A/N: Hello and welcome to chapter 4- this one was definitely a lot of fun to write, but not so much for poor Lhosbend, as you will soon see...
I hope you all enjoy! Next, there is a bit more tension.
"To you, Thranduil Elvenking, Wielder of The Staff of Eryn Galen and Protector of this Realm, we greet you and say welcome!"
The lights which nestle far above them glitter down on the feast and illuminate those within Ivon's Hall. It is like looking upon a scattering of autumn leaves; all varied colours of brown, gold, red and orange reflect under the lamp-lights and the dozens of sleek elven heads bob and sway as flowers in a strong breeze. The Hall is warm with elven magic and the assortments of fresh meat and vegetables, but most of those seated pay little attention to the food and instead speak with their neighbour or those on opposite tables.
Ada, dressed in a fine robe of white and green with a crown of autumn leaves upon his head, rises from the High Table. The hall falls silent as he inclines his head towards the ellon who greets him.
"My thanks to you, and to all who helped prepare this feast for our people." As always, his voice travels through the hall, until even Legolas feels as though his father speaks directly to him. "My only wish for tonight is that you all find the Dorwinion to your liking, and the venison plentiful upon your plate."
Laughter runs through the crowded tables like water past rock, and his father sits in a rustle of fabric. The cue to begin feasting has been given- all reach for the platters upon platters of food before them eagerly.
All, that is, except for Legolas.
Faervel, who sits beside Legolas a few seats down from the King, leans in to murmur into his ear. "Come, Laeslas, it is time to feast and make merry! Chin up, dear heart."
Legolas draws his eyes up from the tablecloth he has been intently studying. The argument of hours earlier still rings in his ears, the vision of narrowed grey eyes and a furious voice flashing continually before his eyes.
"I am not hungry, Faervel" he whispers in return. A powerful mix of anger and hurt burns in his throat, and leaves his stomach full of jagged rocks. The last thing he can imagine is picking up a spoon and eating.
"Well," his aunt says, and a hint of mithril enters her voice, "you must. Maeasson and all the cooks have gone to such trouble to prepare this, and you must show them your gratitude by eating. It does not matter how miserable you are."
"I cannot eat." He returns quickly, picks at a thin green thread which has escaped the finely woven cloth. "I don't think I can."
Faervel makes a noise deep in her throat, one that causes the hairs on his neck to rise. His Aunt is many things, but a waster of food she is not, and when riled her temper is fierce.
"Legolas Thranduilion," she growls, "pick up your plate, and pile it with food."
Legolas picks up his plate, and piles it with food.
"Now, eat at least a mouthful of each."
Reluctantly, Legolas stabs a piece of venison, cuts it, and chews. He almost gives in to the urge to chew the food with his mouth open, just to irritate his aunt, but quickly thinks better of it. It does not matter that the meat is dripping in sauce and herbs; it is dry and tasteless in his mouth.
Faervel seems satisfied with this. "You keep eating while I do my job and make stimulating conversation with my neighbours."
And so his aunt turns her head and engages an ellon beside her in enthusiastic conversation about the quality of Dorwinion they have been provided with.
Something sharp unexpectedly prods him in the back.
"Ow!" He yelps, turns to look for the culprit. A few seats down, his sister Annith, her gown of red and white already mussed and wrinkled, smirks at him.
Newly returned from her garrison and relieved of her duties as Captain of the Guard for several evenings, Annith is a welcome face amongst the sea of edhil. Clever dark eyes twinkle in an angular, expressive face much like their father's, and her curly dark hair bounces as she leans over to him.
"Not hungry Laeslas?" With an ungracious creak, she rocks back on the heel of her seat to query him around the bulk of Lhosbend. Rarely does he see his sister, but when he does, she always finds a way of making sure that it is a time to be remembered.
This time, Legolas is in no mood to respond to her jests. He shrugs. "Not really."
His sister frowns; in the lamp-light her dark eyes shine as smooth river stones. "But it's venison. And wine. The best combination of food and drink to be invented in these Halls."
Again, he shrugs. "I'm just not really hungry, 'Nith."
"What?" Annith narrows her dark eyes at him. "Did Faervel get angry and box your ears?"
"What?" He wrinkles his nose. "No!"
"Did you fall and scrape your knee?"
"Annith I'm not an elfling!"
"Sure, Laeslas" she drawls.
A blush rises to Legolas' cheeks. "I'm fine, Annith, truly."
Unfortunately for him, Annith knows when he is lying. She only arches two spectacularly dark eyebrows, and waits.
"…it's only- I tried to ask Ada about training."
"Again?" Lhosbend lifts his head from his plate and grunts around a mouthful of venison. "Ivon's pearly teeth, Laeslas, you'll make daer-adar go grey!"
"I'm not trying to!" Legolas protests. "I just…"
"…I just wanted to see if Adar has changed his mind even a little, despite knowing that he doesn't heed anyone when it comes to his children, even his own children" Annith finishes for him, not refraining from rolling her eyes.
Legolas drops his gaze to the tablecloth, hurt at his sister's lack of sympathy. Why does everyone keep telling me that?
Abruptly, the memory of Ada's words rushes back to him.
Legolas had sought his father out a few hours before the feast, and found him alone in his private chambers. Just as promised, Ada had managed to find time for him, and more than that, he did not look burdened down with worries of the council or of the state of Eryn Galen. In fact, the clear grey eyes had been soft and welcoming and his smile warm.
But how quickly that look of affection, of warmth, had changed! No sooner had he proposed his idea, then Ada had grown still like he was an animal caught in the sudden catch of a predator's claws. All the warmth in the room, and in his eyes, had vanished as though someone had blown out a lamp.
"No," Ada had said, and the word rang in his head, blasted away the closely-kept hope which bubbled in his fae. "No, Laeslas. You are too young to train. You must wait your turn."
Lhosbend nudges him gently in the side, which is to say that he only drives the wind from Legolas' lungs. "Come on, uncle, cheer up! We have the whole night ahead of us, and a whole lot of venison and Dorwinion too."
Annith groans. "Please, don't call him that. It sounds unnatural."
"What, dearest aunt, can't I call our little laes by his true name?"
"Oh, daro, please" Legolas buries his face in his hands, but still feels a smile creep up onto his lips. The frustration at his sister fades as though it were a mere breath of wind. "You are disrupting the feast."
"I am not," Annith says, affronted, while Lhosbend just shrugs.
"Can you three," Faervel turns slowly from where she has been talking to her neighbour and bares her teeth in a terrifying mask of a smile, "please stop chattering like a nest of bluebirds and just eat?"
"My sincerest apologies, Lady Faervel." Lhosbend says smoothly in a voice that sounds exactly like his father. "But it was our Princess Annith making all the noise."
Behind him Annith freezes.
Faervel turns immediately to his sister and says in a voice heavy with despair, "Annith, please. You are of royal blood- would you at least act like it?"
His sister nods, a slow tilt of her head that makes him think- with a small flare of pain- of their father. "Of course, Faervel."
Legolas can feel the sudden roar of his sister's surprise and irritation shift to a flare of smug amusement. It tickles at their bond, and for one moment his sister lets him peer into what she sees. Of all things, a stick of carrot dangles between her fingers, and then with carefully precision, drops down the pants of Lhosbend.
The heaviness he has been carrying within him throughout the feast eases as Legolas tries desperately to stifle a smile.
His aunt's gaze narrows in on him like a hawk's. "Something amusing you at last, Laeslas?"
"N-No" he chokes out, shoving at the bond he shares with his sister. Stop it!
Laughingly, his sister closes their bond just as she pulls away from Lhosbend.
His aunt's mouth tightens. "Very well. Remember, you are members of our royal family, and are expected to act as such!" She turns back to her conversation right as Legolas and Lhosbend sit back with sighs of relief.
Only for Lhosbend's eyes to bulge as the muffled sound of a wet snap reaches their ears. Accompanying this less-than-pleasant sound is Lhosbend's yelp, loud enough to reach every ear within the hall.
"What in- son of a Orch!"
Half of the High Table falls silent at the exclamation. No- as Legolas' ears burn, he is sure that half of Ivon's Hall falls silent.
Several seats down, Emlinel and Lhosben look up from their meals, horror-struck.
"Lhosbend! "What on- what is going on?" Emlinel hisses furiously, her face turning from white to red in a matter of breaths. The colour only spreads as she looks around and sees that many edhil are looking up curiously from their own plates; some are even beginning to laugh!
Behind the mortified figure of Lhosbend, Annith is hysterically laughing into her napkin. Legolas can only stare, completely horrified. I will not laugh I will not laugh I will not laugh-
"N-Nothing, naneth." Lhosbend manages to stutter out. His cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I just- dropped a goblet on my foot?"
The look on Emlinel's face promises that she does not believe a word her ion breathes.
But what is worse- what is even more worse is that Ada has looked up from his own conversation with the stuffy Lord Thannor, and his eyebrows reach nearly to his hairline.
"Is all well?" The King asks.
"My-My Lord," Lhosbend's cheeks turn as deep a red as the leaves of autumn. "It- it is nothing. I only-"
"Dropped a goblet on your foot?" Ada says smoothly, his face utterly blank. His eyes drift from the crimson face of his daer-ion to Legolas, and then to Annith, who is bent over in an effort to hide her laughter. "How…unfortunate."
"Elflings will be elflings, hir nin" someone calls from the tables below.
For a terrifying moment there is a beat of silence. And then abruptly, horrifyingly, the entire room bursts into laughter. That is to say, all but the High Table burst into laughter.
And Lhosbend is left to sit in the middle of it all, his cheeks stained red with humiliation and his gaze glowering down at the table.
A/N: And onto Chapter 5!
Sindarin: Ivon- Sindarin name for the Maia Yavanna- she is the creator of the earth, plants, animals and ents. (And maybe hobbits?)
Ion- son
Naneth- mother
Edhel/Edhil- Elf/Elves
Ellon/Elleth- male/female elf