The evening passed quite pleasantly for me.
I found myself engaged for most dances and was introduced to so many nobles that I was hard pressed to recall their names later. I saw hardly anything of my fellow initiates, and when I did, we exchanged elated—and sometimes, exhausted—glances at one another. Was this was it felt like to be included at Court?
Probably not, I concluded to myself later as I bathed my flushed face and dressed for bed. At the moment, we were still aglow in the acceptance and pomp that the Summer Solstice celebration afforded. Once all settled and real life began, we would need to sort out our own thoughts and feelings, and quickly, if we were to make our way in the Greenwood.
Slowly, I unwound the braids and knots in which my long coppery hair had been dressed. It was a relief to finally undo it all, and I slid my fingers up underneath the tender spots and mussed my own hair, not caring anything for my appearance anymore.
My feet and legs throbbed from too much dancing, but emotional relief continued to flood me.
The dim quiet of my room was deliciously tranquil after the chaos of the Summer Solstice celebration. I paused in my nighttime ministrations and forced myself to meet my own eyes in the small looking glass. The elleth staring back at me appeared… confused. Happy. Content. And perhaps a bit frightened.
I became aware of a clear, thin voice chanting in Sindarin that hovered over the residences, high up in the air. Some sort of vesper. I listened for a moment, and was able to discern honor and acknowledgement of the solstice.
Drawn by the gentle beauty of the voice, I followed the floating sound of it out onto the terrace of my residence. Over the palatial balusters, I observed the gloam of the Mirkwood swaying and trembling in the silent wind below, whispered accompaniment for the unseen singer's song. Far off in the distance, I could hear the soft babbling of the nearby stream. The scent of the night was absolutely intoxicating.
In some ways, I wanted nothing to change. I was happy as I was. But in others, I was fair bursting to begin the next chapter of my life. And filled with trepidation as to what that might mean.
It struck me how much my mother would have liked to be present for my initiation. The thought was far too painful, and with it came unbidden thoughts of my sister—and of her husband. I thrust it all quickly away from myself, glad to be far from the city of my birth, far from where my life had seemed to fall to pieces. I was here now. I was a Mirkwood Elf—literally and officially.
I don't remember seeking my bed after that, but I must have, for that's where I woke up the next morning, mouth dry and head pounding from the wine.
It was some days later that a message hastily scrawled on royal parchment was delivered to my residence. My heart gave a little leap as I slid my thumbnail under the iron-colored seal. It was obviously from someone in Thranduil King's inner circle.
To Filauria Ilitris,
My Dear Lady,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write to encourage your attendance at the annual courtier meet. As a residence of the Court of Mirkwood, you cannot be ignorant of it at this point. What you may not know is that during the meeting, elven kin who wish to enter the employ of my father the King may come unsummoned to the inner court for review and possible engagement.
Please forgive my forthright manner on the subject. At the Summer Solstice Celebration when we spoke, I got the impression you would welcome such an overture as concerns your career. If I overstep, I am truly sorry. In any case, I hope to see you there.
Your Friend and Advocate,
Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm
He thought for the longest time that she would not come. And if Legolas were honest with himself, he scarcely had time to introduce her to the proper parties anyway. The annual meet was necessarily fraught with duties for him as the crown prince. Busywork, he thought, annoyed. He'd rather be employed in altruistic endeavors or removed from court completely and left to his own amusement than endure this… what was it his father called it? Networking?
The prince looked down at his trimmed and polished fingernails. He'd absently chewed on his thumbnail earlier—he really must stop that.
"This way, please," Kendel Virynore was saying gently to a tall, stately elleth nearby. Virynore was one of the liasons on the royal council. As the two ellith approached him, Legolas made sure to smile benevolently, however frustrated he was.
"My Prince," Kendel murmured, dropping into a respectful curtsey, "May I introduce to you Wyn Dawenys, of the Dawenys family."
The elleth was blonde, with frosty eyelashes and deep blue eyes. A charming collection of freckles smattered her pert features.
"Enchanted, my lady," he said smoothly, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.
"The Dawenys family breeds livestock, and Wyn has some skill with training horses. She wishes to assist her elder brother in his position as stablemaster for the royal guard," continued Kendel.
Legolas nodded. The elves of Mirkwood had long lost any preconceptions about ellith versus ellon fulfilling physically demanding duties. All were equal here. "I see not why the council would look upon this as unfavorable," he replied. "Though I can't say I know whether another hand is needed. But," he cried suddenly, laughing, "My lady, we have somehow led you to the wrong chamber. This room is meant for political alliances. I will escort you, if you wish."
Wyn looked relieved and gave him a small smile, nodding her assent.
Kendel relinquished her charge and turned away quickly to see to other matters. The room was abuzz with elves forming new acquaintances and exchanging information.
Legolas offered Wyn his arm, and she took it gratefully. "I have not had a chance to oversee requests for royal engagement yet this afternoon," he explained conversationally. "But I understand not many have applied this year."
She nodded.
"Have you taken refreshment yet?" Legolas asked her. When the elleth shook her head, he continued, "You must be sure to help yourself after the interview, if one is granted."
They reached the appropriate chamber, and he was just wondering how to deposit the elleth and extricate himself when he saw the singer. She'd come after all!
The she-elf looked just as he remembered her—long, coppery brown hair and deep brown eyes. Her hair was dressed simply today, and she wore a fitted gown nearly devoid of embellishments, which struck him as brave for such an occasion. She carried a pair of soft leather-bound books in her hand—one was large enough to cover most of one shapely thigh. Music, he guessed. The other was much smaller.
Filauria looked up and saw him in almost the same instant as he saw her, and he thought he noticed her eyes travel from him to Wyn Dawenys and back. Was that a shadow of jealousy he saw? Or was it his own wishful imagination?
Prince Legolas gave her an impetuous grin. "I was hoping you'd come," he said to Filauria unceremoniously. Then, "This is Wyn Dawenys, an applicant for the royal stables. She'd found herself in the wrong chamber."
The two ellith slowly curtsied to one another.
"Am I in the right place?" Filauria asked Legolas.
"Yes," he replied. "Just over there." And he pointed to where two ellyn sat behind an intricately carved wooden table, speaking with their kin and scribbling gently on pieces of outstretched parchment.
Filauria curtsied to the prince and his escort, murmuring "Excuse me," before seeking to check in. She walked with her back very straight and tall, Legolas noticed, and felt a little twinge of excitement. She was jealous, or he'd greatly misread her. Nothing that couldn't be undone. And it betrayed her interest, however slight, which pleased him. He turned to Wyn.
"My lady, I suggest you do the same," he said, and she nodded once and then curtsied to him before leaving. What an odd little thing. She hardly seemed assertive enough to work with stubborn livestock, but what did he know?
After speaking with the two ellyn at the great wooden table, Filauria stood off to one side, still clutching her books to herself. A small smile curved the prince's lips. She did not mean to rejoin him.
"What have you brought with you?" he asked curiously as he approached her once more.
The elleth looked down at the volumes in her long hands. "Selections," she answered, a little coolly. "I wasn't sure what the committee would like to hear, so I thought I would bring a range of what I have to offer."
"Only music?" he asked. "Or more?"
"More," she replied, grudgingly allowing herself to get caught up in the conversation. "I write if the mood strikes me, so some of it is my own. As his Majesty knows himself from arts training, I can also recite and play the pipes. I've been recommended as sufficient in these endeavours by Hamalitia, who says I might seek active employment for any of these talents."
Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "So it would seem."
She looked up at him quickly, a bit affronted, before noticing the teasing glint in his eyes. A smile broke out on her pretty face, and the prince felt his knees weaken at the sight of it. She laughed quietly, then looked away, sighing. "Forgive my manner," she said. "I'm nervous."
He moved in closer. "Completely understandable." Then, more conspiratorially, he added, "Just remember that all of Mirkwood Court heard you present but a few nights ago. Mark their reactions. As I recall, everyone was stunned and very pleased with your abilities. I would be very much surprised if this interview does not go exactly as you wish it to."
She looked up at him through her eyelashes. It was perfect—artless. Did the she-elf know what a coquette she was at this very moment? Somehow, the prince doubted it.
Filauria opened her mouth to reply, then was interrupted when one of the ellyn called out, "Ilitris!"
Legolas bowed to her and gave her an encouraging smile. She returned it, then answered with a soft, "Here!" as she turned to address the speaker.