In the ensuing week, the weather crisped and the first pops of color began to edge the leaves of Mirkwood's forests. I had always loved this season, and the autumnal changes occuring enchanted me even more now. My current—elevated—status granted me the leisure to enjoy such things.
Gradually, I grew accustomed to not spending my days in study, for as a true royal bard, my life had changed in every possible way. I continued my bardic duties, entertaining the court and intermittently working to clean and organize the music library downstairs.
Interestingly, I happened to uncover there a fair amount of ancient scrolls containing various myths and legends, including some accounts of King Elu Thingol, Beleg Strongbow, and Túrin Turambar. These I quickly shared with my King's councillors, who made all haste to clean and restore them.
One morning as I went to sequester myself in the dusty buried room under the King's chambers, I noticed that a fair amount of cooks, servants, attendants, trade masters and the like were moving quickly about the compound in a feverish frenzy of activity. Everyone seemed singularly focused on their own tasks, but the emotional pitch of it all was mingling somehow, as though each elf's fëa floated skyward to tumble about in a glory of conjoined, harmonic motion.
"What is happening?" I whispered to Ayduin as he led me to the library and carefully unlocked the door. "Why is everyone bustling about so? And has everyone been thus engaged for some time—and I only noticing now?"
The ellon laughed. "The latter, I'm afraid," he said. "A few weeks ago, it was announced that an envoy from Lothlorien would come to our halls. Plans were made to share our harvest and make merry in these last days before Winter is upon us."
I folded my lips together.
"It wasn't a public declaration," he added quickly. "A social interaction of this kind hasn't been planned with our Lorien kin in a while." Then he sighed, and I noticed for the first time how tired he seemed to look. "But even private decrees have a way of… revealing themselves—over time…"
"Do you know who is coming?" I blurted, and Ayduin looked at me strangely. A bit more gently, I added, "Does Lady Galadriel herself come?"
He smiled broadly then. "She does indeed, and several of her close kin. A few courtiers will come to attend them as well," he finished.
"When?" I croaked nervously.
"But two days from now."
I felt my skin chill.
When the older elf had left me to my own devices in the library, I sighed and peered around at my progress. I had been utterly painstaking in my efforts, and though the place looked worlds better, I knew there was still much to do. This was truly an endless task. In that moment, I doubted I would ever finish.
An envoy from Lorien, the thought echoed in my mind. A few courtiers will attend them.
I forced myself to face the possibility; did that mean my sister would come? And her husband as well?
I shuddered.
Not for the first time, I wished my mother had survived to help us navigate this strangeness.
I had grown up in the Golden Wood and knew it well; I believe it was originally intended I should stay there. But after losing my mother, all of that changed and my young life was thrown into uncertainty and even peril. It was decided then by my elders that I should be sent to Mirkwood for my formal education.
As it was, I was satisfied with my current situation—perhaps even happy. Did my past now deign to chase me down and fell me like a treed animal?
I had plans that evening to present a few new pieces at court. I had gotten to know the musician Anhely a little better, and we'd prepared a duet as the focal point of the night's entertainment. It was the first time I would sing with another elleth since my training. I hoped it would go over well.
Thranduil shifted uncomfortably in his throne and attempted to keep his eyes open.
The current meeting had continued far too long for his liking and he was ready to hang the Lake-men one and all rather than endure hearing their proposed changes in tax rates on trade goods.
What cared he as long as the folk of Greenwood the Great had ample food and drink to last the Winter?
He sighed forlornly, and only when a few heads swiveled to regard him in surprise did he notice how demonstrative he'd been.
The emissary kneeling before him trailed off in uncertainty.
"What is it, man?" Thranduil demanded. "Are you well?"
"Are—you? Well?" the portly man returned.
The Elvenking glanced sideways at his foreign advisor.
Connak only grinned at him, and Thranduil sat up, affronted. He took a deep breath. Yes, it's boring, he admitted to himself. It's terribly, terribly boring. And that doesn't bloody matter. Get through it.
"Of course I am well," he scoffed.
The emissary nodded. "Ah, I see, my King. It's just that you…"
And Thranduil leaned forward ever so slightly to regard him, commanding attention by utilizing his own intimidating stature, formidably spiked crown—now decorated with autumn's first blushing leaves and berries—and icy stare.
The man did not finish the thought. "I am mostly through my report," he hedged. "I just needed to announce the changes to the tax on Dorwinion vintages—"
"What is the percentage of increase?" Thranduil asked him tersely. The man had been droning on for the better part of three hours, and he'd had enough.
"Less than .002 percent, Majesty," the man answered.
"Fine," snapped the King. "That is fine; I am fine with that. Connak?"
The foreign affairs advisor was watching him in silent amusement. He inclined his head in mock ceremony toward his King.
"Fine," repeated Thranduil. "I suspect that is enough to consider for one day, and I move we adjourn. My head…"
He had started to complain of his head aching, but the emissary stood and interjected hastily, "That is well, my King—that is very well! Only there is one other matter I would discuss with you. It is of great importance and I promised my board I would mention it today—"
"And what is that?" asked Thranduil tartly. His patience was fraying rapidly.
The man gulped in a breath. "Your Majesty, two shipments have been lost en route to your halls. I confirmed with your own merchants this morning that there are no records of them ever having arrived."
Thranduil frowned. What's this?
"Majesty," the man continued. "Our scouts and pack merchants have complained before of attacks in your forests. Reports tell of great spiders with a poisonous bite—and of other mysterious creatures as well. Some of our envoys have returned with wounds sustained and frightening tales to tell. Incidents of this nature appear—unfortunately," and here the man squinted as if it pained him to relay this, "to be increasing. And when two of our latest shipments went missing, well…"
Suddenly, Thranduil was wide awake.
Had it really grown that dangerous?
He gave a toss of his kingly head and his silken hair splayed prettily over one shoulder. "I thank you for bringing it to my attention," he said, refusing to be upset by the news. "We will speak of this further."
When the man had finally left the audience chamber, he caught Reyren looking fixedly at him.
Because the trade delegation of Northmen was visiting, that evening the king and his attendants supped in the Great Hall. Pains were taken to demonstrate the beauty, wealth, and excellence of Mirkwood, and even the bard had worked up a few new pieces.
Filauria, the Elvenking thought, tasting her name in his mind.
They'd quarreled not long ago, and she'd surprised him—as he was becoming accustomed to her doing. Really, there was so much in the elleth that needed still to be trained, shaped, and smoothed. Her education had been unparalleled, true, and she was bright and pretty. But there was a… a coarseness to her that struck him as odd at times.
He would take her in hand.
No elf had ever presumed to chase down the King in his own halls and demand he answer for his conduct. And certainly no elf had dared to offer a defense of behavior when accused.
But alongside the uncanny in her, there were characteristics he found refreshing and even appealing. She observed his wishes where her own garb was concerned, appearing always in gowns cut to his preference, but then she eschewed any extravagant ornamentation in her accessories and hair. The coppery-chestnut tresses often fell loose and silky, or with a few simple braids only. He found himself longing to touch them.
This evening a bemused expression crossed his face when she and another court entertainer moved to take their places on the south dais.
The meal had been excellent and now the court was drinking and conversing quietly over subdued music.
When the two ellith appeared together and began preparing to perform, he knew it would not be an ordinary piece. Slowly, the black-haired elleth began a soft chant, and Filauria eventually joined her. The two delicate melodies met, twining lazily about each other.
Thranduil listened, fascinated by the courtly Sindarin lyrics.
The song was about the interdependence of the elus tree and thew vines; two forest plants that grew plentifully in the Mirkwood and needed each other to survive. The musician's alto part represented the slender elus and its endeavor to reach ever skyward, while Filauria's part was as complex and winding as a young vine spreading itself gently over trunk and branches.
Commingled, the voices were pleasant, even suggestive, and it seemed that Filauria chose to further this impression by taking her partner's hand and interlacing their long, perfect fingers. The sight stirred his blood.
Notably, the overtones produced by the two excellent singers combined to form a third, shadowy harmony that was extremely impressive—and most likely difficult to achieve.
When the beautiful offering was over, Thranduil noticed his eyes were wet.
What he didn't notice was that his son—seated at the very same table—was staring at the young elleth in warm, open admiration.