Chapter Two: The Feast

His father was not pleased at how much time he had spent lingering up in the trees. The celebratory feast was supposed to start soon, and Thranduil was far from ready. He slipped out of his plainer clothing and changed into his feast clothes, a shimmery silver tunic with a high collar, grey leggings, and soft leather riding boots.

When he had finished, Oropher strode in. He took long steps, hands clasped firmly behind his back. His back was straight and he held his chin high. Oropher looked very noble to Thranduil; he had assimilated into his new position easily.

He was dressed in floor-length silver robes which glittered in the dim candlelight. Over that, he had a burgundy crushed velvet cloak that trailed behind him as he walked. And, of course, he wore the crown of Greenwood. It was comprised of thorny interwoven sticks jutting straight up around his head, with reddish leaves woven throughout.

He circled his son appraisingly. "Very nice," he finally said. "But not suitable for the crown prince." He snapped his fingers, and a servant girl carrying a large decorative wooden box came into the room. She bowed her head deferentially at the two of them, setting the box on the table.

Oropher ran his fingers over the surface, unlatching it and popping it open. Several ornate pieces of jewelry rested on velvety cushions. "These are for you, my son, given to us by the Silvan elves."

Thranduil looked at the jewels in wonder. He had never owned anything so beautiful before. He slid on a thick golden ring that looked like a snake was coiling around his finger. He pinned spidery silver brooch set with a fat topaz at the base of his collar.

His father lifted the last piece from the box, a thin silver circlet inlayed with tiny topaz stones. Thranduil bowed his head so his father could put it on. "There," Oropher said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Now you look like a true prince of the elves."

"Thank you, Ada."

Oropher smiled, resting a hand on his son's shoulders. "Come now. We shall be late for the feast." He swept out of the room, Thranduil following closely behind.

"Where is mother?" he asked. "Surely she is accompanying us?"

"Gwaereneth is waiting for us outside the ballroom." After a short pause, Oropher continued, saying, "Thranduil, there is something you must know about Silvan feasts. The Silvan elves are very fond of parties, and especially fond of their drink. As a prince, you shall be expected to keep up with them." He gave his son a sidelong glance. "Do you think you are up to the task?"

"Of holding my drink? Of course, Ada. I am not a child," Thranduil said, trying not to sound too annoyed.

"Very well."

They turned a corner into a large antechamber. Gwaereneth stood in the center of the room, turning to face them as they entered. Her lips spread into a smile. "Fit for a feast indeed," she said, quirking an eyebrow. She approached Thranduil, placing both hands on his shoulders and giving him a peck on the cheek. "You look very handsome, my son."

Thranduil smiled back at her. "Thank you, Amme."

Gwaerenth turned to her husband, still smiling. "And you as well, my dearest one."

He smiled back at her, his stoic expression fading. The warmth between his parents was undeniable. "You are so beautiful, one might mistake you for a fallen star," he said, taking her hand.

She laughed, clear and musical. "You flatter me. But, come. We shall be late to this feast." Hands still entwined, his parents led the way towards the main hall, where the feast awaited. Thranduil followed behind.

His father was right; his mother did indeed look like starlight incarnate. Her white gown sparkled and shimmered as light reflected off the embellished jewels. Her skin was as pale and clear as a harvest moon, her cornsilk hair weaved into elaborate braids and dotted with gems.

They walked through the massive carved doors, a hush descending over the banquet hall. Fanor stood from his seat at one of the tables, arms spread wide. "Welcome, Lord Oropher and Lady Gwaereneth, king and queen of Greenwood the Great!"

All the elves raised their glasses, Oropher and Gwaereneth bowing their heads. Together, they took their seats at the head of the first table. Thranduil joined them, taking the chair beside his mother.

Thranduil had never been to such a grand feast before. He had been to many a formal dinner, but not one so grand as this. Not only were all the Quenya and Sindarin ambassadors present, but Silvan elves had gathered in droves. The tables were laden with food of all sorts, servants bustling back and forth to ensure that everyone's glasses were always full. Musicians played harps and flutes off to the side, a wide open space in the middle of the room leaving room for people to dance.

A servant placed a plate in front of Thranduil. "Thank you," he said, glancing up at him.

"My Lord," he replied, bobbing his head.

Oropher picked up his goblet of wine, pinching the stem delicately. He stood up. Everyone quieted down, all eyes on him. "I would like to propose a toast," he began, "to our new land. Greenwood the Great has been plagued by the filth Sauron for far too long. I promise that, as king, I will work to protect the forest and its people from the dark powers beyond. But tonight, we celebrate and forget our troubles, if only for a time. To Greenwood!"

Everyone thrust their glasses in the air, crying, "To Greenwood!"

Oropher took a deep drink and sat back down.

Thranduil only took a sip. He had never had proper wine before. He liked the flavor. It was bitter, and fruity. He nibbled his food, listening the conversations and laughter around him. As the night progressed, the music grew rowdier. Elves that weren't eating were dancing. Thranduil, however, was content to sit back and sip on his drink.

Oropher eventually left to mingle, leaving Gwaereneth and Thranduil by themselves. Thranduil had lost count of how many cups he'd emptied. Every time he finished his glass, a full one seemed to appear right in front of him. Warmth had spread through his entire body, his mind feeling just a bit fuzzy.

"How was the meeting today, Thranduil?" Gwaereneth asked, looking at her son.

He set down his drink. "It was very interesting, I must say. Father and the other elves decided that the best course of action would be for me to marry one of the Silvan elves."

Gwaereneth's eyebrows arched. "Is that so? What reason did they give?"

"They believe it will better bind the two peoples into one kingdom."

Gwaereneth nodded. "There is wisdom in that."

"Wisdom maybe, but no consideration."

"I would not be so quick to judge," she said, taking a sip from her glass. "I think it may be good for you. The Silvan elves are very different from us, Thranduil. You may learn something from them."

"Like what?"

"They are more in touch with nature, and more wild. They like to have fun, as evidenced by the delightful party they have put together in our honor. I am sure a lady of the wood could bring you out of your shell." She accepted another goblet of wine from the servant, bidding him thanks. Laughter filled the room. The wine seemed to flow endlessly, like the Anduin.

"So, you agree with father? You think I should wed one of these people?"

She laughed. "Thranduil, you should marry whomever you want. However, I can see the wisdom of their decision. Just think about it, my son. Do not rule anything out prematurely because of any preconceived notions."

Thranduil grumbled. His mother just laughed. "Thranduil, do not concern yourself. You have plenty of time. You do not have to make any hasty choices, and no one is going to force you to do anything."

Thranduil nodded. "I suppose I can live with that. For now." He took a drink out of his freshly-filled glass, giving a nod of appreciation to the harried servant.

The night wore on. Some of the Silvan elves had drunk so much that they lay draped over the tables. Oropher had not yet returned; he stood talking to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

"You know," Gwaereneth said after a while. "Your father and I were very different people when we met. He was quiet and serious and…closed. And I was not." She laughed. "People have a way of softening each other's edges, and blurring the lines between individuals. I am much more like your father now than I was when we married. And he is more like me."

Thranduil smiled at his mother, genuinely. "I only hope I am lucky enough to find a love like yours and father's."

She kissed her son's cheek. "I have no doubt."