The dress Lindir had acquired actually belonged to the bride who had graciously bestowed the gown on her new friend. It was tighter across the hips and bust than it was likely designed to be, but Lindir declared that it would have to do, and Charlotte certainly wasn't going to complain. Especially since the frazzled elf had indeed been looking for her for well over an hour.
"Lady Charlotte, at last!" He said when she appeared in the corridor of the guest wing. Two female elves glided dutifully behind him, one carrying a neatly tucked bundle of dark blue glossy fabric and the other gracefully balancing a large metal tray with a domed lid.
The entire entourage swept into her chamber with an air of determination, and Charlotte soon felt sorry for the bride. If a lowly stranger received this much attention to prepare her for the wedding, the bride herself must be overrun.
Lindir had a strict schedule for Charlotte and left his two assistants to rush her through her preparations while he went to manage his lord. The women, who Lindir introduced as Meluieth and Eithoril, had her quickly fed with an assortment of bread, cheeses, and berries, and were ushering her into a tepid bath before she could touch the tiny glass of dark red wine that accompanied her meal.
"Apologies, my lady," Meluieth said in Common Tongue. Her delicate features scrunched on her pale face. "The water was heated and brought in earlier, but we could not find you."
"No worries." Charlotte smiled. It wasn't their fault she had been avoiding her new reality. "If anything, I should apologize to you. I'm afraid I was tucked away in the stable for most of the day."
Eithoril rolled her eyes and murmured a quick string of Elvish that caused Meluieth to shoot her a glare.
"Excuse me?" Charlotte asked. When no answer was forthcoming, she tried Meluieth instead. "What did she say? I don't understand."
"Eithoril will be returning to assist her lady," Meluieth sniffed. "She is no longer necessary here."
Tiny Meluieth shooed her affronted companion from the chamber and came back with a grin. "Don't mind her," she said. "We're not all like that, I promise. You will see."
Something in her phrasing caught Charlotte's attention. "Aren't you one of Lord Elrond's elves?" Charlotte followed her to the large copper tub situated near one of the high windows looking up at the mountainside. She had a sponge bath the night before, and she was looking forward to being truly clean, but dreading sitting in the cool water with the late autumn wind blowing across her wet skin.
Meluieth tapped the high back of the copper and nodded to the water. "In with you, and I'll help with your hair and answer your questions."
"Really, I can bathe myself," Charlotte argued. "If you just want to wait outside, I'll be quick."
"Lindir has left me in charge of your care, and I'll not disgrace my King by shirking my duties." She smiled to soften the rejection. "Please."
Charlotte prevaricated a moment longer, before Meluieth added, "Besides, you still have straw in your hair."
That settled it. Charlotte groaned. She would not have that pompous blonde king poking at her again. "I'm not used to my hair being this long or this thick," she said once she had allowed Meluieth to strip off her gown and underclothes and guide her into the now-cold water. She debated removing her antlered necklace but decided at the last second to leave it on. Meluieth didn't hesitate and was already combing through Charlotte's elongated locks to pry out every bit of straw once she was settled in the tub.
"It does look lovely though," Meluieth said. "When you're not hosting the horses' meals in it."
Charlotte laughed. "Technically, it was an elk's meal, or perhaps his bedding. He seemed rather picky to be honest."
She felt her heart clench a little and sighed. Of course, she would get attached after only a few hours with the creature. The elk did save her life, but there was also something wise and gentle about him. Something that felt like home. She would miss that feeling now that he had returned to the wild where he belonged.
And that begged the next question: Where did she belong?
Charlotte decided that she did not want to think about that for the night, and instead prodded Meluieth for information. "How long have you been in Imladris?"
"Only a night," Meluieth handed her a coarse hunk of lavender-scented soap, "We arrived last night, just before you actually. You can scrub yourself with that while I work on your hair."
"You mentioned the King earlier, so you're from the Greenwood?"
"There are actually two kings present for the wedding: King Thranduil of Eryn Galen and King Amroth of Lórinand."
"Are they the only elven kings or the only ones in attendance?"
"You're quick," Meluieth said. She was running her fingers through Charlotte's hair, and a robust lavender scent filled the air. "Just over a hundred years ago, we lost the High King, Ereinion Gil-galad in battle. His one daughter, the Princess of Lindon, remains with us. You'll likely see her at the wedding."
Charlotte thought back to her brief conversation with Legolas and asked, "Is there more than one Princess of Lindon?"
"She's the last of her line, although there is the young Legolas. However, he's not in line for that throne."
"But I saw her earlier. She looked so young! How is it possible that her father died over a hundred years ago, but she looks like she's in her twenties?"
Meluieth laughed and scooped water from the tub with a tall copper pitcher. "I am 3,042 years old this winter." Charlotte gasped and spun to study her companion, and Meluieth dumped the pitcher over her at the same time. "You're not supposed to drink it," Meluieth clucked her tongue and scooped up a second pitcher to finish rinsing the soap from Charlotte's hair.
"They said you were human before," she continued. "I suppose a few thousand years of life would be a bit shocking."
"Just a bit."
"How old were you before you…" she hesitated, "arrived here?"
"Twenty-seven. Although I was born in May and it was February or winter when I left, and now it seems to be autumn. I guess if I'm still here in the spring, I don't know how old I'll be exactly because I've either skipped most of the year, or I'm reliving it."
Meluieth's hands had frozen in Charlotte's hair. "Twenty-seven?" She said, stunned. "You're barely older than little Prince Legolas. He's twenty-two."
"This is going to get so confusing. I thought he was maybe seven."
"He can act like it sometimes," Meluieth said, and there was a note of familiarity there. She shook her head before she added cheerfully, "Not to worry, elves do not celebrate birthdays. We celebrate begetting days. You can use the day the Valar' beget' you into our world as an elf."
Charlotte groaned, "By that math, I'll be even younger. I've only been an elf for less than two days."
"We will figure it out. Let's get you dried off and into your gown before you're late for the ceremony. We leave tomorrow to return to the Greenwood, and I can answer your questions on the journey."
Charlotte didn't bother to tell Meluieth that she hadn't decided to travel to the Greenwood. Meluieth's promise of going with her officially established that the woman was a member of King Thranduil's retinue, and it concerned her that she was already being assimilated into the king's party. Otherwise, she would have been assigned a lady's maid from Lord Elrond's staff.
With Meluieth's assistance, she was quickly dried and dressed in the dark blue silk gown, and the much-older woman combed through Charlotte's hair and pulled the sections at her temples into intricate braids, weaving delicate blue flowers into the dark strands as she went. "I wish we had a circlet for you," she said once she'd finished her task and offered Charlotte a mirror. "You truly look like a noble lady."
"I don't feel much like one."
"Nonsense." Meluieth smiled gently and took the mirror. "The Valar have sent you for a reason, Charlotte. We have only had one reborn elf return to Middle Earth, and he has guarded the Lord Elrond and the elves of Imladris faithfully. Our deities have chosen you to complete an important task here, and to many, that will be enough cause to consider you a member of the nobility."
"Thank you," Charlotte said with a sigh. She was interrupted from saying any more when there was a firm knock on the door.
"And there is your escort," Meluieth clapped her hands and shooed Charlotte toward the door. "Lindir arranged for someone to accompany you to the ceremony."
"Who?" Charlotte asked, but Meluieth grinned and wiggled her brows. "You are going to be a handful, I can tell already."
"And you'll enjoy every moment with me." Meluieth's laugh was musical.
The visitor knocked again, and Charlotte heard a vaguely familiar voice call, "My lady?"
When she opened the door, Charlotte saw a silver circlet balanced on thick pale hair, and she panicked. But then she realized the hair was silver and not the gentle pale gold of Thranduil's, and her eyes registered the friendly blue eyes of the Elvenking before her. Amroth was dressed in midnight blue to match her gown, though his robe was edged in gold. She watched as his pink lips quirked, and his eyes glittered with mirth, and she flushed at being caught staring and hastily dipped into a clumsy curtsy.
His laugh was infectious, although it did not escape Charlotte that he was laughing at her. "Prince Legolas is correct," He said, and his gentle smile clearly told her that he was teasing her. "You are terrible at curtseying."
Charlotte shrugged and grinned. "It's the thought that counts?"
"Your respect is noted and appreciated." He bowed shortly. "Although your status is unheard of, most will agree that you should bow to no one."
"Most?" She raised a single brow.
It was his turn to shrug, but there was a darkness that overtook his previously carefree expression. "There are always purists in every society, though their attitude is largely unwelcome. You'll find little issue in your origins from those that matter."
That left Charlotte worrying. Having a magical quest was one thing; the possibility of being considered a second-class citizen or an imposter because she was initially mortal was another matter entirely. But King Amroth wasn't one to focus on the negatives and offered his arm with a flourish. "Shall we?"
Charlotte looped her arm through his and felt the muscles clench beneath the thick fabric of his sleeves. He was certainly attractive, and friendlier than the other royal elf in Charlotte's opinion.
Hearing steps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to find Meluieth's toothy grin, and she worried about the meaning behind the woman's wagging brows. The elves seemed so refined and dignified. Charlotte felt the heat rise to her face. What if their weddings were the opposite? What if she was wandering foolishly into a night of debauchery?
"Have a pleasant evening, my lord," Meluieth dipped into a graceful curtsy that Charlotte envied. "I'll be in to help you dress in the morning, my lady." She vanished down the corridor before Charlotte could reply.
Amroth was an excellent companion and regaled her with the history of Imladris as they wound their way through the corridors. He seemed to know a good portion of the house's story for a visiting dignitary, including the architectural details, original purposes of some of the rooms, and amusing anecdotes about the few scars within the stone.
"This one is from a rather fraught battle between the Lord Elrond and a daring, brave, handsome prince," he said, pointing to a long skittering gash in one of the walls.
Charlotte was laughing, completely immersed in his tale, and her worries about the ceremony were nearly forgotten. "And who was this daring, brave prince?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
"Handsome." He gave her a cheeky grin. "You forgot 'handsome.'"
"And what did you do that caused the poor lord to chase after you with a… what was it?"
"A spear." His brilliant white teeth were on display, and his eyes crinkled. "He actually managed to beat me around the head with the blunt end at one point, so where's 'Oh poor Amroth,' hmm?"
"I get the distinct impression you deserved it."
"There could be some truth to that."
And Charlotte wanted to ask him what he had done to anger the seemingly gentle Lord Elrond, but he turned the final corner, and Charlotte could see the assembled guests through an open door at the end of the long hall.
When they stepped into the garden, she was nearly overwhelmed with the scent. Night had fallen, and the stars peeked out and twinkled over the circular herb garden. In the dancing light of the lanterns that lined the terrace, swells of purple anise and lavender and soft silvery green towers of rosemary and sage swayed in the crisp breeze that fluttered the burnt orange foliage of the arching trees above their heads. Golden flowers ran in rivers up to a massive oak wedding arch and climbed across the short stone walls that bordered the terrace. The golden blooms wove through the oaken branches, the delicate glow of the petals safely embraced within the strength of the wood.
Charlotte felt peaceful under the watchful stars in the warmth of the glowing garden, lulled by the gentle roar of the falls and the delicate plucking of harp strings. In her periphery, she caught another bright glow, moving among the guests, and she turned to find the source. She was surprised it was not a lantern or a flame, but an elf. He was the same man from the meeting the night before: the captain who was charged with hunting down her attackers. His long blonde hair swayed with each step, and he was dressed in leggings and a tunic with a bow strung across his back and a sword sheathed at his hip. His eyes darted through the crowd, settling on her for a brief second before dismissing her as a threat.
Behind him and looking decidedly unruffled about the entire affair, the Lord Elrond strolled among the crowd accepting blessings and wishes from those who stopped him. When he was finally settled beneath the arch, with the Lord Glorfindel stationed discreetly nearby, the harp's tune shifted, and the crowd hushed and turned to the house.
Celebrían was precisely what Charlotte would have pictured an elven lady to be. Her blonde waves trickled down her back, and a wreath of the tiny golden flowers adorned her head. She held no bouquet and came gracefully unaccompanied down the aisle formed between the assembled elves. Her gown matched her flowers, and with each step, delicate golden slippers peeked out from beneath the layers of skirt.
The lord seemed sweetly impatient for her, and much to the amusement of the crowd who tittered and indulgently smiled, he swept forward with his arms outstretched to receive her, and hand-in-hand they finished the short walk together.
There was no priest or officiant; Celebrían and Lord Elrond clasped each other's hands tightly and spoke their promises clearly and proudly for all to hear. And though Charlotte could not understand the vows they exchanged, as they were expressed in the language of the elves, she felt the power and love embedded in the words. A bit of the romantic that had slowly faded in her soul sparked to life as she watched them, soaking in the gentle thumb the groom caressed against the bride's hand when tears threatened to drip beyond her lashes and savoring their sweet besotted expressions. Lord Elrond tenderly removed a silver ring from Celebrían's hand, and tucked it into his robes, before handing her his own silver ring. They took turns lovingly replacing the rings with thin gold bands that they slid onto each other's right index finger. Elrond's ring glinted as his hand rose to cup his wife's face, and he pressed a featherlight kiss to her brow before dropping to sweetly claim her lips.
Charlotte suddenly wanted that for herself. Romantic entanglements hadn't been possible before; she'd tried. Her priorities in her previous life had been cemented in the care of her mother and her straggling dreams of linguistic mastery and an eventual university job where she could research and share her knowledge with anyone who desired it. And when she asked for coffee from her assistant, she would politely thank him and drink it while it was hot or suffer in silence.
But now, she wasn't sure where any of that fit. Her mother was gone. That thought gave her an unpleasant twang, and she tightened her hold on her emotions. There would be no white dress for Charlotte. No mother eagerly searching with her for that perfect dress. No tears from the woman who had raised her almost entirely alone. She took a deep breath and shoved it all down, just as the crowd erupted in song.
Elves, as it seemed, sang for everything.
Amroth's gravelly singing voice melted seamlessly into the rising chords of the crowd, and he swept his arm out to escort her after the newly married couple. The rest of the group filed in behind them, and together, they snaked their way, singing and carrying the glowing lanterns up the side of the mountain paths to the immense terrace high above the house.
The path was smooth though winding, and Charlotte felt like she was being swept away in a current as the throng of elves wove through each other and pressed up the stairs and curving paths. She only turned around once to view the long trailing stream of them, and she regretted it when she spotted the other Elvenking solemnly gliding behind her.
He wore the same charcoal robes as before, and the cloak's red underside swayed with each of his long strides. Little Legolas was not with him, though Charlotte swore she saw a bouncing head of golden hair weaving between the adults further back in the crowd. He was no doubt with his naneth, and Charlotte could not blame him, because the king looked entirely unpleasant. Despite the elation of the singing elves around him, Thranduil's mouth was firmly sealed, and a furrow had formed between his dark brows.
She felt a brief stirring of pity for him; it was probably painful to attend the Lord and Lady's joyful wedding ceremony after the dissolution of his own relationship. Heat bloomed across her chest, and his silver eyes darted up to find hers. His lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed; even at their distance, she could see his pupils constrict. She panicked, turned too quickly, and only Amroth's arm in hers saved her from making a complete fool of herself and stumbling.
If Amroth marked the direction of her gaze, he wisely said nothing. Although for the remainder of the climb, he switched to Common Tongue and translated the expressions of joy and blessings that the elves bestowed upon the married couple in their songs. Most were for marital bliss and happy lives. Scattered throughout were blessings for many children. According to Amroth, the elves adored children, but Charlotte had only seen one since she had arrived.
"The war was difficult on our people," Amroth explained when she mentioned it. "Having a child requires the will of both parents, and the darkness that bled through our lands weighed heavily on our spirits. Legolas was a miracle in more ways than one."
Her feet were sore, and she was tired by the time she shoved herself up the last of the steps to the reception. Tables stretched around the edges of the terrace, burdened with the weight of the feast, and more golden flowers and curved lanterns lined the tabletops and the surrounding retaining walls. The stone terrace reached out of the mountainside and over the valley, and the elves settled into the hand of the mountain beneath the stars and indulged in a feast unlike any Charlotte had witnessed.
There was no organization or schedule, and the elves rotated between eating, dancing, and singing. Ceaselessly. Charlotte could easily see them going until sunrise, and though there was no evidence of her earlier concerns of debauchery, the wine flowed freely, and the night was steadily growing less reserved. She tried to remain inconspicuous and hid from the whirlpool of dancing elves while she nibbled on a plate of fresh greens, squash, and roasted meat that was rich and delicious until Amroth told her it was a cute little woodland rabbit.
He laughed uproariously at her expression, and gallantly fetched a creamy tartlet from an overflowing table of deserts.
They both knew that she would have to overcome her aversion at some point, but he was polite enough not to mention it, and instead kept her well supplied in sweets and good company. He swept her into the easier dances, gently guiding her through the movements and being mindful of her healing feet. Charlotte stumbled and tripped and stepped on his toes on more than one occasion, but it only led to more laughter.
"My goodness, you all have so many dances, I can't keep the steps straight," she said during one of their breaks.
"You'll learn them quickly," Amroth assured her as he topped off her wine. It was sweet but strong, so it was served in small glasses. She tilted it in the firelight, admiring the almost purple-hue of the dark red wine and the flickers of golden light reflected within. When she caught the glow of the captain at the edge of her glass, she turned to Amroth and quietly asked, "Why does that man glow?" She hoped that wasn't a rude question.
Amroth swirled his own glass, gazing thoughtfully at the stars. "The easiest part of that question is that we are neither men nor women; a female elf is called an elleth, a male elf is an ellon. Your actual question is harder."
He chewed his lip for a moment before setting his wine glass down. "Elves consist of two parts: the hroa and fëa. The hroa encompasses our physical bodies, which can age, albeit slowly, and are susceptible to death through fatal wounds. Our fëa cannot die; it is our spirit. When we die, it travels to the Halls of Mandos, and He is tasked with the judgment of our fëa. We remain in His care until He decides to release us to be reborn. Our memories remain intact, as Lord Glorfindel will tell you."
"The fëa can be seen by elves, and some fëa are more easily seen than others because they are brighter than others. It is how we know when two elves are bonded, for example. Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían are married now, but not yet bonded. Should they bond, you would notice a difference in their fëa. Lord Glorfindel's shines nearly as brightly as yours, and is sometimes visible to mortals, though only particularly observant mortals."
"I have a light?" Charlotte glanced worryingly at her arms, terrified that she had missed some magical glow stick effect under her skin. "What does it look like?"
Amroth hesitated, "It's… vibrant and unusual." He rushed on, concerned that he had offended her. "It's not unpleasant, merely different."
"Different how?"
"Look at Lord Glorfindel's," he nodded his head in the direction of the elven captain.
Lord Glorfindel stood stiffly behind the high table overlooking the festivities. Lord Elrond partially blocked her view, but she could see the soft glow emanating from Glorfindel, like the bronze light of the sun just before it peeks over the horizon.
"He looks like the sun," she said.
"And you look like the stars," Amroth whispered reverently. His eyes caught hers, and a flush worked its way across her cheeks. He leaned forward slightly, and Charlotte felt herself freeze.
"Lady Charlotte, may I have a dance?" A little hand tugged on her sleeve, and Charlotte tore her eyes from Amroth to find Legolas at her hip again. Oddly, he was not staring at her, but rather glaring at Amroth.
"Of course," Charlotte said. "I would be honored. Excuse me, please, King Amroth."
"Just 'Amroth,'" he said before Legolas whisked her onto the dance floor.
Legolas was grinning as he dragged her into position. "Don't worry," he chirped, his two sweet dimples winking at her, "This dance is much easier than the others. I'll teach it to you!"
And he did. Slowly and patiently, Legolas led her through each of the steps with an eagerness that only a child could possess. "That's it!" He cheered after she had ducked as far down as she could to awkwardly spin under his arm. "Now you move your right foot back. Yes, like that! No, the other way."
She laughed. "You are a wonderful instructor, Legolas. Thank you."
"Naneth says that 'A good prince can navigate any dance floor,'" He said and nodded his head once as if it firmly settled that matter.
"And what does your Adar say?"
Legolas shrugged and frowned. "I don't know. Naneth and I live by the sea, and Adar lives in the Greenwood. We don't see him very much, because he has many responsibilities as a king and his people need him. But we'll see him more now because we're going to live with Adar, and he says that you're coming too."
Oh boy. Legolas was already convinced of her journeying with them, and she didn't want him getting his hopes up. "Well, that hasn't been decided yet. I might stay here and try to go home. I have… things there that I need to do," she finished lamely.
The little elf paused in the dance, and the other couples parted and swirled around him like waves around a lonely sea stack. His frown deepened, but he caught Charlotte's concerned expression and quickly smiled at her. His eyes, silver like his adar's, were still full and sad when he said, "It will be okay. You'll find your home."
"Legolas, tolo a bosto." Nemir had swept through the dancers and placed a thin hand on her son's shoulder.
He turned his hopeful gaze on his naneth. "Sevin dhâf…"
Her face pinched, and she shook her head. Legolas would clearly not win whatever he was requesting. "Avo. Lasto nin, Legolas."
"Díheno nin," His shoulders drooped. "Ben iest gîn, Naneth."
Charlotte gathered the hem of her dress so she could squat down to his eye level. She had deduced the gist of the conversation. While the language was different, she knew a bedtime order when she saw it. "Thank you for the dance, Prince Legolas. It was very kind of you to teach me. I'm sure we'll see each other in the morning before you leave."
"You promise?" Legolas grinned.
"Absolutely!"
With that, Nemir shuffled him to a nearby elleth who escorted him down the mountain paths to the house. Charlotte made her own way to the table where Amroth was waiting but found that he had vanished. A quick search showed him guiding a blissful Celebrían around the dance floor, so she settled in with her wine to wait.
The dance was slowing when Thranduil intercepted Nemir trying to leave the party.
"When are you going to tell him?" Thranduil hissed. Charlotte's back went rigid. She did not want to be privy to another one of their arguments.
"I will tell him in the morning before he leaves," Nemir said and tried to step around him, but he towered over her.
"You mean to spring this on him at the last second?"
"I will tell my son when I am ready," she spat.
"You have no son. He is soon to be entirely in my care. You will tell him tonight." Thranduil crossed his arms over his broad chest. The glare he leveled at Nemir would have terrified anyone.
"Ego!" The elleth stepped around him but paused at the peak of the stairs. Her vacant eyes gazed beyond the spread of the valley below. "You are not my king."
Thranduil whipped around, flashes of red erupting beneath his cloak. He leaned into Nemir's face and growled, "And you are not my queen. You are nothing to me."
A vein throbbed in his forehead when Nemir raised a single brow and left him standing alone at the edge of the wedding feast.
Elrond chose that moment to appear, having somehow sensed the trouble brewing, and spotting her sitting alone at the nearest table, he suggested to Thranduil, "The lovely Lady Charlotte sits abandoned by her escort. Perhaps you could be her partner in the next dance?"
The king heaved a sigh, and with barely a glance in her direction, said shortly, "I do not dance. I think I will rest before we take our leave in the morning. Your time would be best spent with your bride."
Pity and dislike warred within her heart, and Charlotte watched his broad shoulders and the sweep of his cloak as he vanished into the night.
.
.
.
Translations/Notes:
Eryn Galen - Sindarin name for Greenwood the Great
Lórinand - An earlier name for Lothlórien.
Tolo a bosto - Come and rest
Sevin dhâf… - May I…
Avo. Lasto nin, Legolas. - Don't whine. Listen to me, Legolas.
Díheno nin - Forgive me
Ben iest gîn, Naneth. - As you wish, Mother.
Ego! - A rude way to say "Go away" (essentially: "f*** off!")
