Chapter 8

Mari and Arwen munched on some lembas until the sun had set and the elves had returned from their bath. They returned cleaner and brighter; a feat which she had not thought possible, being that they already shone bright in the dim woods. All looked flawless, all except Elrohir. He had a strangely dingy look to him; his clothes were a bit wrinkled and a stray twig or two could be found in his hair. The ladies looked at him confusedly.

"These heathens thought it funny to hide my clothes," he said morbidly.

All the rest burst into hysterics, save for Legolas, who simply smiled cheerfully. For the moment he was smiling Mari thought him to be like the other elves after all. But he turned and saw her, locking eyes wither her, thus his smile faded and deminshed to a surly, ice cold glare. It gave Mari a chill down her spine and made her down cast her eyes. She felt fear and shame for reasons she didn't know.

Mari looked up from her lembas at the elves gathered 'round the fire and noticed that everyone had grown silent. She looked at all of them and saw that they were all smiling and staring intently at the only other female in their presence. She looked at Arwen and found her grinning girlishly.

"You are to be married on the morrow, dear sister..." said Elledan in a jokingly menacing manner.

"And we've brought you gifts!" finished Elrohir.

"Yes! Finally! I couldn't wait any longer!" cried out Iflaim.

"You just can't wait any longer to embarrass me!" retorted Arwen.

"What do you mean?" asked Mari, who was thoroughly confused by what they all were talking about.

"Its a tradition among our people," explained Milhir. "The night before a woman's wedding, those who love and care for her offer gifts to her in honor of the occasion."

"The gifts are of a special kind," continued Ellrohir. "They must be of the most original and unique of sort as is possible. The more unique, the greater value it is to the bride to be."

"Unique or useful," corrected Alidar. "If the gift will be of great value in her marriage it is also greatly valued by the bride."

"Yes, and by the end I will be too overcome with tears to care for their beauty or use," added Arwen, jokingly.

"Be that as it may, its still a tradition, and who are we to go against the powers that be?" chided Iflaim, playfully. "I'll go first!"

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. It was small and sit easily in the palm of his hand. It looked like a metal discus with a small needle in its center

"This arrow here," he said pointing to the needle, (which, upon closer inspection, really did look like an arrow), "It always points to Rivendel. That way, you will always know where your first home was and where there are those who love you."

Mari could see the princess was already getting a little choked up. And this is only the first gift, she thought.

Next came Milhir's gift. He unfolded from his lap a richly embroidered banner made of a white, iridescent fabric with a silver tree on it. All around was embroidery threads of gold and silver.

"I've brought you a banner bearing the crest of Gondor. Tomorrow you will ride into Minas Tirith holding it high as our procession reaches Aregorn.

With great care, Arwen took the banner and folded it in her lap, placing the compass softly on top of it. Still, she could not bring herself to speak. It was now Legolas' turn.

"I'm afraid my gift isn't nearly as grand as those you've just received," he said. From behind him he pulled into view a rectangular object wrapped in fabric. He unraveled the bundle, reveling a book. "Between the pages are pressed leaves and blossoms from each of the elven kingdoms."

They passed the book around the circle to Arwen. Mari watched as she opened to one of the pages that had been marked by a ribbon. Out of the book she pulled a long leaf by its stem. The fair gypsy could have confused it for something made of gold had she not been close enough to see the veins of the leaf.

A smile of joy and relief came to Legolas' face when he saw Arwen's eyes grow wide in appreciation.

"My gift is also a book," said Alidar after a moment of silence. The book he presented her with was large. It conveyed a sense of age, much like everything else about the elves. Like Legolas' gift, it was passed around the circle to Arwen. "It is a history of our people to date. The last page is a listing of your lineage. The spaces at the bottom are blank. They are meant for you to fill in in the future."

Arwen took both books in her arms and (despite their combined weight and cumbersome size) clutched them to her heart.

Next in the line of gift giving were the twins. From a small vevetine pouch the first brother pulled a beautiful, shimmering pendant. The second brother took out a similar pouch from which he pulled a glimmering chain that looked to be made of braided silver.

"We know you gave your pendant of the Evenstar to Aragorn," said the first, whom Mari now recognized by the sound of his voice as Elladan.

"So, " continued Elrohir, "We decided you needed a new one. We each made out part of the gift."

As Elrohir spoke, Elladan took the chain from him and strung the pendant on it. He got up and moved behind his sister. "We hope you like it," he said, clasping it around her neck.

At this point, silent tears of joy that she had been trying to hold in streamed down the princess' face. The only elf left to give his gift was the father of the bride: Elrond.

In his lap, there had been sitting a simple, square wooden box. He opened it, revealing a circlet of silver. He lifted it out of the box (which Mari could now see was lined in a rich, red velvet) and came to stand in front of his daughter.

"If you are to be queen," he said to her, "You must have a popper crown." As he spoke these words, he lowered the circlet on her head. It sat right around her forehead. Now that she wore it, it was easier to see the exquisite craftsmanship put into its creation. It too was crafted from silver; it looked as though three bands of silver had been interwoven and forged into one piece. Running around it were thin chains that lay upon her hair, framing her ears and face.

Arwen scanned the group in front of her. A single and final tear ran down her face. "Thank you, all," she said to them, each word slow and separated from the others, as if it had been chosen after much deliberation. "I know not what else to say."

"Then say nothing," offered Elladan, with the type of warmth only a brother could give. Mari stared at him and for a second could have sworn she saw Eric's own eyes.

"I wish I had a gift to give," she said, not quite knowing where the words had come from.

"Your presence at my wedding tomorrow will be gift enough," assured Arwen.

"Still, I just wish there were something..." Mari's voice trailed off as an idea came to her mind. "Oh! I know!" she exclaimed. "I have the perfect gift!"

"You do?" asked Elrohir. "But what have you to spare of the items you carry?" He barely finished the sentence before being jabbed in the ribs and silence by his brother.

"Well," she began, "It isn't in my bag. Nor is it very useful, but I doubt you've ever seen anything like it." She noticed a slight change in posture of those sitting around the fire, indicating their growing curiosity. "It's a talent I have." She stood up and shrugged off the shawl she was wearing and wrapped it around her waist. "I'll need you all to move back a bit. Move the logs, too."

"What are you going to do?" asked Iflaim, eager to see her talent.

"I'm going to dance for you all."

"Dance, you say?" teased Milhir as he stood up to move back with the others. "But the festivities aren't until tomorrow."

"It's a specific way of dancing that all the Roma know," she explained. "Strangers seem to find it to be entertaining and I've been told I'm rather good at it. I'll need you all to help, though."

"How?" asked Arwen.

"There's a certain way you must clap your hands." Mari clapped the rythim with her hands and soon the elves caught on. Even Legolas seemed to show a small bit of enthusiasm. Elrohir and Iflaim were the first to be able to clap the rithim properly. Legolas joined them. To the rest she gave a different rythem. She then started to clap her own singular rythem in addition to theirs. Then, without warning, she broke into dance.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLG

The elves were amazed by her strange and exotic movements if not alarmed. She twirled and leapt into the air, kicking up her legs. With a flick of her wrist, her skirts flew in arcs around her legs and hips, giving the fabric the appearance of a blossoming flower at some times, raging ocean waves at other moments.

The provocative sway of her hips was what some of the elves found so alarming. Even the movements of her hands seemed some times; the rolling of her wrists looked as though she were stroking the cheek or hair of an invisible partner, at the same time beckoning those gathered around to join her in her dance. As she kicked and dragged her feet across the ground, she sent soil flying into the fire. It caused the flames to crackle, spit and reach higher toward the sky. Looking at her between the licking flames, Legolas thought her to be a flame as well.

As she spun and her skirts flared out, he was sure her clothes would catch on fire, yet some how they didn't. While he waited for this to happen and see who would be the first to jump froward and smother her clothes, he became increasingly entranced by her movements. There were moments where he was able to catch her glances and within her eyes were flames. He couldn't decide if they were reflections of the fire she was dancing around or if the flames came from within her, threatening to consume her body were it not released.

Legolas could have sworn (if he didn't lack trust in his instincts as of late) that all her steps, jumps and twirls were intended for him. He blushed, embarrassed by his own egoism for thinking he could hold her attention in such a fashion. Her dance is a wedding present for Arwen, he reminded himself.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLG

Mari had lost a true grasp for the world around her and the ground beneath her feet. This often happened when she danced; she loved it and it consumed her totally. Only one thing anchored her to reality: the steady gaze of the elf she so feared.

As eerily as always, Legolas had been staring at her, unblinking. Those frightening eyes were a deeper shade of colbolt blue.

Sometimes when Mari danced she was able to separate her mind from her spirit. Her spirit stayed with her body and carried her feet so she could dance while her mind was elsewhere. In fact, when her mind wasn't so close to the rest of her, she was able to see things more clearly, more easily discern fact from what her passions caused her to see. Right now, she saw herself dancing around the fire, and since her mind had left her body and been separated from her reason, she was dancing with a bit more gusto than perhaps she knew she should. She knew that she was showing more of her legs to these male elves than they needed to see and she knew the glances she gave them were suggestive, but with reason abandoned, how could she help herself? She was a natural performer with a captive audience.

From outside herself she also saw the elves in a way she hadn't thus far. She saw now that she had nothing to fear of them. Emanating from them were their good intentions. Legolas included. Well, not so much that his intentions were good, but they certainly weren't bad. At least, not as bad as she had originally thought.

Okay, so she still couldn't read him or his intentions; she had simply grown more comfortable with his presence. Though she could not discern exactly what he was thinking, she could sense something deep within him, something very dark that he was trying to repress with all of his heart. She saw an ugliness inside him and was alarmed by its existence. She had been afraid of him before, but never did she think that such a horrible thing could be found in such a beautiful creature. And indeed, he was beautiful. Mari noticed now, for the first time, in her limbo state of conciousness, just how magnificent he was. True, all the elves were lovely to look at, but he stood apart from the others, as if tainted. Perhaps this would explain the darkness inside him, for it existed side-by-side with the boundless inner grace he possessed. It also could have been a royal air about him; she could see the slight ways in which Iflaim, Milhir and Alidar differed from Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Legolas, though Legolas seemed a more natural combination between the two compositions. Again with these dualities... she thought.

One thing about him that was singular and uncompromising was his physical beauty. He had a lithe, warrior build, like the other elves. His hands were strong. This she knew well from the two times he'd restrained her. Their strength was surprising.

He stood slightly shorter than Elrond, Alidar, and the twins, but so did Iflaim, so she figured it must be a trait of those from Mirkwood . As must have also been the golden hair on his head; very simply braided, in contrast to the others. His eyes, she had come to realize, changed their tint with his emotion; ice blue when he was angry. She was later to discover they became like the sky when he was happy, like the sea when he was sad, and dark like steel at other moments like now. The other features of his face were sharp; his brow and cheeks were chiseled in definition. His jaw was similar in character when it was set in a scowl, as it often had been, but Mari noticed that now when he was at ease so was the line of his chin. Now his chiseled cheeks were tinted rose. Heated by the fire, she supposed. What could cause an elf prince to blush?

She took note of his garb as well. Though they each wore varying autumnal shades, the royal members had clothes that were clearly of richer fabric and detail, except for Legolas. If anything, his clothes were in the poorest condition of them all, that is, if one could really call any type of elvin cloth poor. It looked somehow like he hadn't had a new set of clothes in a long time.

As she thought all these things, she watched herself dance. She came to realize that she was actually dancing for Legolas. True, someone who wasn't familiar with the steps of her dance wouldn't have been able to tell, but she could and it unnerved her.

What is it about him? I am drawn to him even though I know he is dark. Perhaps it is his darkness that draws me to him, like that evil ring they told me about. If that's true, if this condition is the same, then I won't be rid of him until he is rid of it. I will do it. It's clear to see the others haven't thought to try.

And she was right. In the rapid sequence of events of the war, victory, the crowning of Aragorn and his marriage to Arwen, Legolas' condition was all but forgotten by those closest to him since it didn't affect him while they were near. Indeed, Mari was the only person who had thought to take it upon herself to end his suffering and strangeness. By the time her mind began to return to her body (the music in her head was gone and she could feel herself inside of her skin), she had convinced herself that she was the only one who could save him in spite of the fact that she didn't know how she was going begin to go about doing it.

She spun in a final circle, her skirt billowing around her. Landing on one knee, the other leg pointing straight forward, she ended the dance, her forehead touching her knee and her hands folded over her foot. At the end, she was kneeling before Arwen.

All the elves stared at her in wonder, not only because of the strange and impressive way in which she danced, but also for the abrupt way in which it ended. It was as though her whole body had suddenly grown tired, her spirit plucked from her body, and she fell. At first they thought she actually had collapsed out of exhaustion. The moment they realized she was in an elaborate pose, they broke into applause.

Mari looked up at Arwen, surprised to hear the applause.

"That was amazing!" exclaimed the princess with all the excitement of a school girl. "Where did you learn to dance that way?"

"Most of my people dance in this way," she explained, rising to her feet. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I loved it! You must dance for the guests at my wedding. Would you?"

"I…"

"Oh please! You must."

Mari looked into Arwen's eager eyes and knew she could not deny the happy bride.

"It would be an honor to dance for your guests, Lady Arwen."

Arwen clasped Mari's hands in joy. "Oh, thank you," she said. "Tomorrow will be all the more wonderful because of your presence, dear friend!"

Dear friend? Mari wondered. What is that supposed to mean? I've only known her a few days.

"Speaking of tomorrow, it will be a long day," said Alidar. "Mari, you'd best get some rest. I doubt there will be time to rest over the course of the next few days."

Mari blinked a few times in surprise. In spite of the fact that they had been talking about Arwen's wedding for the past few hours, she had forgotten that they would be reaching Minas Tirith the following day.

"Yes," was all she said in response to Alidar's statement. After giving a quick goodnight to the group, she mutely went about laying out her sleeping mat. Though she was silent, her mind was racing.

Minas Tirith. The White City. Aragorn. I will be meeting Aragorn. I will be meeting my fate. Arwen will turn him in my favor, I'm sure of it. Or she might not. Either way, it doesn't matter. I'll find supplies as slip off as soon as I can. I'll escape. Who cares if I don't know I'm going. When have I ever known? I'll figure it out when I get there. But where do I fit in this world? What will I do? The same thing I did before: survive. I'll perform, make crafts and tonics. I'll build my own caravan. A van for one…

Mari's thoughts were interrupted when she caught a glimpse of Legolas' profile. As usual, he looked very concerned about something. It was then that she observed his elven ears for the first time. They were the one supremely physical difference between men and elves. She might have argued that unadulterated beauty was their second most distinguishing feature, but she had yet to meet the men of this world and it was quite possible that they were equally stunning. As for elf ears though, they were quite lovely. Legolas' ear was perfectly lit by the fire light, so she could see it clearly. It peaked out between strands of his golden hair, starting at a connected lobe and curving into a small, perfect point. This image was the last one she saw that day. Just he turned his head and looked at her, she fell into a deep slumber.