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I Get a Little Flirty

The banquet hall of Caras Galadhon was high above the city overlooking numerous other flets and endless gardens. Dozens of hanging lanterns glimmered in the silver-tinged branches of the great mallorns. I had seen the great banquet hall before, of course, but that was during the War of the Ring. The city had been shadowed by sorrow and grief. Now, the Lorien elves were pushing themselves to soak up these final moments in Middle Earth, their hands ready to seize what joy was left. The talans in the trees lit up the night sky. All through the trees, clear-chorused songs of elven voices lilted, caught on wings of the evening breeze and made the stars shine even closer. They were singing of Earandil sailing, of the sweet west calling, and for some, of their new kingdom-come, Ithilien.

As I entered the main landing to the entrance, a more spindly elf, whose lines on his face and the occasional glimmer of silver in his hair gave him away as being very aged, commented, "I know that I shall remember this place, for surely even Valinor itself could not prove quite so gracious."

I could not have agreed more. The banquet table was a feast for the eyes, long enough to accommodate a hundred elves. The top was strewn with fern fronds, silver bowls of blushing fruit, bottles of wine, steaming platters of venison, milky lit candles, and slender goblets. The table filled quickly with members of the highest orders of elven folk.

I found himself seated near a myriad, well, of quite boring individuals. Most of them were Celeborn's advisors and council members, who surely had a long list of dull questions to ask. Far down to the left of the table sat many of the younger elves, toasting and laughing about the day's joke, or bragging to one another about various contests of skill and daring. On the other side of the long table, the captains of the guard discussed battles and defense systems. Haldir and Farothin were there, and apparently Farothin was receiving some sort of a tongue-lashing, for he stared down at his plate and pushed his meat around with his knife. Even so, I would still trade places with him, and I braced myself for a new onslaught of very tedious questions from Gilgafier, an elf who always looked like his robes were too tight.

"And how is your family in Eryn Lasgalen, Prince Legolas, my boy? It's been a very long time since we have had the pleasure of your father or elder brother's company," he asked.

"They are well enough. My father has been spending most of his time helping my older brother prepare for the throne. After Oromer's marriage, father has been more anxious to retire from duty. And, of course, my two sisters are as lovely and charming as ever."

"I must admit, Legolas," added Gilfier, Gilgafier's son, "I was a bit surprised that you did not bring your sisters with you to Lothlorien. The Lady's court would have been overjoyed with their presence. I have heard that they are everything gorgeous and good."

"They are lovely," I agreed, "but I could not rob my kingdom of their laughter and the joy they bring to my people." Or the headaches they bring to my father, I added silently. My sisters had begged me to tag along, but I had been like the walls of Moria in this matter. Then they had tried wheedling with my father, but strangely he had taken my side and had been a rock as well. I could not imagine what it would have been like to bring the twins here. I would have spent all my time making sure they behaved themselves, and Ithilien would become a side issue. I remembered all too well the time they had taken every single one of my best arrows and used them to make a wall hanging; not to mention the fact that they had chased away Lierwen, the first elf maiden I had shown any interest in since I returned home from the war.

"She just was not right for you, brother," the twins had insisted, "and she was too short, and she snorted when she laughed, and her hair..." I groaned at the memory. I would never have a chance to find a suitable love interest with those two around.

"My prince, are you quite well?" Gilgafier asked.

"Oh, me? I am fine, I assure you," I replied, trying to look interested in their conversation about rune engravings...on second thought, maybe not. "You know what, I think the air might be a little close. Please excuse me." I pulled away from the table and walked down toward the lower talans.

This lower level proved infinitely better. I planned on staying away from the table just long enough for everyone to finish dinner, and then I could return. I leaned up against the balcony rail and stared down into the forest. It really was amazing how different forests could be. The Woodland Realm was beautiful too, but in a different sort of way, more wild and untamed. Ithilien would be beautiful; we would make it an elven paradise in the world of men. I could already picture how lovely the trees and foliage could be when restored and tended, when the river ran clear and fast once more and good green growing things peeked around the trees...and in the middle of this happy day dream, I sighed. Someone had followed me down here. Please don't let it be Gilgafier checking on my supposed indigestion. But in the life of a prince of Mirkwood, you learn that being royal really just means you are a public commodity—a life of public service, appearances, and kind gestures.

"Will you not join me?" I asked, fixing a pleasant smile upon my face, a smile which only grew when I discovered that the person behind me was the golden-haired maiden who gave me such a haughty look earlier.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I only assumed you wished for solitude." She did not return my smile.

"No, please join me," I said and added, "It's a soft night that begs for companionship." Earlier mean looks notwithstanding, she was a definite improvement over Gilgafier rambling on about rune engravings. She was really rather pretty, and perhaps I could find out why she looked so angry earlier at my welcome. And honestly, I enjoyed a good flirtation. Aragorn would probably say flirting was my default mode of conversation when it came to women—jealousy doesn't become you, Aragorn—but I prefer to think of it more as stemming from the fact that I have unlimited amounts of natural charm.

"It seems to me, my lord," she said crisply, as she walked to the balcony rail, "that you had an abundance of companions at the banquet hall. Were they not to your liking?"

"Of course they were, but I noticed that you were not there." I pointedly looked at her. "You left the assembly early as well."

She flushed slightly at my observation. "I have little taste for such gatherings—the pomp and pageantry. The Lord and Lady mean well, and it is due to my utmost respect for them I attended tonight. I was at the dinner, by the way. I saw you. You looked completely engrossed by the conversation. Rune engravings, was it?" she said coyly.

"I swear I would have noticed had you been there," I insisted and added, "I purposefully looked around for you."

"I?" she looked surprised. "What could I have done to gain the prince's attention?"

I smiled at her then. "It was because you looked at me so sweetly during the assembly. I wanted to thank you for making me feel so welcome, by just looking at me the way you did." We both knew her looks during the assembly had been anything but sweet, but I forgave easily—really, she did look so sweet in the moonlight. Her green eyes, and I had always been partial to green eyes, were like the forest, a deep green with flecks of brown with dark curly lashes. Her skin was luminous and fair. Her hair was not a pale blonde like many of the Lorien elves, but a deep, rich gold color, with soft curls tumbling all the way down her back. I casually placed my hand on top of hers, resting on the rail.

She stiffened and then deliberately withdrew her hand. Her eyes darkened. "You are the most presumptuous elf I have ever met!" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You think you can show up to Caras Galadhon and claim whatever suits you? You plan on tearing part of the city away, on some Valar-forsaken trek to a forest that nobody cares about on the borders of Mordor? Mordor! Well, let me tell you—I am not impressed, and I certainly will not be one of them."

My temper flared—I was, after all, my father's son. With a step forward, I brought my face even with hers. "Do not speak of that which you do not know, and if I am presumptuous, then let it be known that the Lord and Lady summoned me here. I am only here at their invitation." I narrowed my eyes, folded my arms. "You make a most ungracious showing of your people, for they are not all of your opinion."

"But many of them are, Prince Legolas." She evened out her voice and straightened up, smoothing the lines of fabric in her gown. "Do not be so blind to think none will oppose you. Come, the dinner is finished. Lord Celeborn will be looking for you. Pray, do not keep the Galadhrim waiting." With that said, she turned and began the stairs back up to the banquet talan.

"Sweet in the moonlight? Ha! More like an orc," I muttered and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. So much for the unlimited charm—I didn't even get her name! I decided the whole conversation was a fluke of ill timing and followed the stairs back to the banquet hall. Surely there would be dancing and singing tonight. It would be just the thing to take my mind off the journey to come...and that feisty golden-haired maiden who clearly did not think too highly of me. I sincerely hoped she was more of an exception, rather than the rule.

Author's note: Oh dear. Poor Legolas got shot down.

Thranduil: *sigh* I will never get any grandkids at this rate.

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