Note: This chapter was fun to write! I love working with the mythology and folklore of various cultures, and the idea of communal story telling is a very pleasing one. Also, I finally get to introduce Halbaran. Please- review! Constructive criticism is welcome, and I would love to know what you think of my writing.
A Royal Summons: Solstice
Solstice Eve! The fire is roaring, food is abundant, tales are long and songs are loud. And ale. Ale flows freely whenever men gather to this hall.
A candle has been lit in every window of Edoras, to invite the sun back, although I privately think we're making enough noise to disturb it out of it's sleep and call it back just to hush us.
If that didn't work, we could send lady Eolasse out to sing for it. And she wouldn't light the curtains in the Queen's bed chamber on fire as the candles did.
It is a merry, noisy party, and the nursemarys for Morwen and Elboron, the young prince, Elfwine, and Eolasse and Legolas's daughter, Symbalmyne, take turns sneaking away and into the brightly firelit hall.
I have been lucky enough to be released from my duties for the night, although secretly I would mind none so much to be looking after the children, as they are sweet when they are sleepy.
I like listening to the stories though, all about nine-fingered Frodo and Samwise the brave, who fought their way through ten thousand orcs to drop the ring of power into Mount Doom, and about the King's return, and the defeat of the dark lord Sauron.
And, of course, stories and tales abound about the Hunting of the Silmaril, and how Lady Eolasse gained immortality as a gift from the gods when she and Legolas banished Morgoth forevermore, and the fearsome battle that took place. I even catch a thread about Beren one-hand and Luthien Tinuviel, an elvish tale that I believe must have been much modified in it's journey to our hearths.
All these tales make me think, how I was born at the edge of a legend, yet too small and insignificant to take part in it.
Is it wrong to wish for adventure when you have been given a secure future? Is it ungrateful of me to long for glory and flashing swords and songs to be sung about me around the hearth?
Eolasse sings, and her song is like a caged bird that has just been released and flashes it's angel wings of freedom from a distant land. Her song is sweet with sorrow and heartbreakingly lovely.
I shall work tomorrow to copy it down so I may remember it and bring a piece of it home with me.
From dark Dunharrow in the dim morning,
with thane and captain rode Thengel's son,
to Edoras he came, to ancient halls
of the Mark wardens mist-enshrouded
golden timbers were in gloom mantled
Farewell he bade to his free people,
hearth and high-seat, and hallowed places
where long he had feasted ere light faded
Forth rode the king, fear behind him,
fate before him. Fealty kept he;
oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them,
Forth rode Theoden, five night and days
east and onwards rode Eorlingas
through Folde and Fenmarch and Firienwood
six thousand spears to sunlending
Mundburg mighty under Mindolluin,
Sea-king's city in South-kingdom
foe-beleaguered, fire encircled
Doom drove them on, darkness took them,
horse and horseman, hoofbeats afar
sank into silence, save in song.
When she finishes singing, I realize that she, too, was a maiden who lost her father to the
battlefield, and as she leaves I think I see tears prick her eyes as she leans her head against her elf's shoulder.
"Do you sing?" the voice startled me into turning, and I see a young dark haired man watching me, perhaps eighteen or a little older.
I shake my head, acutely aware of how very shy I am around strangers. Meekness is my curse.
"Pity." he replies, "We could use more sweet voices among this crowd."
I smile hastily. He has an easy grin that fills his face with mischief, almost enticing me to let my words go. Almost.
"I sing some days at home, but I've no knack for it like some." the words surprise even me.
"Sing all you wish here." he says, "Everyone's too drunk to care whether your voice is sweet or sour."
"Even you?" I ask, and cover my mouth in horror at my own impertinence.
But he laughs.
"No. Ale is a vile drink compared to elven wine, and I confess I am rather spoiled on that account."
"You've spent time with elves?" I inquire, inwardly kicking myself to shut my mouth, but something keeps making me talk.
"Spent time? Lady, I was practically raised in an elven citadel!"
I know he is boasting, but I giggle anyways.
"No," he corrects himself, "I am a filthy liar. But I accompanied Lady Eolasse and the Prince to Emyn Arnen and spent some weeks with Legolas's people."
"And?" I prompt.
"They are... wise. Beautiful, graceful, eloquent. A bit above me. Quite a bit."
I'm laughing again, before the amount of things I have said overwhelms me and I make hasty excuses, then vacate the over heating hall in favor of the crisp night chill, although within minutes I'm shivering and back inside.