Wassail

The darkness of Ithilien deepened as Rebecca ran further into its forest. An unseen owl interjected its nightly cry as she fended branches in her path. She wound her way through the dim woods for a good distance before Haldir caught up with her.

"My lady, you are troubled!" he cried, laying a gentle hand upon her arm as she leant upon the bole of a birch to catch her breath.

She clutched a stitch in her side and shook her head, uncertain of what to say. She didn't want to tell him why; she didn't want to tell anyone.

He pulled her from the tree, standing her before him. "What is it? What may I do to assist you?"

Her eyes were clouded as he held her gaze. "Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing, really…"

He took her hands in his. He had meant to comfort her, but their privacy and proximity were too much; lowering his mouth to hers he grazed her lips with his own. The sound of someone coughing interrupted him.

"I do not wish to intrude," began the wizard. "But I believe I must speak to my ward, Haldir."

Haldir straightened, embarrassed. "Oh. I just…" he squeezed Rebecca's hands and turned to face the wizard.

Radagast smiled at him. "Please tell the others we will meet them at the palace of Emyn Arnen for the mereth. We have a great deal of work to do now."

"Yes, of course. I shall look forward to…that is…yes," he stammered, gazing back at Rebecca as he began to retrace his steps to the camp.

Rebecca did not have time to reflect upon the encounter as she met the stern gaze of Radagast. "You cannot run from your destiny, Rebecca, no matter how much you wish it," he said.

"I know, Uncle," she replied, hanging her head. "It's just that I do not wish to meet him. Not yet."

"Not ever, if you had your way. Which you do not, my love."

"I cannot face him, Uncle. Elladan said Aragorn would know, just by looking at me! What am I to say to him?"

Radagast sighed, putting his arm around her. She hid her face on his shoulder. She was shaking. "There, now," he soothed, stroking her hair. "I have not done anything to prepare you for this, have I? No, you are right. It is not time to meet him." He lifted her chin. "We will go to find Acuparia, and to meet Treebeard near the Erui. We will speak of Aragorn and I will give you courage, little one."

They quietly made their way back to the camp, collected provisions from Tessel and set off into the night without notice.

Meanwhile, the lords of Rohan and Gondor had accompanied Éowyn to Emyn Arnen, leaving Gimli with his friend. The dwarf had settled in and found Legolas sitting at an empty table under the oaks. He glanced about and determined that they were alone.

"Where is your lady, Legolas?" he inquired, seating himself before the large stein that the Elf had set for him.

Legolas sighed deeply. "She has gone to her chambers. I apologize – she should be here to welcome you…"

Gimli snorted. "With the exception of present company, this Dwarf never expects much from any pointy-ear." He blew the foam from his ale. "You have argued."

Legolas nodded. "She has changed, Gimli. She was once so fine in her manner, her wit. We used to laugh. I read her poetry…"

Gimli regarded his friend with amusement. "Poetry, eh?"

Legolas shrugged. "I've written a verse or two in my day. Paltry, perhaps, but she listened." His shoulders sagged. "I have kept her waiting too long. I know that."

Gimli swirled the ale in his stein before taking a long drink. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before answering. "There is a reason you have done so."

Legolas shook his head. "It would be wrong to leave her now."

"So you'd marry unhappily to allay your guilt at ending something so foolishly begun?"

Legolas looked at the dwarf. "Foolishly begun?"

Gimli took another swig and regarded his friend over his tankard. "Aye, foolish. Poetry-reading hours of dalliance in your youth. Anyone can be lithesome in their salad days, Legolas. And your betrothal – hastily made on the eve of the departure of the Fellowship. An emotional time indeed. Had you not returned, which was a likelihood, d'you suppose your lady would have pined to death for you?"

Legolas sighed. "Doubtful."

"And yet here you are, despairing over a match that ill suits you now." Gimli finished the rest of his beer. "And the Elves accuse my kin of lunacy!"

"But how to end it, Gimli? How could I honorably do so?"

Gimli stood, stein in hand. "That is for you to decide, my friend. For my part, I think best with a pint in my hand."

An attendant refilled his mug. He turned back to his friend. "Time spent is time lost, Legolas. Do not withhold your wishes for much longer, else trouble will come of it."

Daybreak found an ample table set for the kings of Rohan and Gondor. Éomer was tucking in with relish, while Aragorn and Faramir were deep in conversation over their tea.

"We have an uneasy alliance with tribes from the East. Alatar's influence lives on with some of them. It goes less well in the South," remarked Aragorn. "I have brought to court an ambassador. Lokirim, named for the great serpent worshipped by his people. He is skilled in their lore and has been useful in what continues to be delicate diplomacy."

Faramir shook his head. "I hope his character surpasses his name, for I do not trust snakes any more than I do the Haradrim."

"Agreed. But we need to cement our relations with the South. Ithilien is so vulnerable…"

"The Fords of Poros are your problem," said Éomer, helping himself to several slices of ham. "My kin died there, and more will be lost should the South rise against you."

Éowyn entered with a fresh pot of tea. "I have seen the Haudh en Gwanur and the ramparts of the Elves," she said as she poured for her husband and her king. "They have fortified the area thoroughly."

Éomer held out his cup. "You and I have fought against the mûmakil, sister. You know as well as I that a strong army of them cannot be withstood by archers alone, whatever their number and skill."

Éowyn frowned. "That is so. Would that Rebecca's words were true."

"Who is Rebecca?" asked Aragorn, spreading an ample amount of jam on a piece of toast.

"She is ward to Aiwendil," replied Faramir. "What did she say?"

"That there are words which will stop the mûmakil."

Éomer smiled. "Conversing with mûmakil? I do not believe it!"

"Yet we communicate with our horses well enough," said Éowyn.

Éomer shook his head. "Perhaps she can speak to mûmakil, but their riders are something else with which to contend. The giants that drive the mûmakil are from Far Harad; they march ahead of the infantry – hard men and merciless."

"True. Even if the mûmakil are stopped, there are still the armies, and we must not forget the Battle of the Camp. If we are caught between battalions from the North and South, we will be hard pressed," added Aragorn. Sighing, he helped himself to more eggs and changed the subject. "I look forward to meeting this ward of Radagast."

"She is lovely," said Éowyn. "But there is something that stirs her to melancholy."

"Hard to imagine anyone in such a state around Radagast," laughed Éomer. "Enjoys a tankard as much as I! Of course, he usually talks more to horses than to people…"

The following two weeks were busy ones. The royalty of Rohan and Gondor reviewed fortifications, old military campaigns, and the reconstruction of Ithilien.

Gimli drafted plans for the restoration of Osgiliath. "A project of massive proportions," he warned them. "Sauron's forces destroyed many of the buildings. The towers in particular are in shambles. It will take several score of my people working continuously for a decade."

"And we will have to house and feed such a host? I beg you, Aragorn, to reconsider!" Legolas laughed. His spirits had greatly improved in the company of his old friends.

Aragorn nodded, smiling. "A necessary evil, given the merits of the project. Perhaps you could build new flets for their use?"

"Never!" Gimli snorted. "A dwarf sleeps on the ground, not in a tree like some bearded bird!"

Meanwhile, Rebecca and Radagast made their way North to the Erui. They rode single file as the lane was narrow. Sunlight dappled the path before them and a pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves.

"Uncle," she began, turning Alfirin around a curve on the path.

"Yes, love?"

"Did you know the place of the Entwives?"

"I was certain they were in Ithilien. Almost. But I could not have awakened them, not even in their own tongue. The song of Yavanna was needed, and only you can utter it."

"And now there will be Entings again!"

"Yes," nodded Radagast. "That is more important than you know."

"Uncle?"

"Yes, my love?"

She studied Alfirin's ears closely, felt her own getting hot. "Need I meet Aragorn? Cannot we continue just as we are, wandering here and there?"

Radagast pulled his horse off the path into a small clearing. "Here we shall stop and break our fast. I will answer your question."

Rebecca retrieved a saddlebag and set out their meal.

The wizard smeared jam upon a scone. He chewed thoughtfully, then looked at his ward. "We have much work to do in Gondor and the Brown Lands, Rebecca."

"I know, Uncle. Once we have healed the Entwives, we can help rebuild their gardens."

"And restore the lands to the North, near the House Under the Hill. Aragorn is the King of Gondor and Arnor and many lands between. He will need to know our plans and therefore he will need to know you."

"Can you not send me far afield with the Entwives while you meet with him?" she asked hopefully.

Radagast shook his head. "And when he talks to the Sons of Elrond?" He laid a gentle hand upon her arm. "You cannot hide in obscurity, my love. You have an important role – assigned by the Powers themselves – to heal more than Middle Earth. You will bind the rift between the Two Kindred. And Aragorn is King of the Edain. You cannot go about your business in secret forever."

"I don't understand, Uncle. How can I possibly heal the Kindred? They are forever separated by the Sundering Seas and the Doom of Man."

Radagast smiled. "Tom has taught you well in lore. Do you remember that the Doom of Man was known as the Gift, before Morgoth poisoned the minds of the Edain?"

"Yes, Tom told me about that."

"Then he will also have spoken to you of the Second Song of the Ainur, at which time the world will be remade."

"Yes, but what has that to do with our work?"

"Ultimately, you might say that is our work." He stood, brushing crumbs from his brown robes. "As part of that work, you must know the Kings of Men. There is no faltering on this point, Rebecca."

She sighed. "Then what do I say to him, Uncle?"

He helped her onto her horse. "Simply, that you are his kin."

"And when he rejects me, as well he might?"

"Did the Sons of Elrond reject you? You are the Eilenäer – your voice will sing on behalf of many, Rebecca. Aragorn will come to understand that and rejoice."

"How can he understand what I don't?"

Radagast smiled. "Come, let's be on our road. We shall speak of this again."

Rebecca was not satisfied by his response and wondered about the Second Song of the Ainur. She recalled her discussions with Tom on the matter. He had said that, at Arda's end, the Valar would again sing and that Ilúvatar would speak Eä for the second time in history. The world would be remade. But what had these lofty matters to do with her?

At dusk, they arrived at the junction of the gentle Erui and the Anduin, where they had camped not long ago. To the south of this angle, in a quiet clearing in Lossarnach, they found assembled a small Entmoot, but the Entwives were very weak and barely moving. Rebecca recognized elm, pine, cottonwood, sycamore and maple.

"Good evening, ladies," said Radagast with a low bow. He then launched into a long Entish greeting which took an hour to pronounce. Rebecca learned their names: Ossiríel, Gossypium, Sylvestris, Platania, Rubrium. She searched for Fimbrethil's Acuparia. "Uncle," she whispered when he paused. "There is no rowan here."

Radagast asked something in Entish. Ossiríel, the tall elm, nodded and responded in a lengthy speech that ended with 'Oromírië' and 'Sylvatica.'

"Ah," Radagast nodded. "Her Entish name is Oromírië. She has not arrived; they have heard her voice along the river; she is trying to awaken the beech. Go search for them and lead them back, my love."

Rebecca did as she was bid, following the slow-moving river westward until she heard a long, low chanting which she recognized to be the voice of an Entwife.

She entered the tree line and saw a tall rowan swaying slowly before an aged beech.

She touched the rowan gently. "Oromírië?"

The lovely tree turned, startled. Her large green eyes focused on the slim girl. "Who calls my name?" she asked in a voice soft as a light breeze.

"I am Rebecca, and I come in the name of Yavanna to bring you to the Entmoot. Why do you tarry?"

Oromírië sighed and hung her head. "I cannot awaken Sylvatica. I have tried, so many words, but she will not arise."

Rebecca looked up and searched the face of the beech before them. She waited to feel the song swell in her breast, but nothing came. She was aware, at once and sadly, that Acuparia's efforts were in vain. She placed a soothing hand upon her trunk. "I am sorry, lady. She is gone."

The rowan raised long twiggy fingers to her eyes. "No, it cannot be!" She stood still, save for the sobbing motion of her shoulders.

Rebecca felt the stirrings of kinship with the Entwife. She wrapped her arms around her trunk and hugged her close. "I am sorry, Oromírië. There is naught to be done. She has become like Finglas Leaflock and will not awake. But Oromírië, I bring you glad tidings of Fimbrethil."

Oromírië straightened. "Then I did hear her voice? All of the Entwives are not dead?"

"No, dearest lady, many remain and await your return!"

"Ossiríel? Rubrium?"

"Yes, and others. Please, come with me!"

Oromírië stroked the beech lovingly. At last she turned to Rebecca. "Come, little one, bring me to my future."

The others were delighted at Oromírië's arrival, and deeply bereft by Sylvatica's passing.

"She was fading ere we stopped here," sighed Sylvestris, shaking her crown of pine needles sadly. "The sorrow and journey were too much for her gentle spirit."

The Entwives spoke for many days with Radagast, while Rebecca fetched them bowls of water from the Erui. "It is not an Ent-draught," she apologized. "But the water is pure and sweet. Soon your kin will arrive with more nourishing refreshment."

At last they paused, exhausted by their long meeting. Rebecca sat beside the rowan. "Why does Fimbrethil call you 'Acuparia'?"

Oromírië smiled, remembering. "It means "fleet of foot". You see, I was vigorous and wandered far in my youth, going abroad to find Olvar for our beloved gardens. I traveled South, for that was unexplored territory in my day. I found such lovely flowering Olvar – magnolia, rhododendron, azalea. Lush forests gave way to the dry grassy plains of the mûmakil. Oh, what a joy to see them at home in their fields! I do not pay much heed to the Kelvar, save the birds, but how majestic are the mûmakil! It was terrible to see them in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Such gentle creatures forced into savage service – it made my heart weep. But then, we had enough horror of our own, when the Enemy started to burn our gardens…" She stopped and wept softly, her tears running like sap on either side of her elegant nose.

Rebecca leaned against her trunk, stroking her lightly. "Such horror belongs in the past, Oromírië. Much joy is unfolding – you must not give in to despair."

Oromírië nodded her leafy head. "Of course, one must look forward. I have not done so in many years."

"Just think – soon Bregalad will arrive! What rejoicing he will do, to see you looking so well."

Oromírië smiled, smoothed Rebecca's hair tenderly. "Yet I have no magnolia blooms to set around my face."

"He will love you still, and someday I will bring you armfuls of magnolia!"

Radagast approached. "My love, it is time."

"But Uncle, Treebeard has not yet come," protested Rebecca.

"Treebeard will be arriving soon with a party from Isengard, where they have suspended their work to bring Ent-draughts to their thirsty kin. I must await his arrival; we have much to discuss, he and I."

"Can I not wait, too, Uncle? I would dearly love to see Treebeard and Quickbeam…"

"We agreed you would return for the mereth," he said gently. "It has been almost a fortnight."

"Surely they will not miss me," she pleaded.

"Rebecca, remember what we have discussed. You are more prepared now. You must return."

"I shall never be prepared. And I so wanted to see Treebeard again…"

"You shall see him soon enough. Go, now. I have saddled Alfirin for you."

Oromírië patted Rebecca as she mounted her horse. "I thank you, little one, for your kind words. I look forward to our next meeting."

Rebecca bowed her head. "Ilúvatar be with you and bless you, lady."

Rebecca looked longingly over her shoulder as Alfirin plodded slowly down the path. Radagast spoke a gentle word to the horse, which began a swift trot.

"Traitor," Rebecca murmured to him.

Alfirin merely snorted and maintained his pace.

On the second day of her journey east, evening fell and, as the stars began their courses, Rebecca arrived at the palace of Emyn Arnen. A servant greeted her in the stables. "My lady has given instructions that you are to join her upon your return," he informed her as he took a tired Alfirin to his stall.

Reluctantly, she went to Éowyn's chambers. "Ah, there you are at last! So disheveled from your journey! Hurry, a bath awaits; you'll find a gown there for you."

Some of her weariness faded as she bathed. She pinned her curls on top of her head and emerged in the blue gown Éowyn had provided. She plucked nervously at it. "I should feel out of place, lady," she protested. "Perhaps I could merely watch the mereth…"

"Nonsense! The King will want an account of your adventures with the Entwives," rejoined Éowyn.

"I am not clever at telling a tale," she murmured.

Éowyn noted her high color, the manner in which she fumbled with the brocade of her bodice. "There will be many a handsome Man and Elf with whom to dance."

Rebecca pulled at a loose thread. Éowyn wondered if the purpose of the mereth discomfited her young friend. The way she glowed when the prince called her 'Aiwë' had not gone unnoticed. She rose from her seat and went to the window. "I find Legolas' choice… regrettable," she said over her shoulder.

"You do not care for the Lady Dolressa?"

"Let us say that I do not care for her demeanor with others. She is proud, which is a failing I myself used to claim. But it is not without remedy. The right kind of love can heal many things."

"She doesn't seem to like me much," admitted Rebecca.

"She doesn't like anyone, save the Prince, and sometimes I wonder about that," replied Éowyn. "I fear she may be more enamored with his title and lineage than his heart."

"He is so full of joy and life…I do not understand their love," Rebecca sighed.

"Nor I, dear Rebecca, but it is his choice to make," Éowyn said gently.

Rebecca nodded. Unhappiness was in her downcast eyes, the droop of her shoulders.

"Haldir will claim a dance, no doubt," smiled Éowyn, lifting Rebecca's chin to meet her gaze.

Rebecca looked mortified. "Oh, I hope not, lady!"

Éowyn was surprised. "I thought you were fond of Haldir!"

"I am! It's just that I…well, I don't… dance."

Éowyn laughed. "Well, then, Radagast has been much remiss in his duties of teaching you the ways of society! But come, let me share with you my little bit of knowledge on the subject."

An hour later, Faramir knocked upon his lady's door. "Beloved? The mereth has begun and we desire your presence."

He opened the door to the enchanting tableau of his wife and Rebecca romping across her chambers in what looked to be a reel. He stood several moments, smiling at their antics until they became aware of him, at which point they burst out laughing.

"The proper place for such activity is the ballroom, ladies," he said, folding his arms across his chest. He was resplendent in a burgundy velvet tunic and leather breeches.

"I would be honored to escort the beauty of the realm," he said with a bow.

Rebecca's hand trembled slightly as he placed it in the crook of his arm. She accompanied them with reluctant steps.

The Great Hall was aglow with the light of many torches when Rebecca stepped over the threshold on Faramir's arm. The sound of laughter greeted her, punctuating the music of harps, lutes, flutes and drums. Gondor's finest was there assembled; she breathed a sigh of relief when she scanned the room and found that Aragorn was nowhere in sight. She spied Legolas immediately; dressed in silver and green, his golden hair gleamed in the firelight.

Haldir was elated when he saw Rebecca enter, anxious as he was that she would not attend. He paused in his conversation with Legolas and Thranduil, but his faltering went unnoticed as their attention was also fixed upon the new arrivals.

"Who are these lovely ones?" asked the King, arching an eyebrow.

"That is Éowyn, the Lady of Ithilien, Ada. Wife to Prince Faramir."

"Charming, utterly charming. Almost Elfin in her beauty. And the other?"

"That is Aiwë, er, Rebecca. Ward to Aiwendil."

"Surely not the little gamin who romped about my palace in breeches! My, but she's grown!" Thranduil smiled broadly; something in his grin made Legolas uneasy. He was well aware of his father's avarice for life's pleasures – particularly wine, jewels and women. When his mother chose to return to the West after the War, he had tolerated his father's open pursuit of them. But when he thought of Rebecca as the recipient of his father's embraces, something boiled within him.

For his part, Haldir's face was stoic, but his eyes shot daggers into the forest king. He remembered his resolve to keep himself firmly planted between the king and his prey. He excused himself and went to her.

He was delayed in his approach by a tall man who bowed formally to Faramir. The prince greeted him with reserve. Rebecca watched closely as Faramir presented him as Lokirim, ambassador to the King from Harad. His ebony hair ebony was plaited with gold and his bearing was proud. He kissed her hand and she met his gaze. His eyes were piercing like Elladan's, but far less amicable. His grim little smile went nowhere near those eyes.

"Where is your queen?" he inquired.

"She remains in Minas Tirith," replied Faramir. "She is with child and the King would not permit her to travel."

"I wonder at his leaving her," remarked Lokirim.

"She is early in her carrying," Éowyn replied defensively. "The King travels here on behalf of his dearest friend."

At that moment, the King himself arrived and approached the group. Rebecca slipped away just as he joined them. Haldir followed her to the terrace, whence she had retreated.

Aragorn shook Lokirim's hand. "Lokirim. Welcome to Ithilien."

The tall man bowed slightly. "I am honored, sire."

Aragorn, in turn, bowed. Éomer and Faramir noticed the formality of their greeting and sensed that the ambassador was not to be trusted.

"I bring greetings from my people," said Lokirim. "It heals my heart to see your fair Ithilien thus restored."

Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgement, but it was clear that he questioned the sincerity of the statement.

"I crossed the Fords on the Harad Road," continued Lokirim with a frown. "I was stopped and questioned for a long while. It seems the Elves mistake ambassadors for scouts."

"I fear the injuries of the past lead our allies to caution in the present," retorted Faramir.

Lokirim smiled coldly. "Of course. And yet, the Haradrim are now your allies, so there is little need for concern. There were, it seemed to me, only a small band of Elves. It cheers me to see that you have not drawn a fence of barbed wire between our lands."

Aragorn smiled. "Do not misjudge the barbs of Elven archers, Lokirim. Their skill is renown for good reason."

Lokirim nodded. "They shall have no reason to employ such talents against Harad, I assure you."

"I am glad of it. There has been enough war," replied Aragorn, whose diplomacy was strained with this man he deemed to be false.

While Aragorn sparred with the voice of Harad, Rebecca found a stone bench on the star-cooled terrace. The first lightening bugs were flitting through the darkened woods and they lifted her heart with their charm.

Haldir approached her, his fair hair lit by the glow of the hall behind him. Rebecca smiled sheepishly in welcome. "It is so warm inside," she offered as way of explanation for yet another hasty retreat.

"Indeed," he replied, conscious that the matter of a kiss lay between them. For his part, he would repeat the performance if the lady was willing, but he could discern nothing from her demeanor. She was simple and open as ever, offering neither signs of rejection nor flirtation.

He sat almost gingerly beside her. They were silent for some moments. "You have returned in the nick of time," he said at last. "We were, all of us, concerned that you would become beguiled by the forest, Aiwë."

She laughed. "'Twould have been easy to do so. The Entwives are so lovely. Wise and gentle, with many stories to tell."

"May I join you on your next visit?" he asked. "I would like to hear these tales."

"Of course. I shall be glad of your company and I will introduce you to Oromírië, or Acuparia as Fimbrethil names her."

"She is a favorite of yours as well as of Fimbrethil?"

"Oh, yes! She is all grace and wit and kindness…" she struggled to find adequate words and gave up the effort. "You must meet an Entwife and sit at her feet to begin to understand her depth. It is unfathomable."

He turned the conversation. "It is a merry assembly. Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

Rebecca sighed. "I will, Haldir, but do not consider it an honor. Unlike Acuparia, I am lacking in grace."

"Nonsense!" he laughed, taking her hand. "You will be light as a feather in my arms!"

Rebecca shook her head doubtfully as they returned to the crowded hall. To her surprise, she found in Haldir a partner who led her so well through the steps as to make her feel capable on her feet. She was beginning to enjoy herself when the music paused and a tall bearded man clapped Haldir upon the shoulder.

"You will not monopolize the beauties of Ithilien, you rogue!"

Haldir greeted the intruder with a tight, annoyed smile. "We've hardly finished one dance, Éomer king."

"Ridiculous!" exclaimed the other. He firmly pushed the Elf aside. "I insist upon my turn!"

So saying, he twirled Rebecca away into a reel. "I am Éomer of Rohan, at your service, lady. I hope I arrived in time to spare you from that arrogant denizen of Lorien?"

She laughed. "He is dear to me and not at all prideful, majesty."

"No royal titles, if you please! Éomer is all you need call me!"

"Very well, sire…Éomer. I am Rebecca."

He grinned. "Ah, ward of Radagast! Well met! Come, tell me about the mûmakil."

She did so, albeit with difficulty as the reel was taking her breath as well as her concentration.

As the music stopped, it was Éomer's turn to be replaced. Gimli appeared, introduced himself with a bow, and offered a glass of wine to Rebecca. "I don't dance, lassie, but I can drink with the best of 'em!"

Éomer was put out. "And where is mine?"

"Get your own, horsemaster!"

"A fine way to treat an old friend! And when are you going to come repair Helm's Deep? After all, I have promised you free reign in the Glittering Caves."

"One thing at a time, sire. I must finish my labors here in Gondor."

"Béma's beard, am I always to play second to Gondor?" he demanded in mock outrage. He kissed Rebecca's hand and went in search of ale and another partner.

"I thought you might need some refreshment," Gimli explained as he led her to an empty bench beneath a large open window. "Haldir is an ass and Éomer no better!"

Rebecca grinned. "You do not approve of my partners, I see."

"Nay. I have been asked to keep you safe until another may attend you," he replied, taking a long swig from his tankard.

"Indeed! Was I in danger, then?"

The Dwarf shook his head. "Hard to say, lady, although my comrade seemed to think so," He grinned at her. "Grown up you have, since I last saw you on that wizard-hill in Fangorn!" He paused and lifted an admiring finger to her jewel. "My, now here's a fancy piece! Simple, elegant. By whose hand was it wrought?"

"It comes from Valinor," she explained. "Radagast tells me it was set by Aulë himself."

Gimli's eyes widened. "He is the Father of my kind, the Master of all craftsmen!"

Legolas approached and stood before them with arms crossed. "You are not permitted to keep Aiwë to yourself, my friend."

Gimli raised an eyebrow, cocked his head toward the Elf. "Shall I relinquish you to this dullard, lady?"

She stood. "I am duty bound, sir. After all, it is his mereth."

"I beg you, lady, do not humor him overmuch. If he recites poetry, stop your ears!" smiled Gimli, who cast a keen, knowing glance at his friend.

Legolas slid one arm about her waist and took her hand in his. "Whatever he told you, Aiwë, it isn't true," he declared as they joined in the dance.

Rebecca laughed. "He told me you were a prince among Elves. The finest of your race."

Legolas smiled. "Ah, well, I stand corrected! He sometimes hits the mark." His eyes twinkled as he looked into her own. She had piled her hair atop her head; why had he never noticed its sweet aroma? "I have not seen enough of you, Aiwë. Tell me of your adventures to the west."

Rebecca spoke of Acuparia and the expected visit from Treebeard and his fellows. Legolas nodded. "Ah, at last, some good news for the Ents! But where is Aiwendil?"

"He awaits Treebeard with the ladies. I suspect Uncle would rather be in their company than attend a fancy ball. He gets so absorbed in his work."

Legolas held her gaze knowingly. "As would you, Aiwë. I am pleased you overcame your reticence to attend the mereth, for tonight we celebrate the renewal of Ithilien. But why do you call it my mereth?"

Rebecca looked at him, astonished. "You do not know?"

"Know what, sweet Aiwë?"

She slowed in her steps as the music ceased. "Oh, dear," she murmured, placing her fingertips to her lips.

At that moment, Thranduil descended upon the couple. Dolressa was on his arm, resplendent in a gown embroidered with silver gems.

The woodland king bowed, taking Rebecca's hand and placing a lingering kiss upon it. "Ah, my little Rebecca! How you have grown!"

Rebecca dropped a curtsey. "Please…please excuse me, majesty," she murmured as she extricated herself from Legolas' arms. She hastily retreated from the hall.

Legolas watched her departure with concern.

"The child is so shy," purred Dolressa.

Thranduil shrugged and smiled. He took Legolas by the arm and led them to the dais before the musicians.

"Mae govannen, lords and ladies!" he announced to the assembly. "Please, join me and raise your glasses," He turned to the couple, one of whom was beginning to fidget. "To my heir and my Iell – Ionmin, when shall you be a bridegroom?"

Legolas blanched at Dolressa's glare, which indicated that she expected a response. The silence following the clink of glasses was profound. Gimli harrumphed.

Thranduil clapped his hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "Come, the date shall at last be set, that your feär may be knit as one."

Had Rebecca witnessed this, she would have seen the telltale dimple in Legolas' cheek appear as a chink in marble, for frozen as a statue was he.

Aragorn noticed his friend's dismay and came abruptly to his rescue. "Yes, sire, we shall all drink to the beauty and unity of marriage! But let us not spend our evening in speech when there are such lovely ladies with whom to dance!"

He caught Faramir's eye and the other concurred speedily. "Aye, my lord, just so!" He nodded to the musicians who promptly picked up their instruments and began to play.

Tessel found Rebecca upon the terrace. Long had he suspected her affections for his prince, and it troubled his heart to see her looking so bereft. "Come, Aiwë, let us show them how to dance," he said, taking her hand in his.

She felt safe with her old friend as he led her through the dance. He was most reluctant to hand her off to his king when he interrupted them. It was clear to Tessel that Thranduil had consumed his fill of Dorwinion wine, yet he could not refuse his own king.

Tessel rejoined Haldir, who stood scowling.

"Ro caele beika fion," muttered Tessel.

"Sogannen," agreed Haldir with disgust. "Again."

Tessel shook his head. "Judge not too harshly, cousin. Thus he has been since the departure of his wife. He is too proud to admit her importance in his heart, and he is too stubborn to quit his kingdom and follow her into the West."

Legolas joined them. Dolressa had left the hall in a pique and he had not followed her.

"No date yet?" grinned Tessel.

"No."

"You'd best be about it, my prince. Your lady now has a mereth under her belt. She will expect results."

Legolas looked distracted. "Where is my father?" he asked suddenly.

The trio scanned the hall with growing concern. "I will check the gardens whilst you search the halls," Legolas said hastily.

They separated, intent on interrupting any private audience that Thranduil had arranged.

Their fears were well founded. The King had led Rebecca from the hall, telling her they must walk a bit along the terrace to see the stars more clearly. "You were always fond of stargazing," he recalled fondly.

"Yes, sire," she replied, becoming uneasy as they paused in a rather darkened bower.

"Nae saian lummé, Rebecca," said the king with a gleam in his eye that made the lady uncomfortable. "It has been too long since I laid eyes upon you."

"Yes," she agreed, keeping her distance. "It has been many years since I dwelt in the Woodland Realm."

"Had I known you would grow into such a beauty, I'd never have let you leave my court. Lle naa vanima, Aiwë." She bristled at this endearment from him. It did not belong on the lips of this arrogant drunkard. She tried very hard to remember the King as he was in her youth – a kind man, almost a father to her, laughing gently at her breeches and boots. He was a proud ruler of one of the most magical kingdoms in Middle Earth, then as now, but he had treated her as a daughter before. Would that he still behaved as such. She fervently wished she was in her old leather breeches and boots instead of the hindering gown and slippers. She had little hope of outrunning him.

He laid a curious finger upon the gem at her throat, lifting it lightly. "I prefer white gems to all others. This is the loveliest I have ever beheld."

Rebecca felt the stone balustrade against the small of her back. She could retreat no further. She smelled the wine on Thranduil's breath as he placed a hand on either side of her hips.

"We need more time to get reacquainted. Rebecca. My chambers are not far; perhaps we could retire…"

"Saes, sire, I must beg to be excused. I am not accustomed to such…attention."

"I know just the thing to revive you," he whispered as he moved his hands up to her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss.

Rebecca clamped her mouth shut against him as his hands slid from her shoulders down her back, bringing her closer. She balled her hands into fists and pushed hard at his chest, but his arms were more powerful.

"Ada!"

She felt Thranduil release her in surprise and she wiped her hand across her mouth, resisting the desire to spit. She blushed with shame as she faced a stricken Legolas, eyes wide with shock as he looked from her to his father.

"Ada! Man car?"

"We were speaking of jewels, Ion…"

"That's not what it looks like to me, Ada!" Legolas replied indignantly.

While they exchanged words, Rebecca seized the opportunity to slip past Thranduil and darted past them with a mumbled apology.

Legolas noted her discomfort and turned again to his father. "How could you, Ada?"

"I fail to understand your concern, Legolas. She is a hardy female past the age of consent."

"She was not giving her consent," he retorted angrily. "She is an innocent and I will not have you honoring her with your fleeting attentions!"

The truth suddenly dawned upon the woodland king. "Díheno, ion! I did not understand…"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you not aware, Ionmin, that you desire her?"

Legolas was dumbstruck. "I never said…"

Thranduil regarded his son steadily. "It seems you have before you two options, Ionmin. You could forsake Dolressa and pursue your Aiwë, or you could wed your long-time, patient fiancé and accept your little bird as mistress."

Legolas blanched. "I would never to that to her!"

"To which 'her' do you refer, Legolas?" asked his father with an arched brow. "Never mind. Your choice is clear to me. I wonder how long you will be able to keep it from yourself?"

Legolas made no answer as his father turned and made his way back to the hall.

Meanwhile, Rebecca ran full throttle down the garden steps, seeking welcoming solitude. In her haste, she did not see the tall shadow of a man concealed. She had reached the lowest terrace when she ran headlong into someone's arms. With mounting dismay, she recognized the king of Gondor.

And on the upper terrace, a prince turned from the gaiety of his mereth to walk alone under the stars.

Things Elvish:
Eä – Let these things be
Iell – daughter
Ion – son
Feär – souls
Ro caele beika fion – He has had too much wine
sogannen - drunk
Nae saian lummé – It has been too long
Ada - father
Lle naa vanima - You are beautiful
Saes - please
Ada! Man car- Father! What are you doing?
Díheno – Forgive me!
Ionmin – my son

Next: Revelations