* Thanks to all you loyal readers for your continued support and patience. As we all know, life can be very chaotic and I am a victim like everyone else.
Thank you for all the likes, favourites, kudos and especially the lovely reviews! I am not worthy!
** Thanks as always to my lovely beta, Frannel.
*** Again, all Sindarin at this stage is denoted by brackets.
**** Chapter/Story Warning: Some may argue elves are pure and never suffer a single sexual thought or desire. Trying to imagine the likes of Galadriel getting all 'randy' I'd tend to agree. However, whether this is true or not, The Elf Husband is my attempt at a romance novel and therefore the characters must act accordingly; be susceptible to romantic themes and thoughts.
- -Can elves get hot and bothered seeing the person they're attracted too? Yes, in THIS story elves are just as passionate and desirous as humans; all the baser instincts are still there. They simply adhere to a higher ethical standard regarding sex and self-discipline themselves against anything premarital.
***** If any amateur artists out there want to earn a bit of pocket money, I am looking to commission some artworks for this story. Please message me if interested.
Dramatis Personæ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion, Sindar's horse
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Ranger
Bregol/Web - Male, Ranger
Camaenor/Vice - Male, Master of Arms
Cordoves/Swan – Female, ranger
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal & Apothecary
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores
Gueniel – Female, Midwife
Laeron/Wren – Male, Ranger
Lobordir/Joust – Male, Master of Stables
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen
Sindar/Master Elf /Legolas – Sinda Male, undisclosed Prince of the Woodland Realm on unofficial secondment
Trîw/Jester – Male, ranger
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command
"Seven . . . Eight . . . Nine . . . Ten."
Across the table Gueniel scratched a mark on her slate.
"Count?"
"Wait . . ." Gueniel tapped each of her markings, "That's one hundred and fifty. Forty to go."
"Truly?" Eryndes snipped, pressing the small of her back with a suppressed groan. "I can sum numbers."
"Too bad I have the slate," Gueniel waved the chalk at her, "Come, no time for slacking! We have but a few hours before the games start."
"Plenty of time."
"Not if you don't hurry up," Gueniel pressed, "Perk up, this will be our year. We will win!"
Eryndes pushed away the empty basket of eggs and draw in the next, "Only if we are challenging children."
"I'm telling you, today is the day!"
"Did you not say the same last year?" Eryndes sighed, staring at the remaining bucket. "There must be an easier way."
Gueniel shrugged, "One hundred and ninety eggs per batch is one hundred and ninety eggs."
"I meant an easier way to prepare cakes enough for five hundred mouths."
"Stop your griping and get on with it."
Levelling her eyes, Eryndes pinched at the flour on the bench and flicked it at her.
Gueniel clucked her tongue, "Childish," then flicked her own pinch of flour.
"Now who's being childish," Eryndes tossed more flour.
The air between them snowed white powder flicking across the bench until with a loud laugh, Gueniel grabbed a whole handful and threw.
Flour went everywhere; bench tops, tables, chairs and floor.
Gasping and laughing, Eryndes grabbed an egg from the basket and lofted it high . . .
Squealing, Gueniel ducked for cover and almost fell to the floor.
Eryndes didn't have a chance to gloat.
Cheeks burning she quickly replaced the egg and cleared her throat gently to get Gueniel's attention.
"Please, don't let us stop you," Aragorn humoured from just inside the kitchen door where he stood with Sindar.
"I am pleased to see you both returned," Eryndes strained, pulling the basket of eggs closer to her and recommenced breaking. "You will be glad to know Morgulchon and his rangers will all make a full recovery."
When Aragorn didn't reply she glanced over and found they were both still watching with great amusement. "The masters decided to delay the day of games in hope of your return," she dropped her eyes back to her work, wishing her cheeks and heart would calm.
"So I see."
"And so we have much to do," Gueniel pointed out in annoyance and shifted back into her chair.
"I saw," Aragorn came further and peered at the first batch of cooked cakes cooling on the racks, "How did they go?"
"Well enough," she answered, "Second batch will be done in a few hours."
"Why are you making them today? Should they not have been done yesterday?"
"Foruyndes," Gueniel told him, "mismarked sacks of salt for sugar."
Aragorn shook his head and started to grumble-
"Please," Eryndes stopped him, "She is thoroughly ashamed of herself and already scolded repeatedly by Sali."
Aragorn's brow creased down at her, "Maybe you should reconsider her position. Her illness must make being a mistress a hardship for the others."
Eryndes stepped up to him, "Foruyndes has held her post for over a hundred years. I cannot take that away from her."
Aragorn held her gaze patiently, "Forty cakes wasted-"
"Only flour and salt. The mistake was realised before going any further-"
"Flour and salt enough for forty cakes then." Aragorn was going to insist, she could see it on his face, and what would poor Foruyndes do then?
Remaining at the doorway, Sindar finally spoke, "Foruyndes makes these mistakes frequently?"
Eryndes answered defensively, "Just this once."
Sindar simply directed her answer to Aragorn. Both shared a look of silent communication Eryndes wasn't apt at reading, making her wretch for Foruyndes. "Aragorn," she implored, "she will not do it again. I promise. Be it on my own head if she does."
Her brother's face broke and chortled, lifting up his hand to pluck at her hair, "You have enough on your head already," he showed her the flour between his fingers.
Eryndes bit her lip. They would have to arrive right at the inopportune moment. Facing Aragorn after being caught fooling about was bad enough. Having the elf there too was worse.
"Very well," he soothed, brushing at the flour on her cheek with a thumb, "You're Mistress, it's your decision. Just don't make more work for yourself."
"There's always plenty of work, Strider. Perhaps you'd like to volunteer to help?" Gueniel pointed out indignantly.
Aragorn gestured to the flour coating everything, "You two look to have everything . . . in hand."
Not one to be teased and caring little for civility, Gueniel raised her chin defiantly, "Be gone before we pelt you with eggs; mucking out stables or not, I'll feel better for it." She threw her eyes at Sindar, "you and your friend."
Sindar beamed provokingly at Gueniel, "I do not see why I have earned an egg pelting."
Eryndes laughed, most unexpectedly. Covering with a small cough, she busied herself with the eggs. "Gueniel's right," she defended cracking the second egg, "After nigh four hundred eggs one cannot be accountable for one's actions."
"Then we shall leave you to it," Aragorn's deep laugh came up beside her, reaching around her-
"What are you doing?" she jumped, grabbing after him with flour coated hands.
Aragorn was faster. He easily dodged around her and snatched like a snake. Grinning he walked back to Sindar with his prize held high. "We're hungry."
"Aragorn, you cannot!" she went after him, "These are for tonight."
"Then you should've guarded them better," he winked, holding the cake out of her reach with one hand, "Sindar smelt them the moment we arrived."
Eryndes turned to the silent elf, opening her mouth to say something scathing but in the end lost her nerve. Especially when Sindar was openly waiting for her to speak with a humoured smile upon his eyes. Instead she addressed her brother, pointing to the cake in his hands, "You better eat every crumb because there will be no lunch for either of you. I don't feed thieves."
Leaning down Aragorn pressed a kiss to her forehead, "You just did." Grinning at her, he swept past Sindar through the door, "Come, Melloneg."
When the elf didn't move to follow, Eryndes finally snapped, "Are you expecting another?" and immediately wished to take it back.
How was it her wits never failed to flee in his presence?
"And suffer your wrath?" he mused lightly pushing the door back open behind him. "Not this time," he inclined his head with a sly smile and slipped out through the door.
"I should've thrown an egg in his face anyway. Wipe the smugness right from his face."
"Please!" Eryndes let out her pent up breath. With an effort, she returned calmly to the bench, "Do you not think me embarrassed enough?"
"Because of the elf?" Gueniel sneered at the door. Taking up some of the flour, she pointedly tossed it in the air, "So he knows you're just as silly as the rest of us. Why does his opinion matter?"
Eryndes focused on cracking and emptying another egg. How many was that? Four?
"And then you told him to go hungry for stealing a cake?" Gueniel continued with a loud laugh, "Actually you told him and Strider. So that's two lords you told to go hungry. Where are your manners, mistress? What would your mother say?"
Eryndes lifted her eyes enough to glare at her friend, "Five . . . Six . . . Seven . . ."
"I think you miscounted."
Biting her lip against the desire to call Sali an old donkey, Eryndes took yet another sip of brandy before continuing trickling the spirit over the warm cakes. It was never a good idea to start sipping so early in the day, but when faced with such criticism, brandy did wonders for her patience.
Gueniel didn't drink brandy; "We were quite sure of the count. Perhaps your ovens were too hot. You did check during baking?"
Sail clucked her tongue with a superior shake of her head. "I do not make mistakes. How dare you suggest otherwise?"
Eryndes quickly moved between them to break up the friction and bow down low over the bench for a closer look, "I see no great difference."
Sali exaggerated the dip in the middle with her hand, "They're droopy, flatter than the first batch. The brandy pools in the middle."
"There is barely any dip at all," she protested. The afternoon was in full swing. After preparing the cake batter, Sali took over the task of cooking them while Gueniel and Eryndes helped the rest of the Carthal masters' set up tables and chairs out under the great pear trees.
Now, the cakes were being unfairly scrutinised by the expert panel of judges.
Mydedis looked in closer too, "Perhaps we should open one up and taste?"
"See Strider and Sindar," Gueniel huffed with complete loss of temper, taking a chest full of candles and walked towards the door, "They came in and helped themselves."
"They took one cake between them," Eryndes disputed taking yet another sip, "And from the first batch."
Mydedis pulled out a long cake knife, "Maybe they should be cut before serving, disguising their misshape-"
"They are done," Eryndes cut in and reluctantly put down the brandy. The buzz was pleasant, but not good when there was still a party to finish preparing for. She joined Gueniel at the door, "Perhaps not to everyone's high expectations but that is how the cake rises. Let us move on, shall we? We have remaining a lot of work and an hour to do it in."
"I think you fouled the count," Gueniel chimed in beside her as they both briskly headed outside.
"Aye," Eryndes agreed, rubbing the haze from her eyes, "I think I did."
"But you're not telling them that?"
Eryndes waved away the suggestion, "I cannot be sure when I only think I did. Besides they were bellyaching over nothing. The cakes are fine."
"And if they aren't, give the bad batches to those you don't like, but especially Strider and Sindar." Gueniel held the door open for her with a shrug, "Our count was sure until they came in and you lost your wits."
"I did no such thing!" They made it outside into the heat of the mid afternoon and down along the bustling hustle around the grassy area on the north side where the festivities were being prepared. "They simply interrupted our count-" she stopped, her brandy tingling mind coming to a sharp halt.
"What is the matter?"
"We ordered the bean-chips."
"Did we?"
"So where are they?"
Gueniel yawned, "How should I know?
"You are a great help."
Her friend's snigger cut short, snapping her fingers with insight, "If no-one's unpacked them, they must be still on one of the last wagons?"
Eryndes rubbed her brow then pointed in the direction of where all the other masters and mistresses were hastily setting out crockery and candles, and marking out game squares with white painted rope, "I'll go. Can you please have them start bringing out the food? Everyone has begun to gather and we are not yet ready."
"As you bid, mistress," Gueniel pretended to flick her in the arm.
Eryndes tried to return the favour but Gueniel skipped out of her reach with a chortle. With a grin she hurried to the south side of the grounds towards where the last of the wagons laid waiting. Already children ran and giggled through the gardens, excited and jubilant, their cheeks red from toffee apples and the blazing sun.
Around the main embarkation loop, the elderly and families arrived upon small carts; women tentatively cradling platters of delicacies to share, children waving to their friends, and men holding barrels of homemade mead and brew. Others jumped down from horseback to embrace and shake hands with great cheer.
Did a few subpar cakes truly matter in the coming afternoon? Where children would run and laugh? The folk of Carthal, her people, the people of her family's name, revelling together in delight and companionship?
When war tarnished much of their lives, a few dense cakes mattered little.
It was not the brandy in her blood making her steps light and countenance content.
This day was to be one of fond remembrance.
Aragorn pulled the straps loose and he waved Legolas forth, "We, the leaders, set up. Then at the end of the night, everyone else continues and gradually packs up while we all retire to the manor."
Three wagons from the caravan, including the one they'd salvaged, remained full, chugged and covered adjacent to the southern loop of the main embarkation area. To unload and process took time and the Dúnedain were content to leave the work to their leaders. Whilst all around them the joyful preparations for the festivities left Carthal a hive of activity.
Over by the giant pear trees, those talented with pipe, wood and string played merry tunes to coax folk to the newly snipped grass, where the masters and mistresses of Carthal erected long tables, hung lanterns and placed candles.
The sweetness of the music, folk young and old talking with great animation, and the noise of a 'hare in the hole' game in progress was to be heard on the southside of the manor.
"It's traditional," Aragorn supplied, "shows we're all prepared to do our part."
"I do not mind helping," Legolas shrugged with afterthought, "a fair trade after thieving."
Aragorn patted his stomach with glee, "Ah but it was worth it."
Legolas shook his head slowly with a wry smile, "I wonder when she will allow us to eat again."
"It's an empty threat. She'd never see me go hungry."
Legolas tossed over the rope to Aragorn with a raised brow, "Fine for you but what of me?"
"You either," Aragorn unhooked then tossed the rope back, "She likes you. She'd never see us go hungry."
Legolas gathered up the rope with a hidden smile while Aragorn gave the covering a yank and leather slide off entirely. He eyed the contents, "More wine?"
Aragorn hefted a barrel up onto his shoulder, "Come, let's split a barrel."
"Did you not say we are to work?" Legolas asked before scoffing, "The last time we split a barrel, I scraped you off the floor of a brothel-"
Slight footsteps approached them and he wondered at his slackened guard since his return from Angmar; he'd not even noticed until she was close enough to hear them.
At least this time he wasn't covered in dirt or stunk.
Aragorn saw her too, "He didn't mean a brothel."
"Indeed?" Eryndes asked with recriminating humour, walking passed them to the wagon's wheel. Using the wheel as a step, she tried in vain to reach for a large red-dyed hessian sack on top.
Without hesitation, Legolas nimbly swept up onto the wagon, retrieved the sack and swept down.
A warm smile greeted him when he handed it to her, "Thank you."
His insides glowed. "(You're welcome)."
Discretely her fingers played with the rough fibres of the hessian, "So, what did you mean if not a brothel?"
"It was an Inn, Eryndes," Aragorn jumped in from behind them, "Sindar only calls them brothels because of the-"
"Tavern-harlots?" she supplied for Aragorn sweetly before continuing on her way.
Legolas' head tilted at Aragorn's glare, "What did I do?"
"Now she thinks I'm a lecher!" Thrusting the barrel to him, Aragorn went after her, "We were there for the rooms, sister. Nothing more. Empty rooms."
Legolas followed them, barrel under his arm and a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
"We were there for the rooms, and a hot meal."
"And the wine," Legolas supplied, keeping to a single step behind them.
"Yet you ended on the floor?" she taunted, then held up a hand, "No, please, spare the details if it was with some -"
"From drink. Wine. I was young." Aragorn shot a glance back at him, "Will you please explain?"
After the past couple days, Legolas was enjoying Aragorn's discomfort, "It was an Inn, we did have rooms, and yes, Aragorn ended up on the floor, curled up against the empty barrel with a dog."
"A dog?" Eryndes stopped walking and looked back at him.
Legolas inched closer to her, "A horrid, mangy thing with mites. He was incessantly itching for days."
Aragorn pouted, "Until I threw my clothes into the fire-"
"-and wore some of mine," Legolas cut in, "until new ones were purchased-"
"-but not for some weeks-"
"-when we finally reached the next town."
"-which Sindar paid."
Legolas gave him a sly glance out the corner of his eye, "How else was I going to get my clothing back?"
Eryndes looked at both of them incredulously, "And the harlots?"
Legolas snorted, "I advised his lack of coin. Their hasty retreat was amusing."
"And you?"
"Sindar demanded they marry him first," Aragorn put in slyly, "Some of them were interested-"
"I simply wished to be rid of them," Legolas explained at once then adding under his breath, "I was foolish believing them to recoil from the proposal."
Aragorn leaned down to whisper none too discreetly to Eryndes, "They'd never believe he hasn't any money; a wealthy husband for the capture."
"You never speak to me of your younger years," Eryndes accused Aragorn.
"Of course not. Your mother never allowed me to speak of anything uncivil around you. Even now she'll be waiting in Mandos with a ready hatchet." They arrived at the tables and Aragorn tapped the spot for the barrel, "This was back when Sindar and I first met. I was still very young, not yet thirty. "
"You met at an Inn?" she doubted, her eyes flicking to Legolas.
"Hardly." Legolas set the barrel where Aragorn indicated, "Though our acquaintance still young, your brother insisted on a warm bed instead of braving an approaching storm and suggested our sharing to ease the cost."
"Share a room?" she asked.
"The bed."
Eryndes covered her surprised laugh with a hand.
"Some Inns charge per bed, not per room," Aragorn grumbled, taking three mugs from the table and turned the tap on the wine barrel, "Sindar refused and paid for two rooms-"
"Which we did not use," Legolas cut in.
"-and drank a barrel dry."
"Which I also paid for," he recounted cheerily, "and our food too. Also herbs for Aragorn's pained head the next morning."
Eryndes pursed her lips, "If Aragorn slept on the floor with a dog and the rooms went unused-?"
"There were some men set up with chess tables," he took the wine Aragorn held out to him but offered it to Eryndes, "I contented myself with winning back my squandered funds while waiting for your brother to regain consciousness."
She politely waved away the mug with one hand and awkwardly holding the sack with the other, "Thank you, but there is still much to do."
Legolas frowned, for there was no doubting the brandy to her breath.
Eryndes though addressed her brother, "That reminds me. Would you have the challengers announced before the feast? Time is already against us; folk gather for the begin of the games and you know how the masters are . . ."
Disappointed, Legolas took back the wine silently waiting as Aragorn and Eryndes discussed the afternoon and evening ahead. The ease of their conversation left him tender and a resentful part of him wished another drunken brawl would call Aragorn away.
Perhaps to the otherside of the Carthal complex for at least an hour?
"Sindar!"
With an exaggerated pause, Legolas peeled his study away from the tiny mole behind the lobe of her left ear.
Úrion came and shuffled his large frame in next to him, "Word is you don't intend to join in any of the games? Too bad, I was counting on beating you in the root-toss."
Legolas handed him Eryndes' wine, "I do not see a need to compete."
Úrion tapped the mug against the spare Legolas took from the table, "Games are fun."
Taking a slow sip he allowed his tongue to savour the taste. Far from the quality of the wines of home, it was still a star-high superior to drinking ale, "And how should I handicap myself to allow others to win honourably?"
With a wrinkle to his nose, Úrion swallowed, "Ugh. Can't say I prefer wine. There's no harm in letting folk win."
"Not competing to one's full ability is dishonest," he bit out, watching Aragorn and Eryndes continue their conversation out of the corner of his eye and depart together.
Without word.
Annoyed, Legolas took a long gulp of wine.
"These games are for fun," Úrion told him absentmindedly. "Besides, who said you'd win? You cannot be superior at everything."
Legolas took another gulp of wine. Further away now he heard her laugh when Aragorn suggested her, the Champion of Carthal, should stand up for the ranger challenges since her defeat over Sindar. Her reply tartly stipulated only if she rode on Aragorn's shoulders.
"Sindar?"
Stopping himself from drowning the last gulp, Legolas lowered his mug and raised an eyebrow at Úrion. "(What is it)?"
"My son tells me there's a skip between you and Faron."
With a scoff, Legolas threw the wine down his throat. "Faron enjoys being instigator of conflict."
Úrion nodded, "That's true. Faron's always been . . . different. However, if there is a problem-"
"You believe me incapable of dealing with him?" he snapped.
His friend was completely unperturbed as usual and calmly took Legolas' mug for refill. "I believe nothing of the sort. My reason is not interference, but to offer council-"
"How is council not interfering?"
Úrion didn't answer immediately. Once filled, he handed the mug back to him, "Faron's not a usual man, I grant you, but you shouldn't disregard him because of it."
Legolas frowned, "I am not certain of your meaning."
"Look," Úrion appealed, "he's as stalwart and seasoned as any of our best rangers. Some even say better at combat than Strider and seen more battles than I."
That didn't impress him. "He would not have been singled out for the special training was he not-"
"Sindar, please," his friend pressed, "Don't hold his difference against him. If what you saw in Angmar does lead to a bloody battle, we'll need warriors like Faron. You'd be lucky to have him at your back."
Still not quite understanding, Legolas stared down at the burly man, "I do not disregard any because of personal differences. I insist you to not make this assumption again."
To his surprise, Úrion grinned and held up his mug, "That is good. Now come, enough! Let's drink. Galu! (Cheers!)"
"Galu," he returned bringing his mug to his lips and took it away with a growl. "I have been informed much too often of late regarding my conduct. Am I truly viewed so ill-favoured?"
Úrion laughed but slapped the back of his shoulder, "Oh, my friend. You're good fellow . . . once folk get to know you."
Legolas looked for patience in the sky, "I understood I am thought of highly by the lady-folk of the manor."
"Nothing could be truer. So much you're named champion to them. One could be fooled into thinking you have quite the talent with women."
Legolas dropped his eyes to stare down into his mug and murmured, "One would indeed have to be a fool." He caught sight of Eryndes across the field. Her and her midwife friend together once more, laughing as they set out trays of fruit and nuts.
Úrion continued happily, "You found a way to be their champion, now they're your greatest advocates. Perhaps if you try the same with Faron?"
Was that the key? Become her champion? The prospect of becoming her champion was highly appealing.
"Father," Laeron greeted coming up from along the line of tables and through the gathering crowd, "Mother demands you attend her."
"A husband's duty is never done," Úrion set down his wine then spoke directly to his son, "A good lesson for you to learn well, boy."
"Yes, father," Laeron agreed easily, bringing his ale up for a drink-
Úrion snatched it from his hand and silenced Laeron's outrage with a stern finger, "Leave the ale for the men. If you want there's wine."
Laeron sent his father's departing back a scathing but silent rebuke. Remembering Legolas was also there, the young ranger faced him with a blush, "Forgive me, Sindar. I mean no disrespect to my father. He simply . . ."
"Fails to see you as an adult?" he offered sympathetically.
"Exactly!"
"I know this well."
Laeron beseeched him, "Then what do I do?"
His face hardened, "Live happily with the knowledge your father loves you."
The boy's usual easy manner stiffened and he inclined his head respectfully, "Yes, Sindar."
He took another long draught of wine, wishing, praying for the Dúnedain's barrels never to empty. "I know not the lessons of a Dúnedain husband, but the lessons for sons are universal. If a father's duty is to watch over his children 'til cometh his last breath, it so then falls to his children to endure his endless love with patience and grace. Though difficult at times, as sons we must tolerate."
Legolas brought the mug to his lips only to find it empty; again. "Though a son may choose distance from his father to prove unto himself."
Laeron smiled, "Mirkwood is indeed a fair distance away from one's father."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Not that I was thinking . . . I know my place is here . . . but what an honour, I mean well, you're here, perhaps one day a ranger may be invited to serve under King Thranduil. Not me, obviously, but a worthy enough ranger-"
"Laeron," Legolas stopped him.
"Sorry, Sindar," the boy's young face faced the ground.
Legolas refilled his mug, swearing it the last time for a while lest he drink the barrel dry. He filled a spare mug from the table and handed it to Laeron.
"Another couple weeks and the games would've been abandoned altogether," Laeron mentioned awkwardly, taking the wine. "Faron says the weather's late-"
"Laeron," Legolas stressed, "the honour would be Lasgalen's but now is not the time. Your people need you here."
The boy gave a solemn nod before taking a sip of wine. Watching him, Legolas felt a warm fondness; a strange kind of kinship in recognising his younger self in the boy.
Across the grass field the gathering of people spread out; some moved away from the painted ropes whilst others were taking leather straps and marshalling two by two. "Tell me the goal of this game?"
Laeron followed his eyes, "We call it three-legged-mule; two are tethered to one another and must reach the finish rope first. It's not easy."
"Their legs are tethered?" he watched, surprised to see Eryndes and her midwife friend tying their legs together.
"Making three legs, yes. It is far trickier than appears. The afternoon games are for women and children mostly."
"Your father disagrees," Legolas nodded at Úrion strapping his leg to a small woman barely over two thirds his size.
"Mother always insists upon her and father competing in the games together."
Legolas looked at Laeron, seventeen years old and almost as tall and broad as his father, then back to the tiny woman. "Your mother-?" he stammered.
Laeron chortled, "Yes, my mother. I'm surprised you haven't met her. Though, I do say she's easily missed in a crowd of tall folk."
"You mother is so . . . little."
"Aye. As father says 'love comes in all shapes and sizes'."
Legolas closed his eyes then opened with a grimace, "Your pardon, Laeron, I did not mean to be disrespectful."
"It's a common reaction," Laeron assured him. "And I won't be the youngest for much longer. Normally they'd compete in the barrel race and some others but with mother's condition . . ."
Still struggling, he looked back at Úrion's wife, "Truly? A sixth child?" He'd seen two of Laeron's siblings; how ever did so small a woman produce such big children . . . and keep producing them? How did they even create them with Úrion being as large a man as he was?
Laeron was still grinning knowingly at him.
"Felicitations," he offered, forcing the unbidden voyeuristic puzzle from his mind.
If at all possible Laeron's smile grew even bigger, "Thank you. Mother's hoping for a girl," he shrugged, "after five sons."
"Your mother must be . . ." words failed him.
"Robust?" Laeron suggested wryly.
His face broke and laughed lightly to cover his unease, "Forgive me, Laeron."
The boy simply held up his mug, "To the robust women of the Dúnedain?"
Mirroring him, he joined in the salute with another short chuckle, "The robust women of the Dúnedain."
Both of them took a drink and the sound of stones struck together drew their attention.
The three legged mules darted forward from the start.
Or most did.
Eryndes and her friend clung to each other, trying their best to keep their legs working in tangent, but failed less than one third of the distance from the starting rope. They both landed on top of one another, succumbing to a fit of laughter.
Legolas found it hard not to smile watching them and how they tried to help each other up only to fall back down to the grass.
"A waste of time," a new voice spoke up from his side.
The delight dropped from his face. He answered without facing the newcomer, "What is the harm in a bit frivolity?"
"Frivolity in the middle of a war?"
Although nowhere as difficult to deal with as Faron, Sírdhem's fondness for despair was a constant injury to the morale of those around him.
Legolas breathed in, reluctant to draw his attention away from the merriment. "Considering the recent losses, you truly believe all focus should linger upon evil?"
"Victory over evil is not won playing games."
"Victory is long forsaken if naught but evil's dark influence dwells in the hearts of people."
He could hear Sírdhem's teeth grind but the man fell into silence.
Legolas held in a chuckle seeing Eryndes trip once more and take her friend with her, again. The two women were the worst; the other competitors having already long finished. Úrion and his wife did quite well however, finishing half a step behind the winners.
"Then you ought to take part, Sindar," Laeron spoke up.
"Why must I?"
"Show folk it's okay to be merry. Father does. Strider does."
He watched the two women finally make it to the finishing mark; breathing hard and faces red but smiles bright. "The midwife chooses a poor partner," he appraised finally. "Were Eryndes my partner, I should have carried her."
"And be disqualified for cheating," Aragorn pointed out rejoining them, "Both must to finish under their own power."
"Obviously they require much practice." Could he perhaps offer to train them?
"Competing is not about winning, melloneg. Besides, Eryndes and Gueniel have competed together since they were kids. I doubt any amount of practice would aid them."
"My family's killers are out there!" Sírdhem's sudden outburst made them recoil. "And here we are playing games. And you! You might've killed those responsible."
Sírdhem's remarks cut deep and Legolas felt his irritation grow, "I may have tried and no doubt failed. I cannot defeat odds of seventy to one. Would my death make losing your family less painful?"
Sírdhem snarled, "What do you know of the pain of loss?"
His head snapped to the side and glared fury at the man. "Much."
Sírdhem held his challenge while the others shuffled uncomfortably around them. Aragorn started to reach for his shoulder, but he flicked a direct warning at him with his eyes. Aragorn's arm lowered in defeat.
Legolas returned to Sírdhem.
But he found the man's anger now absent; posture slackened and he stared out at nothing. At once all there was to be seen was a man, broken.
A lump rose in his throat. He knew better than most the words of anger spoken out of heartbreak. He knew better than to rise to them.
Sírdhem sighed finally, raising his head to take in the musicians and merry folk at play. "My daughters, they loved this day."
An uncomfortable air fell over the group until Aragorn cleared his throat, "But your wife didn't."
Sírdhem's bleak face broke and smiled, "No, she didn't. Despised it."
"You and the girls dragged her to every one of the games."
The smile grew. "We did."
"As I recall, she often feigned injuries to sit out."
Sírdhem surprised him again, this time by chuckling, "No, she was never a great sport."
Aragorn shared the moment of happy memory while they watched. Legolas felt a keen admiration for his friend. Aragorn knew his people. He knew them well. Not even with his own people did Legolas have such an acute knowledge or familiarity.
A shift to the air moved about in their surroundings and captured his attention.
He felt her presence; slowly, softly, her nimble feet cautiously approaching. He even heard her swallow.
"Briel?" Legolas called out, crossing his arms over his chest, the men around looking at him in surprise, "What was our agreement about your sneaking?"
"I wasn't sneaking," came the stubborn whine from behind him.
Turning about, Legolas saw as expected; the little girl hiding behind the tree, "Do not lie."
But Briel wasn't looking at him but at the others; her small bright blue eyes demurred and shy.
"Briel?" he said firmly, watching her small fingers fiddle with the edges of her sketch book.
"Briel?" Laeron gently asked, "What is it, honey?"
"Is something wrong, Briel?" Aragorn asked.
For once Legolas knew better of the child, "Step forward."
Immediately, Briel did as he instructed with small steps.
"Head up, child."
Briel breathed in and came to stand in front of him, raising her face to him meekly.
"Now, speak."
Briel shook her head. Instead she lifted her book to him. Legolas took it and opened to the page marked.
Another drawing of him. Even with his absence over the last couple days, Briel's talent had captured his likeness exceedingly well; only this time his face was no longer drawn and austere.
This time he was smiling.
He dropped his hand, securely landing on her shoulder before her feet made more than half a turn to flee.
"What is it, Sindar?"
Legolas didn't answer Sírdhem's question and turned Briel back to face him, "Why are you acting this way?"
Briel looked up at him hesitantly, "Do you . . . like it?"
"Well of course I like it," he answered sternly then smiled.
Briel's face lit up brighter than the afternoon sun.
"Show us?"
Legolas raised an eyebrow at her. At Briel's nod he handed the book to Aragorn.
Aragorn took the book then laughed in good nature, "She's made you look pleasant."
"He is pleasant!"
The men all looked from the drawing down to Briel. Quickly, she retreated; stepping back away from them and into Legolas' side, her small arms wrapping around him.
"I am pleasant," Legolas smirked nodding at the book, "And there is your proof."
"Sindar?" Briel asked quietly when he returned the book to her. She breathed in and continued, "will you team with me wheelbarrow race?"
Legolas blinked down at her. He opened his mouth to refuse but the sweet plea on her face . . .
"The wheelbarrow race is for daughters and her kinsmen," Úrion gently explained, coming to his rescue, "Why don't you ask your father?"
"His knee is bad," she said quietly, "Uncle Amdirbarad and I always teamed but . . ."
Grief filled her young face and Legolas' heart sank. Not even one so young was spared from loss.
"Briel, if you wish, I will team with you," Sírdhem suggested quietly, "We are kin. Langwen was my cousin."
Briel looked at Sírdhem cautiously then held up her hand with a nod. Sírdhem took her hand and Briel lead him away. She stopped though, turning back to him, "Will you come watch?"
"Alas," Legolas said genuinely, "I must help set up-"
"Go," Aragorn interrupted, handing him another wine filled mug, "We're almost done anyway. If you won't compete you can at least watch your admirer."
The hours passed. Briel was finally called away by her mother to dress for the evening, as went most of the women. The male-folk and a few of the female rangers who elected not to change attire stood around in languish, drinking and laughing while waiting for their return.
Slowly the women-folk returned in clumps. The children came first, trying hard not to run in their long skirts. Then handfuls of younger women, older women.
Then finally she was there. Walking up from the manor in parade with a few of the other mistresses. They all wore their best. Colours and fixings era unseen. The mistresses did look splendid in all their finery.
None of the others robbed him of breath like she did.
No less than a beguiling siren.
The style of her dress was quite the departure from the loose-drape of her everyday wear. Although the long loose sleeves and skirt concealed her arms and legs, the drop of her neckline and cosy hug from shoulder to hip parted his lips and lowered his jaw.
He swallowed spying the cleft between her breasts, peeking no more than an inch above the hem but yet enough to warm his blood.
She continued past with her companions, the light of a hundred fires and candles caressing upon her fair skin.
Her dark hair, two long thick interwoven braids, followed past the sweet nape of her neck and exposed collarbone, down the length of her back. The prominent curve from slender waist to feminine hips was embellished by a faded golden sash sitting just above the full swell of her round bottom.
A shiver born of no chill shook through his body; pleasant and yet unmistakably primal.
She was a siren.
Legolas righted his head at once, jaw clamping, his eyes swiftly rising to eye level. But it was too late. Suddenly the noise of the crowd was unbearably loud.
"It must be hard."
"What must be hard?" Legolas asked quietly.
"Being here, so far from home, bereft of your kind and yet surrounded by so many women."
He cleared his throat, "I suffer from no such abstinence."
Foruyndes' smugness hit him without having to look upon her, "Clearly, as you've already admitted some to be not so unattractive to the eyes of an elf. Beautiful even, as I recall."
Holding his jaw solid, he faced her, "You, lady, are devious."
Foruyndes took his arm, "Apparently not as devious as you. I'd dare say none but me know it I'd wager. Most never see beyond their noses. But not Foruyndes. Foruyndes can see, I assure you. My eyes see well."
He longed to flee. Instead, he continued to face her with dread filling his stomach, "I am far from devious."
She clucked her tongue, "What would Strider think of you? Ogling his sister with eyes to make any maiden blush?"
Tingling warmth crept up from his neck to his face, "I was not . . . ogling."
"Sindar," she reproached. "My eyes do not lie. But please, do tell; do all male elves secretly hunger for the bounties of mortal flesh or only you?"
"I find nothing-" he stopped before his defensiveness called forth a lie. "Foruyndes, perhaps your limit is far reached," he reached for her brandy-
She snatched her hand back far quicker than he'd have given her credit. She winked, "Are you ashamed your eyes seek not your own kind?"
Legolas reacted with the speed of a striking serpent. "I must insist your limit is reached."
Foruyndes stared at her empty hand in wonder, her fingers slow to realise they no longer held the flask. "Or perhaps I am wrong and this is only a pleasant addition to an existing admiration?" Swivelling her aged eyes back to him, the glaze was gone and replaced by clarity, "She is your lovely, is she not?
He breathed in. Then again and deeper. "Perhaps I merely happen to admire her . . . choice of a more . . . becoming colour this evening." At the very least it was true.
"You find her lovely. There's nothing wrong with my memory."
Legolas held himself tall, "What are you after, Foruyndes?"
Surreptitiously, Foruyndes leaned into him and whispered, "It is more than her virtue you desire? Isn't it?"
Blood pooled in his face. "I am an elf! I have no-" he stopped mid-sentence, his tongue unwilling to tell a falsehood.
"Yes? You have no? What? You're an elf and . . .?"
He stubbornly remained silent.
"Sindar?"
Finally, he let go and unclenched his fists. No matter what he said, Foruyndes was far too observant and wouldn't be persuaded. He could only hope she was as she claimed to be; a Keeper of Secrets. "I admit I find her likeable."
"Aye," she poked at his shoulder, "I have long seen the result of such an admission. It is always the same; children."
Slowly he shifted around to face her and Foruyndes took his glare as encouragement. "Well? Do you plan to ogle all evening, or shall you act? You won't get anywhere if you simply stare. Imagine how much more pleasing it would be dancing with a colour so becoming?"
Legolas looked away, his eyes watching everyone at once, but seeing none. "I believe there are a few hours remaining before dancing commences."
"True," Foruyndes approved before poked him again, "however only the fool waits. Do you not think the maidens of age are not the first to be snatched up, each proceeding dance long promised to another?"
He frowned, "My understanding was seeking beforehand is not customary amongst the Dúnedain."
"And you do everything customarily?"
A long drawn breath gushed out through troubled lips, "Foruyndes . . ."
Foruyndes raised a wrinkled eyebrow and waved her hand for him to speak.
But the tension built up again immediately. He dropped his eyes, "I do not know how - how do I speak to what is in my heart?"
"Don't! That is precisely what you shouldn't do. Now is not the time for heart-speak." She relieved him of the brandy and took his arm again but this time to guide him towards the crowd, "Just go over there. Ask her to promise you a dance. Tell her she looks pretty tonight."
His eager gaze found Eryndes once more. She was talking with Lobordir now, both smiling broadly and laughing with others whom he did not know. "Does she not every night? Every day?"
Her surprising firm grip tightened around his arm. "Then go tell her. Though I'd hold back on mentioning how the sight of her in her grandmother's dress makes you long to lie with her."
He shot back to his friend, "I thought no such thing!"
"That's the spirit," she pushed at him, "Go on."
"How can you be so vulgar?" he stammered, unwilling to forgive her suggestion even if it was born from drink.
Foruyndes simply chortled, "Is it vulgar to desire the woman you find likeable? Does the adoration in your eyes not stir a fever?"
Legolas felt the warmth in his blood once more-
"If not, Sindar," she lamented with a slow sad shake of her head, "then I must conclude you elves are without passion. No wonder your kind make so few babies-"
"Elves have passion-!"
"What a shame!" she sniffed, "Perhaps it's best you allow all the young men claim her dances after-all. I'd hate to condemn a dear sweet girl to a passionless love from a passionless fellow. Perhaps Joust or even young Bregol-"
"Excuse me," he snapped and took to the crowd, shuffling his urgent way towards where Eryndes and Lobordir were still standing.
Of course he knew Foruyndes had cunningly played him like a chess piece. Again. Yet, was she not correct? What good did it do to sit back and stare?
Could he bear watching her dance with everyone but him?
"Dúnedain!"
Legolas' feet came to a reluctant halt.
He was too late.
"Dúnedain!" Aragorn repeated, shouting out over the crowd of chattering people from the raised platform next to the master's table.
Lobordir guided Eryndes out of the crowd towards the master's table and although he too was meant to be seated there, Legolas didn't move towards the table. His gaze didn't move from where Lobordir's hand rested at the small of her back.
The crowd dispersed quickly, heading to the edges of the grass to where the tables were set up, making a large circle in the centre.
"Good evening! Let's have the winners from the earlier games come forth for their prizes. As they do, please let the competitors step forward for the Ranger's Challenge!"
"Before the feast?" someone from the crowd called.
Aragorn nodded, "To save time, yes. We'll start during the feast. Come, who will be the first to step forward?"
Legolas felt his friends come up beside him. Lobordir, having delivered Eryndes to the Master's table, was quickly retracing his steps and heading directly for him.
"Have you changed your mind?"
"Concerning?" Legolas asked him.
Lobordir waved at him and his friends who'd continued to close in, "The Challenge?"
"I have no wish to compete."
"Why not?" Camaenor asked from beside him. Even though the blacksmith was taciturn to Eryndes, he seemed to have taken a liking to Legolas, so far as to say friendly. "Not only do the challengers get to showcase their skills in front of all, but are also rewarded for doing so."
"Only if you win," Lobordir corrected.
"Sindar won't compete. He 'wants for nothing'," Laeron chimed in from behind. "Though I think Sírdhem might be planning on giving him a bouquet of orc heads."
"That was a joke, you fool," Sírdhem growled from the other side of him.
Laeron just shrugged then stepped forward, "My lord, I submit my challenge."
"Whom do you wish to challenge, Laeron?"
"Camaenor."
"No surprise there," Úrion grumbled, coming to stand with him and in front of the others. "Boy's been talking about nothing but that darn sword for weeks. If only he spent the same amount of attention on his betrothed."
Legolas raised his brow at his friend, "Laeron is betrothed?"
Úrion didn't answer instantly. He was silent while Laeron and Camaenor bid their pledges to the challenge. "Few years ago he was discovered alone with a young girl. Both of them swears nothing scandalising happened but folk talk. For the benefit of their reputations it was decided they should marry."
"Yet he does not wish to wed her?"
Úrion looked sombrely at him, "No. Neither of them do. The girl even offered to be examined . . ." Úrion took a long drink from his mug, "It didn't matter. Once a rumour starts . . . folk know better."
What could he say? He couldn't console Úrion or condemn his son's actions on his father's words alone. Regardless, Laeron was an honourable ranger; no doubt he would do right by the girl if they were indeed to be bound.
Two more rangers stood up to challenge each other before Bregol stood forward and announced himself ready to be challenged. For less than a heartbeat Legolas considered stepping forward. But there was little need. There was no longer any jealous need to break the boy's teeth. Or take out his tongue.
"Anymore challenges?" Aragorn called out to the crowd.
"I stand to be challenged, Strider."
Finally. It began to look like the young ranger decided to give up his folly.
"What prize do you seek?"
"Your permission, my lord."
Aragorn was surprised, "My permission, ranger?"
Baradon swallowed, holding his fists tightly at his sides. But when he spoke, he spoke loud and clear for all to hear, "Your permission to marry Celegeth."
The gasp of five hundred people filled the air.
Looking across the crowd, the girl was easily spotted; plump in figure but with a kind, handsome face and a very excited smile on her comely features. A gaggle of equally excited women surrounded her, all eager to share in the happy announcement.
Baradon had approached her then, before revealing his intentions to the whole of Carthal. This made Legolas smile.
Aragorn finished speaking with the other master's and returned his address to Baradon, "I'm sorry. Permission for marriage can only be obtained by a majority vote of six masters. I cannot bestow permission at this time. Come see me privately tomorrow and we shall discuss this further."
Baradon looked crushed. His sweetheart looked crushed. The women around her were outraged.
"Do you have another prize to seek?" Aragorn asked empathically.
Baradon started to shake his head-
Legolas stepped forward, "By your leave, my lord, a moment?" Without waiting for Aragorn to answer he grabbed Baradon's shoulder and spoke quietly.
Letting him go, he stood back.
Baradon smiled and spoke out loudly, "May I request my prize be Celegeth and I join your table tonight, the Masters' table, presenting ourselves together for consideration and that we may dine together as prospective husband and wife?"
Aragorn stood up taller and smiled at Baradon, "Accepted. Who will answer Baradon's challenge?" Aragorn called out to the crowd. There were a few interested parties and from the looks of them, Baradon would have his prize.
"Are there any more challenges?"
Another ranger stepped forward . . .
Beaming, Baradon inclined his head to Legolas, "Thank you, Sindar."
Legolas returned the gesture, "Your bride hopeful appears happy."
Face reddening, Baradon rubbed the back of his head, "She called me a fool for taking so long."
"I never would've guessed you of all elves were romantic," Sírdhem commented from behind him.
"Indeed, I am not," he told him. "The answer was simple."
"Easy to romantics perhaps," Sírdhem's words were teasing but without malice.
Legolas watched the rest of the challengers step forward without reply. He was the last to ever be accused of being romantic.
He was after-all just a warrior. Romance belonged to poets and dreamers.
He rethought that - Just a warrior and a poor poet perhaps. Certainly not romantic.
Aragorn looked around the crowd, "I think there's place enough for one more challenge. Anyone?"
"I wish to challenge."
"Whom do you wish to challenge?"
Faron looked about him. "I am willing to stand and be challenged."
"Very well," Aragorn waved him forward to speak, "your prize?"
The hunting master pointed behind Aragorn to the Masters' table, "A kiss from our fair Mistress of Carthal."
Shock and chatter rose from the crowd, and all eyes turned to a red faced Eryndes. She looked about her. All the folk were staring at her. Expecting her answer.
A beast rose from deep within Legolas' belly, screaming for blood. Faron was lucky, for if he were any closer he'd already be knocked to the ground.
"Eryndes?" Aragorn pressed.
Eryndes rose from her chair and then dipped her head in acceptance. The crowd cheered and she quickly retook her seat.
"Accepted," Strider called. "Who will take Faron's challenge?"
Legolas twisted and burned. Why did she accept? Did she fancy Faron? Or simply gave into the pressure of the crowd?
Legolas stepped away from his companions, his brain on naught but injuring Faron. "I challenge Faron!"
"And your prize?" Aragorn questioned in surprise.
Faron's head on a pike? "I care for no prize."
"You must name a prize, my lord Sindar. That is the rule of the game."
Rules mattered not when Eryndes' pretty lips were in danger.
Or any other part of her. He shuddered.
But what prize could he possibly request-?
"I will take Faron's prize."
Faron gave one stiff nod.
"Your challenge is accepted," Strider called. "What do you offer?"
Legolas tore his stare from Faron to Aragorn and took a moment to remember what he was being asked. What did he care for trinkets? "Let my opponent choose."
"Faron?"
Faron grinned, "His knives."
Aragorn gave Faron a patient look, "Unacceptable."
"Why?" Faron argued.
"You cannot bid for token exceeding the worth of your own offering. Do you have a token equalling the value of mithril? Choose again."
Legolas sighed, "My bow?"
Faron nodded, "I accept. Let my opponent choose my token."
"Sindar?"
What could he possible want of Faron's? What would cause the Hunting Master the most regret at its loss? He was particularly fond of his saddle pack; crafted by his own hand and with leather from a boar of his own kill.
Feeling particularly devilish, Legolas crossed his arms over his chest, "I will take his saddlepack. Faron knows which."
Faron's hideous grin shrunk but the man didn't back down and gave his approval to Aragorn.
"Challenge accepted. Yours will be the last challenge of the night." Aragorn eyed him for a moment before then smiling to the crowd. "Let the feast begin!"
Around him, the Dúnedain took their places at the tables or choosing instead to stand and eat.
Legolas didn't move and kept Faron within his sights.
Until Úrion stepped in front of him, disappointment clear on his lined face. "Come, let's eat. But maybe Joust and I'll sit between you and Faron."
"It's just a challenge, Bear," Joust put in, "No-one ever gets more than a bruise or bloody nose."
After an hour of hundreds of people feasting, Baradon and Celegeth proudly joined the Masters' table.
Legolas watched Celegeth carefully dab a handkerchief at Baradon's split lip for the fourth time. She was a gentle creature, softly spoken and very polite. From the frequency of her smiles, one could believe her already a bride.
Legolas proudly watched Baradon's match; his physical awareness improved every day and even employed some of the Mirkwood techniques Legolas had introduced to their group in close-combat training session only a few days prior. Baradon's opponent never stood a chance and the match ended quickly.
The same could not be said for Laeron. Even against a competent warrior like Camaenor, most expected the younger man to walk away victorious.
And from the confidence brimming in his walk, Laeron believed the same too.
However, Camaenor's experience won outright. The blacksmith sized up young Laeron and used his superior size and strength cleverly. Laeron ended limping away with a mildly turned ankle and cut to his brow.
Plus a wagon-full of valuable humility.
A warm reminder about the sin of over-confidence was due however and perhaps should commence tomorrow at first light? When the many mugs of wine the boy already drank still pained his adolescent head.
"Sindar? Perhaps you should drink more? Might help if you're nervous."
Glaring out the corner of his eye at Lobordir, he growled quietly, "Do not be ridiculous. Why should I be nervous?"
At the table, his two companions sat either side of him like royal guards.
Úrion cleared his throat and asked very quietly, "Have you even kissed a woman before? Woman, elleth, female folk of any kind?"
The reality of the 'prize' hit him. His jaw clenched. "I have."
"Your mother?" Lobordir suggested slyly.
Úrion was more patient and counselling than Lobordir's, "You may not be aware but kissing a woman is quite different than kissing one's own mother-"
"I am aware," he shot back.
Lobordir put an arm across his shoulder, "perhaps we should give you a few suggestions-"
"Do not trouble yourselves," he shifted to remove the offending hand, "I do not require 'suggestions'."
Úrion shrugged, "As you wish, but remember before marrying I was even better with the ladies than Joust-"
"So you think," Lobordir cut in.
Úrion smirked at the younger man, "And never felt the need to boast. The women did the boasting for me."
"Thank you both," Legolas chilled, breaking up what sure was going to be another fruitless debate between his two friends, "but I believe myself equal to the task." He flexed his leg and arm muscles to stop twitching. His stomach quivered, "when the time comes."
Lobordir chewed his lip, "I thought elves considered kissing one they don't love vulgar?"
Legolas' eyes flicked over to where Faron sat, "Better than the alternative."
Thinking about it left him breathless and warm. He surely wanted to kiss her, even if it was premature to call it love. Thinking of kissing her was . . . euphoric.
Kissing her was not the problem.
How was she to think upon him? Would she understand he simply didn't want Faron near her? Would she think him shameless and immoral?
Was his recklessness ruining their tentative rapport?
"Come, leave him be," Úrion warned. "If only you'd stood up for Eryndes, another wouldn't have needed to-"
"I didn't see you stepping up," Lobordir bit out.
"And risk my wife's temper?"
"How can you be scared of a hobbit-sized woman?"
Úrion threw his arm across Legolas to point menacingly at Lobordir, "Watch your tongue-!"
"(Be silent)!" Legolas hissed at them, keeping his words quiet enough not to disturb the table of conversations around him.
"I quite agree," the woman sitting beside Úrion cut in. "I don't know what the argument is about, but is this really the time? You want to thump upon each other? Then you should've issued a challenge. You didn't. So don't go spoiling everyone's evening."
Both men went back to their empty plates in silence. The woman, not quite small enough to correctly be called 'hobbit-sized', was now staring at him.
Legolas inclined his head. The woman, Úrion's wife whose name he still didn't know, gave a single nod then went back to her gossip with the woman next to her.
From the look of her, small or not, Úrion's wife was formidable.
Down the length of the table, Legolas chanced a look at Aragorn and Eryndes. Neither was looking his way and he sighed.
When the call went up for the next challengers, Legolas gracefully stood without hesitation and walked to the middle of the circle.
All the conversations at all the tables and surrounds stopped. They all looked on with anticipation.
Faron, having come from the same table, followed him until they stood at the challenger's marks, and was the first to break the silence.
"Pretty little thing, isn't she?"
Legolas frowned. Did he mean Celegeth? Or Úrion's wife? "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play coy," Faron showed his teeth in a wide grin, "I grant not pretty enough compared to elf-maids, but that smile of hers has sure left many a fellow dazzled."
Did he mean . . . Eryndes?
Legolas set his jaw square, unwilling to believe Foruyndes would've betrayed him. "Speak plainly."
Faron's gaze flicked over Legolas' shoulder to the Masters' table, "Caught your fancy, hasn't she? Why else would you take up my challenge?"
A shadow moved across his stomach, "What is it you think you know?"
"I have eyes," Faron scoffed loudly, "And they see where yours . . . wander."
"You did this on purpose? Why?" he demanded.
"Can't say I see the attraction, myself. Far too much woman for my taste." Faron crossed his arms over his chest, "I hadn't planned for you to answer my challenge but I will enjoy this all the same."
"Then why?"
Faron laughed, "Perhaps I just like to meddle in other's affairs."
There was no doubt, Faron was lying.
Legolas took up an aggressive stance, widening his feet for battle, "(Speak the truth)!"
Faron widened his stance too, face becoming serious, dropping his elbows to his sides, fists readied. "I wanted to know if I was right about you. Even Aragorn doesn't see it. Perhaps he never expected his sister to capture the attention of . . . the elf-prince himself."
Legolas' guard dropped, so did his heart, and his jaw.
"You don't deny it then?" Faron asked smugly. "I'm two for two."
"How?" Sickness filled his heart. All this time? All the arguments, all the insults and banter; all of it had been staged.
Staged to encourage Legolas to reveal himself.
"Let's just say we've met. You don't remember. Understandable since I don't remember much myself," his eyes glazed, "I was only a small lad at the time." His came sharply back into focus, "I wasn't completely certain it was you, not until now."
Taking half an eye off Faron, Legolas couldn't help looking around them. All of those people. Practically every Carthal Dúnedan was present tonight; every one of them watching him and Faron.
How their faces would change if they knew the truth? His friends, Úrion, Lobordir? Young Baradon and younger Laeron? And comrades like ballsy Cordoves, morose Sírdhem and jovial Trîw? The chess wizards, Úan and Dagnir? The women of the kitchen and housekeeping like Mydedis and vulgar Sali? Briel and all the other children?
Foruyndes?
And what of Eryndes? How would she look upon him now? Would her eyes once more refuse to meet his?
Again Faron threw him. "Don't worry, my lord Legolas. I won't tell them."
"Why not?" he spat, "Is this not the point? Is your purpose not blackmail? Extortion?"
"The point is I know the truth but I'm not going to tell them. For now that is all you must know. And remember."
"For now? Why? When did we meet? Why have you done this?"
Faron brought up his hands into a higher guard position, "These folk expect a good and fair fight; can't bore them by talking all night. You better fight well, I don't plan going down easy but I have no desire to kiss your woman. Now fight!"
Legolas knew Faron was quick and agile, but this was different. The moment Legolas uttered his ready, Faron struck. Launching himself forward, the man came in hard.
Holding his ground, he held off Faron's quick hard attacks, but didn't expect such ferocity. Twice his defence almost let Faron strike him in the chest.
And Faron didn't stop smiling.
Stepping in closer, Legolas brought the fight in tighter. Every millimeter of space between them had to be precise; every shift of weight and strike along with block and counter strike would either win or lose the battle. He took the challenge to Faron. He would take the ugly smirk off the man's face.
Faron anticipated him though, drawing in closer to entangle their legs and a grapple hold to his neck. Legolas used his superior strength to break the hold, widening his stance and enabling his muscles to pry Faron off him.
Again, Faron anticipated him. With a chuckle between pants, Faron released him and stepped away. Legolas, overcommitted to his solid stance and power to his arms, was too sluggish to block Faron's attack.
A painful cuff to the back of the head told him Faron spent time studying him well. The student knew his teacher.
However, the hit was not perfect. Though painful, Faron's fist hit too much to the left and deflected off the curve of his skull.
Faron sniggered, "Go for the head, right? Disorientate?"
Legolas narrowed his eyes, "You are a poor student, you missed."
Faron is still smug, "I guess I must have-"
Too smug. The man didn't anticipate. While distracted, Legolas leapt with a feint to his right, at the same time bringing his knee up hard into Faron's other side. It was a risky move. Had Faron anticipated it, Legolas would've been completely open and defenceless.
But Faron hadn't.
Legolas eyed the downed man, "Tell me! How did you know?!"
Faron jumped easily back to his feet, rotating his shoulder with a small grimace, "Think somebody else told me? You have so little faith in the Dúnedain, so quick to suspect your own friends? Whomever knows your secret never told me." With quick footwork, Faron regained ground and they were once more trading blows to blocks within a tight space.
Legolas clipped off most of the attacks with his forearm and struck back with the same movement. He saw an opening to Faron's lower knee-
But it was a feint; Faron grabbed him by the waist, stepping into him and locking their legs. Faron knew he had to keep Legolas from moving. That was how to gain an advantage over a light footed elf. Legolas had shown this to his students.
And again Faron learnt well.
"What would the elf-king say? His son fancying a mortal?"
A snarl erupted inside Legolas' chest and he let go. Faron surely expected him to lash out after his taunt. Instead, Legolas let go of Faron, and the ground. Although Faron was strong, the sudden weight upon his grapple lock took him by surprise and they plummeted to the grass.
Free from any anchorage, Legolas leaped up and somersaulted over Faron's head. His feet barely touched the grass before he launched an angry punch at Faron.
But his focus on hurting Faron didn't allow him to see the secondary attack, a hard fist coming from the side, straight into his face.
Pained and disoriented, Legolas stumbled backwards, the ground rising fast to meet him . . .