, Éoden wished he knew the woman in his arms. The intelligence in her eyes, the depth and mystery, captivated him, but these were little more than vague ideas. He wanted to know details, history, truth. He wanted to learn the reason for the sadness in her eyes and thus be able to forever banish it. He felt himself her protector, the one who would always care for her. Someday, she would share her past with him. Of this, he was certain.
Taking one of her hands from about his neck, he stepped in closer and gently bent her backward from the waist, responding to the low tones of the music. She leaned into his arm, confident of its strength and let her head fall back, lifting it as he pulled her up to him again, just as the melody ended. Her eyes were amused, perhaps because of having noticed his pattern of a last flourish as the music ended, saving the dramatic motions for the finale.
But, just as suddenly as the amusement had lit her eyes, it was replaced by an indecision he could not understand, nor explain. Her eyes darted away from his, scanning the room in quick movements before at last settling back on his. The anxiety left them and was replaced by assurance, leaving him still confused.
The muscles of her cheek twitched slightly, quivering as if she were about to cry. But, when Éoden raised a hand to her cheek, concerned, a soft smile broke out on her face.
A smile! As if unsure how to form her lips to such a display of joy, her smile spread slowly, until it lit her face with unbridled happiness.
His hand still on her cheek, Éoden stood awestruck. Never before had pleasure proven itself in any way save through her eyes. Yet now, as he held her in his arms, she smiled, a true, genuine smile.
The smile faltered when still he did not respond, but he quickly moved to amend this. His hand drifted down her cheek, toward her mouth, and gently touched her lips, wonderment in the featherlight caress. His eyes seemed fixed on his thumb, which moved slowly across her bottom lip, before they jumped up to search the gray depths of her stare. Wanting to soothe the uncertainty there, wanting to tell her of his wonderment, he threw his arms about her waist and lifted her into the air, a rich laugh pouring from him.
Still holding her aloft, he spun on the dance floor laughing, even more pleased as the smile which had shown so briefly, broke out anew on her face. Ever brighter, she smiled down at him, her hands on his shoulders, supporting her.
"She smiles!" he said, speaking only to her as he twirled her about.
The soldiers who knew the lady as smileless turned as they heard Éoden's jubilant cry. Amazed laughter, hearty cheering, and wondered clapping filled the hall as they beheld the ever-grim lady's face shining with a perfect smile. Still clapping, they watched as Éoden gently put her down and touched her cheek softly. Only when they say that Éoden was speaking softly to her did they cease their noise-making and turn back to quiet conversation.
"I do not know what has brought on this sudden display," he whispered, his fingers gently stroking her skin, "But I am not embarrassed to say that it pleases me to no end. Would that I could keep a smile ever on your face," he sighed, pulling his hand away.
In response, she frowned as if worried, and took his hands in hers, squeezing them assuringly. She let go one of his hands to touch his cheek, as softly as the brush of a moth's wing. Holding his eyes within her own, she nodded almost imperceptibly, but the meaning still shone clearly.
Again smiling, she leaned in and kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek and then pulled back, turning a slow circle to walk away from him and the party, seeking the solace of her rooms.
Entranced and mute, he raised a hand as if to touch the mark of her lips, only to find that his hand had stopped midway to his cheek.
The kiss had been a friendly one, one that signified nothing more than gratitude.
His hand still hovering in the air, air that had suddenly grown heavier, Éoden stood in the center of the dance floor, listening as the music slowly died.
Thanks for the reviews. Keep 'em comin'!!! :) How is the pacing? Rushed? Tell me.