The next morning, I woke early and finished breakfast before 8 o'clock. The yellow tunic had stretched a bit from wearing it the previous night and still smelled fresh, so I threw it on again. No amount of stretching could ever make elvish pants fit comfortably, so I opted for a clean pair delivered fresh from the laundry. I spent the next two hours carefully forking and braiding my beard into two battle plaits. Finally, I wove the jasper beads into my mustache.
"Come along, Bifur, Bombur we don't want to keep the elves waiting," I said, impatient with their slow progress towards the door. "Gandalf wants us to make a good impression."
"He did not say that," Bombur grumbled, as I prodded his backside with my pickaxe to get him to move faster down the stairs.
"He may as well have," I retorted. Truthfully, I was a bit nervous. Despite playing out a dozen different versions of the conversation in my head during the night, I had not worked out how to best invite the elves to dinner.
"Enjoy yourselves," Bilbo said, sitting down on the top step with a book of poetry and a steaming teacup. "I'm going to stick around here and guard out quarters
"Who or what could you possibly be guarding them from - the laundress?" Dwalin teased.
"Whoever made off with my candleholder, for one," Bilbo said, just as Nori passed by with one hand in his pocket and the other swinging his hammer.
My nerves only grew shakier when we entered the training yard and I spied Fevelien stretching at the far end. This time, I quickly averted my eyes.
She and Calearphen watched us line ourselves up, scrutinizing our assortment of axes and hammers. Only Thorin and Estel carried swords.
"I know I don't need to tell you this, but your axes and hammers are balanced more forward than swords," Fevelien said. "You'll hit harder with them. Chopping into an attacking troll, for instance, will be easier."
Happy grunts emanated from many of us, until she continued on.
"However, they are less effective for defense. Rather than parrying a blow, you'll have better luck hooking your opponent's weapon, or fading back to avoid the attack. They're also no good for thrusting, so you'll have a harder time piercing armor."
"So are we going to throw out those movements?" Fili asked, looking crestfallen.
"No, we will still practice them, with adjustments," Fevelien said, lips curling into a sly smile. "If you ever stumble upon a hoard of war axes with thrusting spikes, then you'll be glad we did."
We glanced around anxiously at Thorin, wondering whether she had guessed his identity, and also whether we would find such axes among Smaug's hoard. Thorin glared at her from beneath his eyebrows, ignoring our inquiring eyes.
"I'd tell you to seek out pole axes," Calearphen said, striding forward to take up her usual position by Fevelien's side. "But I fear your arms are all too short to wield them."
I felt a significant shift in progress during our training session that day. The movements came more naturally to me now that I held my pickaxe in my hands. Even Calearphen scowled, snorted, and laughed at us less often. Then, on our final run-through of the day, Bombur lost his balance during a fade. While trying to catch himself from falling over backward, he slammed his axehead into the stone so hard that both cracked.
Training came to a halt as the three of us gathered to take in the damage.
"You'll need a forge to repair that, iraknadad," Bifur said.
Meanwhile, Calearphen and Fevelien examined the cracked paving stone with wide eyes.
"No one else need know, you said," Calearphen said to Fevelien in her teasing tone.
"We can repair it!" Bombur cried in dismay.
"No, don't bother yourselves," Calearphen murmured, trailing her fingers across the split in the stone. "Elrond will see to it."
"It's no bother to us," I said. "Cutting and laying stone are ..." I remembered just in time that we were supposed to be professional musicians - not miners, masons, or smiths - and changed coursed mid-sentence. "... hobbies of ours," I finished.
The elves exchanged a glance. "No doubt they are, but Elrond will want to handle it in his own way," Calearphen insisted.
"All right, that's it for today" Fevelien called out. "We'll pick up tomorrow with the next group of seven movements."
"Finally!" Fili cheered, as Kili leapt into the air.
"There are more of them?" Ori asked, the color draining from his face.
"Oh yes," Fevelien said with a smile. "but don't worry, we'll review what we've already learned."
"Let's take the axe to the forge right away," Bombur said to Bifur and me. "I've been meaning to make my way over there ... just haven't had the motivation, yet."
"Shouldn't we eat lunch first?" I asked.
"I've got some broken buckles to mend," Bifur said. "I'll grab them along the way."
"Could I walk with you?" Fevelien said, overhearing our conversation. "To say hello to Imladan ... and to explain to him how your axe came to be broken."
"Of course!" I said.
I fell in beside Fevelien as we walked to the smithy, marveling at her light and silent steps. Her close proximity sent my heart racing, but if she could hear it pounding against my ribs her cool demeanor betrayed nothing.
"I feel some guilt for asking this, but if you could please not mention Estel's participation in training..." she said, trailing off.
"We won't say a word," I said, urging Bifur and Bombur to agree with my eyes. They both nodded, though Bifur glowered at me when she wasn't looking.
"I really should tell his mother, and Elrond too," she said. "I will eventually. He's reached an age where he should be trained. Glorfindel could train with him when he returns."
"He'd climbed a tree trying to find a way into your training yard," I said. "So, I'd say he's ready."
She turned toward me, smiling, her violet eyes sparkling like amethyst in the sunlight. The weight of her gaze pressed all the air from my lungs.
"Will you testify on my behalf when I am judged?" she asked in jest.
"Gladly," I said breathlessly. And I meant it.
"That's a statue we haven't seen yet," Bifur said, clearing his throat and gesturing toward the marble figure of a woman with outstretched hands.
"That's Elbereth Gilthoniel," Fevelien said. "Maybe I could lead you all on a tour of the grounds later, after you're done in the forge."
"That's very kind of you, but we wouldn't want to impose," Bombur said.
"I think a tour would be lovely," I said, thinking I'd found my moment at last. "In return, we-"
"Plus, we're like to be covered in sweat and grime, and need a wash," interrupted Bifur, who had already sweated through his tunic.
"So, maybe another day," she said.
"Yes, that would be better." Bifur said.
I sighed. "What if we meet up with you once we've all cleaned up? Afterward, we-"
"That might work," Bifur interrupted again.
"You could meet us by our chambers," she said.
"Oh," I said, feeling the air leave my body again. "We don't actually know where they are."
"We're staying in an entirely separate wing of the house," Fevelien said, pointing to a stand of trees on a small island in the Bruinen. "You'll have to cross the footbridge over there to reach it."
By now we had reached the smithy. The sweet sound of metal ringing on metal echoed off the rock walls behind us, and periodic sparks showered the paving stones. Imladan worked the forge, hammering a decorative candleholder into shape. He was very tall and fair, with dark hair tied up in a knot on the top of his head. He wore a leather apron and heavy leather mitts over his ropy arms.
Fevelien greeted him warmly in Elvish. They talked for a moment, gesturing toward us. I couldn't hear most of what was said, but caught Imladan say, "Tiro i raenor," as he gestured toward me. I smiled broadly at the smith. He smirked, nodding to Fevelien in response. She laughed and turned to leave. This was my last chance.
"We should have dinner together later," I blurted out. Fevelien turned her curiously intense eyes on me, and I sank into them. "All of us," I added, drawing a circle in the air with my finger. "Gandalf wants us to all get together for dinner."
"Gandalf," she said, smiling. "All right, you can all stay for dinner after the tour, then. Thaliel is roasting the deer that Rhaweth brought down yesterday, so there will be plenty to share."
I'd been about to suggest that we supply food, but stopped short at the mention of roast deer.
"Venison!" Bifur and Bombur gasped in unison.
"We'll bring ale," I said.
"And mead," said Bifur.
"And our instruments," said Bombur, "for entertainment."
Fevelien laughed. "Right, you're all traveling musicians," she said. "See you all later."
Imladan offered to fix the axehead for us, but was happy to let Bombur work on it himself. He arched an eyebrow when my brother immediately cast off his tunic, folding it neatly and setting it well away from the forge.
"Can I get you an apron?" Imladan asked, as Bofur picked up a pair of tongs with bare hands.
"No thank you," my brother replied. "The hottest sparks from the forge are but a pleasant tickle to our skin."
"We have some other projects we're hoping to work on," I said. "Is this a good time?"
Imladan smiled bemusedly. "You're welcome any time the forge is lit," he said.
Hearing this, Bifur ran back to our rooms to gather more items in need of repair. Off came our tunics as we went to work. In addition to his buckles, we fixed a pair of pliars and several rope clips. We also made plans to forge a grappling hook and a number of turnbuckles, since we'd soon be trekking into the mountains.
We returned, jubilant, to our quarters to show off the soot streaking our arms as much as the products of our labor. It felt good to work a forge again, and to know that we could return the next afternoon.
"I have also been productive today," Bilbo said, looking at me with a very smug and self-satisfied grin as I sat down to a late lunch. "After finishing my tea I decided to take a walk through the gardens, where I met Gliriel. She is also a poet! We had a very lovely chat."
"Good for you!" I said. "Pass me the cheese, will you?"
"Did you know that Imladan is her father?" he asked, looking gleeful at my surprise. "I also learned that Fevelien spent much of her childhood here in their household. I'd say it's not Elrond you need to worry about upsetting with your misplaced ardor, so much as Imladan."
Bilbo continued to gaze at me, rocking back on his heels, as I chewed a bite of cheese and bread.
"So..." I said at last, remembering Imladan's conversation with Fevelien earlier that afternoon.
"So?" Bilbo said, looking incredulous. "How about a thank you? I've just saved you from having an anvil thrown at your head, or ... or hot tongs stabbed into your eyes! You're welcome!"
"You should listen to him, nadad," Bombur said, smiling around a mouthful of salad greens. "You wouldn't want a hammer dropped on your toes."
"Or slammed into your jewels!" Kili piped up from across the room.
"Kili ..." Thorin said with a sigh, not bothering to look up from his map.
"He's right though," Bifur added. "You don't want him quenching a hot chisel on your tongue."
"Or pouring molten metal into your ear canals," Fili contributed.
"Or down your throat," said Dori
"Or using you as a dishing stump," said Nori.
Ori picked up a quill and began writing furiously in his leather-bound journal.
"What new torture are you inventing for me?" I asked him, furrowing my brows.
"None. I'm documenting all of these for posterity," he said, giggling.
I set down the remainder of my lunch, no longer hungry. "Fevelien has invited us all to dinner," I said. "I'm going to go bathe."
As soon as Bombur confirmed that, yes, we really were going to dine on roast venison later, a stampede followed me down to the baths. We scrubbed ourselves clean using the smelly soaps left for us by the elves.
"I would never admit this to their faces, but the green soap actually smells nice," Dori said.
"The one that smells like fresh pine, yes!" Nori agreed, taking a few bars with him as he stepped out of the bath.
"Bah, it just masks our natural musk," said Gloín, "I'd rather smell like Mahal intended."
"I'm not sure your wife agrees," said Kili, nimbly dodging out of the way when Gloín lunged toward him.
I dressed in my best tunic and pants, both a soft black with yellow stitching. I checked that my beard had not come loose from it's braids, then combed my hair and tied it back. Finally, I buttoned on my bright yellow party hood.
"I don't understand why everyone is getting all fancied up just for dinner with a few elf maids," said Balin, shaking his head. He'd combed his beard, but had not bothered to bathe or change clothes. "Gandalf here is wearing the same grey robes he wears every day."
"He's a wizard," Kili said, "He's entitled to look as shabby and ragged as he likes."
"Shabby, you say?" Gandalf said, "I was going for more of a rustic charm."
"It's vintage," said Dori. "You look vintage."
"Hmm," Gandalf grumbled, chewing on the end of his pipe.
"Are we ready?" sighed Thorin.
Fili and Kili practically skipped down the steps in their matching sapphire blue tunics and hoods, fiddles tucked under their arms. I followed next, side-by-side with Bifur in matching yellow. We hoisted a barrel of ale between us. Bombur walked just behind in spring green, laden with six full skins of mead. Dwalin toted our instruments, since he had none.
"Bofur!" Fili called out as he approached the narrow footbridge. "I think we passed by here on our first walk and never noticed, it's so hidden by the trees!"
I supposed the Silvan elves preferred this seclusion. We walked across the bridge, passing through a stand of tall beech trees, and onto an open terrace. An arched roof covered a walkway around the perimeter. Curtains led off into what must be their separate sleeping chambers, but their sitting and cooking areas were entirely open to the sky. I glimpsed a bathing pool on the far end, and willed myself somewhat ineffectively not to imagine them bathing in it together.
The eight elf maids were gathered around a huge outdoor hearth. I caught a whiff of wildflowers just before the sweet and tangy fragrance of roasting garlic, fruit, and meat overwhelmed me. Two elves tended the hearth, turning the deer on a spit and slathering it with a thick red glaze. One had hair of amber while the other's was deepest black.
"Welcome," said the elf with black hair. "I'm Rhaweth, and this is Thaliel."
"Bofur at your service," I said, bowing as much as I could without dropping the ale. "So, you're the one we have to thank tonight, for providing the meal?" I said.
"You can thank me for felling it, Thaliel for roasting it, and Fevelien for inviting you all," Rhaweth said, her voice a smokey purr.
"Pardon me," I said, bowing again to Thaliel, who smiled shyly.
"You can set that cask down over here," said Fevelien, pointing to a spot she had cleared on a stone table. We set it down next to a tray of bread and fresh fruit. Bifur removed the valve from his pocket. I removed the mallet from mine, and we carefully tapped it into place.
Fevelien passed me the wineskin she'd been holding, "Hopefully you don't mind sharing a drinking vessel with elves. We have no clean mugs for you."
I took a long swig and smacked my lips with a satisfied sigh before handing it to Bifur, who did the same.
"No mugs might be a problem," Bifur said, gesturing to the ale.
"Bilbo may enjoy drinking straight from the cask, but the rest of us are more cultured," I added.
"Why are you picking on Bilbo?" she said with a laugh. "We can gather some during the tour. But first, you must meet the others."
The other elves sat on canvas-covered divans, passing around wineskins while Gliriel recited poetry. She switched seamlessly from Elvish to Westron as we approached. I caught something about a golden-haired elf warrior battling a monster of smoke and flames. Calearphen leaned forward in her seat, watching her betrothed with devoted admiration. The elf sitting beside her burst into tears when the warrior sacrificed himself to slay the beast at the end.
"Mithrandir!" Gliriel called during the applause. "Tell us a story!"
Gandalf was immediately beset by elves demanding tales of his recent adventures. Fili, Kili, and Ori eagerly joined in.
"Gliriel is our poet," Fevelien said. "You know Calearphen, of course. Orlereth there beside her is also from the Woodland Realm."
Orlereth nodded at us as she swiped the tears from her eyes. Her red-gold hair and lightly bronzed skin recalled a warm summer day.
"And here are Ninglorwen and Limdal, both from Lothlorien," Fevelien said, gesturing to the remaining two elves. Limdal nodded shyly, sinking deeper into the divan as if overwhelmed by this sudden onslaught of strangers. Ninglorwen, meanwhile, sat tall and proud, glaring at us icily from beneath heavily lidded eyes, her pale golden hair glimmering in the setting sun. Whispers flitted around - supposedly from Gandalf himself - that Ninglorwen served as a handmaiden to some great lady, and was of noble blood herself.
If any of the elves are likely to murder us, surely it is this one, I thought to myself. Bifur's gesture told me he felt the same.
"Who is ready for a tour?" Fevelien asked.
Bombur had already made himself comfortable, listening to Gliriel and now Gandalf. Many of the group were similarly entranced, but Bifur nodded, and Kili, Dwalin, Oin, and Nori all jumped up to tag along. Orlereth padded silently up beside Fevelien as she led us toward the footbridge.
"Mind if I come along?" she said, sounding as if she didn't care whether we minded or not.
"Of course," I said, admiring her gold-flecked eyes.
The two of them pointed out tapestries and statues as we walked through the main house, sharing stories that I failed to remember, so focused I was on keeping in step with Fevelien. I did notice Nori pocketing an extra mug when we stopped in the main kitchen.
"This is the Hall of Fire," Fevelien said, leading us into a long hall lined with tapestries. A fire burned low in the hearth, though we were the only ones here. "A fire is always kept burning here," she explained. "This is the main entertaining hall, and also home to some of our most cherished relics, including-"
"Hush," Orlereth said, her face flushing as Fevelien pointed toward a tapestry of a golden-haired elf clad in a cloak decorated with golden flowers.
"Orlereth's one true love," Fevelien said.
"He's very handsome," I said, smiling. "Though, if you're not careful you could cut yourself on those cheekbones."
"We're not like that," Orlereth said. "Fevelien just likes to tease me."
"Only because you request the same lay each time Gliriel recites for us," Fevelien said.
"I just like the story," Orlereth replied, her face burning. "And she tells it so well."
"Oh, is he the one from the story just now? The one who died defeating the ... whatever it was?" I asked.
"That's Glorfindel," Fevelien said with a nod.
"Oh," I said, "I'm sorry ... you knew him?"
Both elves burst into laughter. Nori used the distraction to slide the shard of a broken blade from it's pedestal into his pocket. The rest of us looked at one another in confusion.
"We know him now," Fevelien said. "He fell in the First Age and returned in the Second."
"When did your mother train with him?" Kili asked, beating me to the question that had been on my mind.
"After he returned. He was already a great warrior, but so much had changed. There were no singing weapons before, for one. He'd forgotten some things, as well. The way he tells it, my mother took pity on him. I don't think their relationship was so lop-sided though."
I noticed a wistfulness in her voice and expression as she mentioned her mother, and wondered at the cause of it. Bilbo had made no mention of her parents.
"I'm confused," Dwalin said, "You say you're from the Woodland Realm, but you both seem quite at home here in Rivendell."
The elves glanced at one another, then smiled.
"I was born in the southern Greenwood," Fevelien said.
"And I was born later, in the north," Orlereth continued.
"But, like you, we have kin spread far and wide," Fevelien added. "My mother lived here for many years before moving east."
"And my father," said Orlereth. "So, we've divided our time between the two."
"Are you Sindar elves, then?" Dwalin asked, "Or Silvan, or both?"
"Both," they answered together, laughing.
We had reached the end of the Hall of Fire, but before we could exit, Orlereth pulled Nori up by the back of his hood. Fevelien planted herself before him, arms folded across her chest. Her fierce eyes bored into his.
"Return the shard of Narsil, and we will let you keep the extra mug and silverware," Fevelien said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Nori bluffed.
"Nori," Kili commanded, in a rare display of authority. "Give it up."
Nori appeared to wilt as he revealed the fragment of steel and set it in Fevelien's waiting hand.
"Seems an odd heirloom to hold on to," he grumbled. "Fine steel like that could at least be turned into something useful."
"The sword's rightful owner will decide how best to use it," Fevelien snapped, handing the shard to Orlereth. She released Nori's hood and carefully placed the broken sword back on it's pedestal.
"If you need additional cups and silverware you need only ask," Orlereth said, as we left the main house.
"Taking an object unseen is half the fun," Nori said weakly.
"You clearly failed, you great fool," Oín scolded. "Even Bofur has controlled his impulses better than you," he continued in a whisper.
Bifur, now laden with a crate of drinkware, shoshed them both.
We headed to the stables next, to feed apples to our ponies and pat their broad noses. Fevelien's large red roan greeted her with a long whinny when he heard her voice, and she stopped to stroke his neck, speaking to him in a low voice. Orlereth caught me watching her, and eyed me curiously for a moment before continuing on.
"After spending a few days here, I have trouble understanding the animosity between elves and dwarves." I said as we walked back through the gardens.
"Elves have long memories" Fevelien said. "Have you forgotten about the Nauglamir and the carnage that it wrought?"
"We dwarves have long memories, as well," Dwalin said. "As I recall it was the Firebeards who went to war over the necklace. Durin's folk had nothing to do with it." Kili, Nori, and Oín all nodded emphatically.
"Neither did we Broadbeams," I said. "It's not our fault if you can't tell the difference between one clan of dwarves and another," I added with a wink.
The elves exchanged a glance. "Neither could you tell the difference between Sindar and Silvan elves," said Orlereth.
"That's why we asked," I said.
"It was a fair question," admitted Fevelien, "So, you are Longbeards," she asked, gesturing to Dwalin, Oín, Kili, and Nori. "And you are Broadbeams?" she asked, gesturing to Bifur and me.
"Yes, that's correct," Dwalin said. "You can see we're Longbeards by our long beards."
"And Broadbeams are broad," Oín continued, spreading his arms wide to bracket Bifur's shoulders.
"You all have long beards," Orlereth said.
"Ours are especially long," Dwalin insisted.
"Kili's is not quite so long," said Fevelien.
"That's only because mine hasn't been growing for so long," Kili said, "Check in again after another decade or two of growth," he added, waggling his eyebrows.
"There hasn't only been conflict between elves and dwarves," Fevelien said with a laugh, as we crossed back over the footbridge. "There have been a few friendships, as well. The Woodland Realm and the Lonely Mountain were amicable, for the most part."
I almost tripped when she mentioned the Lonely Mountain. "I would hope to be counted among your friends," I said, smiling.
She smiled back at me, then nodded toward Orlereth and the other elves scattered about us tending the fire, passing around platters of food, and pressing Gandalf for stories. Cheers greeted Bifur as the dwarves lined up for mugs, and I saw the mead skins already circulating.
"I can count on each of my friends to support me, whether we're trekking through the Wilderland or navigating a delicate diplomatic situation. Could I count on you?" she asked.
Her question caught me off guard. I thought of Bifur and Bombur, and how they'd stuck with me through my worst moments. I thought of Thorin, and how he'd trusted me to guard him. I had known them all my life; how arrogant was I to assert that I could form a similar relationship with her after just a few days? And yet, the answer came easily to me. Only later that night would I wonder whether it was only my attraction to her getting the better of me, after all.
"You're right to be skeptical," I said. "I would think you naive if you weren't. But, I can tell that you deserve my loyalty," I said.
"That's a lovely complement," she answered, her voice remaining guarded.
"It's the truth," I said, grinning as a platter of bread and fruit made it's way to me. "You can buy a lot of loyalty with food and drink."
She laughed at this, throwing her head back as she did. I was caught completely off guard by the effect her joy had on me.
"We've brought our instruments," I said, nodding to the pile organized by Bilbo. "We could play for you. If you like, we could do a little dancing, too."
"Dancing!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "Only so long as you all promise not to stomp on our feet." The corners of her eyes crinkled with a fresh peal of laughter.
I would do anything to make her laugh this way again, I thought.
"What? No, we have perfect rhythm," I said. "We're traveling musicians, remember? Your feet are safe."
She leaned in close, still smiling, and I felt my stomach drop as her lips paused just shy of my ear. "We know you are not a troupe of musicians," she said, her voice low.
"How dare you insult our musical talents," I said, feigning injury. My heart bludgeoned itself against my ribcage.
"Loyalty requires trust," she said, her amethyst eyes drawing me in, daring me to reveal where we were headed. Or did I just want to tell her? Either way, I had promised Thorin.
I sighed, and her smile fell away. "I trust you," I said, "But Borin does not, and I swore loyalty to him, first."
She nodded, her disappointment lessened. "I don't suppose winning his trust would be so easy," she said. Just then everyone was called to eat, putting a halt to our conversation.
There was, indeed, music and dancing that night, but only after we had eaten our fill. Besides venison with plum glaze, there were tender green asparagus shoots simmered in garlic sauce, and sweet fruit and nut cakes. By the time we got around to bringing out our instruments, the deer carcass was picked clean.
The elves surprised us by pulling out harps and lutes of their own. Fevelien brought out a set of wooden pipes, which she lamented would only play sorrowful songs.
"We've got a melancholy song," I said, "fit for melancholy instruments."
I raised my clarinet to my lips and played the opening notes of the Lonely Mountain song. Thorin looked quite put out, but everyone else was already joining in. First came Bifur on his clarinet, then the flutes, the viol and fiddles, then Bombur on his drum, and at last Thorin added his golden harp and deep bass. The elves sat in still silence, until we reached the fourth verse. Fevelien lifted her pipes and added a harmony that tugged the fraying stitches from our collective wound, laying it bare and raw.
The song ended and the last strains of music faded away into the night. We all sat in silence for a moment.
"It's a lovely song," Fevelien said softly, her eyes meeting mine as she tucked her pipes away. "I hope you all find what you're looking for."
Another beat of silence echoed out around us until Ori asked, "Now, who's up for a happy dancing tune?"
Joyous dancing, full of stomping, followed. Unfortunately, a few elven feet were trod upon, and a few dwarvish feet as well, since there were more dwarves than elves. Lest you make assumptions, no one's feet were trod upon by me or my brother or cousin. Being larger than the average dwarf we had learned to tread more carefully. Bilbo surprised us with his especially nimble dancing, though in retrospect we should have expected this from a hobbit. Limdal came alive as she danced, spinning and leaping and avoiding even the most awkwardly stomping dwarvish boots. Gandalf escaped the foot-stomping by reclining on a divan, chuckling to himself and blowing smoke rings around all the dancers.
Most of the dances involved changing partners quickly, so that everyone ended up dancing with everyone else. I lived for the few brief moments when I got to dance with Fevelien, holding her long, delicate hands in my broad, callused ones. I placed my hands gently on her waist, marveling at how light she felt in my arms as I lifted and twirled her. I was careful to never let them linger too long, despite longing to slide them around her back and pull her against me.
I realized I was playing a dangerous game by entertaining these thoughts, and reminded myself again and again that I wanted to earn her trust, not betray it.
Finally, Ninglorwen clapped her hands and announced that she was going to bed. The others began stretching and yawning and expressing their intentions to do the same. We gathered up our instruments and prepared to go.
"Sedho mae," the elves called.
"Sedho mae, Raenor," Fevelien said, tugging playfully on the end of my hood as she took her leave.
"Good night," I breathed, her touch lingering even as her curtain closed behind her.
"Sedho mae, Raenor," the others echoed, some giggling, as they retired.
"What does that mean?" I asked Gandalf, as we walked back to our own chambers.
"Sedho mae is rest well," he said, chewing on the end of his pipe.
"What about raenor?"
"That's means 'smiling one,'" he said.
"Smiling one?" I felt my face flush.
"You have been smiling all evening - see, right there, you are smiling now," he said, chuckling under his breath.
In my bed that night, I replayed our final moment together over and over in my mind. Eventually, I allowed myself to imagine her pulling me through the curtain into her chamber, where I tumbled with her into bed just before falling asleep.
Notes:
Tiro i raenor = Watch the smiling one (Sindarin)
iraknadad = male cousin (Khuzdul)
Sedho mae = Rest well (Sindarin)