AN: Hey this has to be a first! I'm updating a story on time! All things considered, this is probably a good thing. My computer's been acting up all week so I wasn't even sure I'd be allowed to get on-line this week. Maybe having my computer all weird for a few days got this update up faster. I doubt my dad would be happy with that assumption, though. He's the one who had to call someone to get it fixed, though I figure he was the one who broke it in the first place. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and for putting up with the science in the previous chapter. I'm trying to cut down on the amount of science related stuff in the story or at least, the really super technical stuff. Again, thanks for the reviews, keep them coming!
LJP: That is a most excellent way of scaring your ex. Sort of a surprise in the extreme, really. Legolas will come back in a short while though I am confused by Ashes. I'm sorry but I'm not sure what you mean.
Elven Script: Oh there'll be some bashing in the future. Both verbal and physical (though only a little since I'm sure it's a crime to bash royalty or something), actually. I'm glad you liked the idea of brining back Legolas' mother. I just figured it would be something interesting to mess with between classes when I wrote this story. Don't worry; Thranduil will get what he deserves. If not from Legolas or Algernil, then from someone else who has every right to be upset with him.
(AN: The pieces of music I'm using as a template for this section- Since there's some minor dancing- are "Spotty Monster" and "Angels in America (Main Title)." That really only because those are two pieces of music I was sort of forced into listening an inhuman number of times this year in one of my dance classes. Any other piece of music can do too, though. Whatever you, my friendly reader, have in mind should work just as well!)
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for a handful of made up characters. Tolkien thought up the concept and, as such, it belongs to him. I'm just playing in his world. I'm broke and in Graduate School. All I own are Pointe Shoes.
Though Thranduil was mildly disturbed by Algernil's return- He had, like everyone else in his domain, believed she was long dead. - he tried his best to make her return seem like a normal occurrence. Like it was an everyday thing for dead queens to come back to life and walk, once again, through the places they had walked before. There was no denying the tension that existed between the pair, the unspoken, unsaid things between them that had taken place while Algernil lay dead.
He was evasive on many topics, including how Emma came to be and why the shadow was slowly but surely receding over Mirkwood, much to Algernil's annoyance. She wanted to know the truth and he was treating her like a child made of glass. The slightest jarring would cause her to shatter. To break in a million small, irreparable pieces.
Apparently, he had forgotten that she was a whole lot stronger than she looked and that unanswered questions would just breed more of the same inquiries. What questions Legolas could answer, the boy did while his younger sister watched with careful eyes. Careful but curious really, as if she wanted to know something but she was scared to say anything. She didn't seem to want to bring something up, though her eyes were asking the question for her.
Despite all the tension and the innate strangeness of the situation, Thranduil called for a feast to be had. Every elf from the kingdom found him or herself invited to the occasion. The celebration of the queen once dead and of the miracle that had brought her back to life. Though, on the latter subject's end, Thranduil failed to invite the person who had brought Algernil back to life.
In the richly decorated space- one of the largest chambers in Mirkwood- there was much singing and dancing, and, of course, feasting. The merry atmosphere was infectious, seemingly permeating the air throughout the space. Everyone seemed to be in the highest of spirits, from the oldest elven male who recalled when the king and queen had been newly wed to the youngest of elven children who had only heard stories about the king's wife and her rather quizzical ways.
Sitting at the head of the hall, at a raised table before the gathered crowd, was the ruling family. Well, most of said family anyway. Legolas sat to his father's left, staring at the crowd with an almost wishful expression on his face. He wanted to be out among the merrymakers, not stuck playing the expected role as prince. Algernil, who was sitting to her husband's right, wore much the same expression on her face. There was something else there, though. A sort of mischief that she always seemed to be residing in her face where Thranduil was concerned.
"Three chairs, Thranduil dear? Where does your daughter sit?" she asked, seemingly wondering aloud.
Legolas shook his head, stifling a laugh. He knew full well that the question was not one asked out of some kind of vague curiosity. Not in the least. This question was asked with a specific purpose, a particular reason. His mother was putting his father on the spot, watching to see how he'd react to such a question at such a time. She was trying to gauge his response to her inquiry.
"What daughter?" he replied, with a great deal of annoyance in his voice.
With responses like that, Algernil understood why Emma was so skittish around her. She was an unknown quantity and a member of the royal family. There was no was for Emma to know how she would respond to her. Nothing stated that she would like or dislike the young elfling. There was no ability Emma had that would allow her to know that Algernil meant no harm and was not going to treat her as her father did.
"I must get that little elf along and talk to her one on one," Algernil noted, trying to formulate some sort of plan to do so.
It wouldn't be the easiest of things to enact, of course, considering Emma wasn't exactly keen on speaking with her. In the rare case the two of them were alone together, Emma would retreat as if all the orcs in Mordor were chasing her.
Her reverie was broken by loud music, played brightly on elven instruments. Like a whirlwind of color- matching the exotic, almost otherworldly sounds of the music- a brightly dressed group of dancers took the floor. Each dancer, as they had paired off into groups moving skirts and arms and legs in time with the beat, wore a different color outfit. It was a simple sort of attire, a plain bodice made of some kind of shimmery material wit a flowing skirt that seemed to be made of several different layers of the same color. The colors, themselves, ranged from the deepest of ruby reds to the darkest of violets and all the shades in between. Al l wore flowers wound through their intricately braided hair.
The exotic sounding music only lasted a short time. With steps that send them backwards and side ways, the dancers arranged themselves into a large pattern. A bell signaled the change in pieces and in the attitudes of the dancers involved. Where the first piece called for a very serious, almost fierce expression, the second was lighter, more serene. It was a simple piece but one that was felt even in soles of the watcher's feet. It's repeating melodies, played on different instruments, changed only a handful of times as the dancers moved with flowing movements. For sometime, it looked like were trying to mimic the winged birds of the air, showing the same grace as the swans in Lothlorien.
The dancers were light, their movements clean and neat and, at times, simple as benefited the piece. They were trying to tell a story, though Algernil was not sure what story they were trying to tell. It must have been something different for every one of them as they danced whatever they were feeling in their hearts.
In the middle of the dance- Technically in the middle of the shorter opening piece- Algernil noticed one of the dancers clad in a bright sky blue color. She was smaller than the rest though her size was not holding her back. She dance with the same fervor as her taller companions did. Her skills were on par with theirs, her abilities matching those of the dancers around her.
Algernil nearly tipped out of her chair in shock when she realized just who this small dancer was. Standing as the end of a long line of dancers, next to someone in bight orange, was Emma. As the fierce expression faded from her face with the change of the music, her expression settled into something happy and innocent. It had to be the most carefree she had seen the young elven child since her arrival in Mirkwood.
A great difference from her usual skittish expression to say the least.
She had heard that Emma poured her heart and soul into her dancing- Legolas had told her of seeing his sister dance in the other world on a stage.- but to see it was something else. It was almost like the elven child was freer, less inhibited by those around her.
As the music faded and the dancers ended with a sweeping bow, they scattered like leaves caught in the breeze, leaving the center of the room empty. Leaving all those in the room with their thoughts on what the dance had meant and what each dancer was dancing with in their hearts, minds, and souls.