"You barely sang tonight," Prince Legolas teased her. "How am I to properly show you off to Arwen if you refuse to exhibit? Or to any of our guests for that matter? Truly, bard, you cheat us all."
The pair of them had moved away from the hall and into one of the dark vestibules just outside—at his request.
He couldn't get a read on her so far. She seemed a little confused, perhaps. Curious. And definitely tired. He didn't want to tax her overmuch, but this needed to come out or he feared he would burst with it.
Filauria gave him a gentle smile in return. "I'm sure Lady Arwen has heard her share of adequate, courtly talent. I'm more disappointed she didn't serenade us all herself!"
Legolas laughed—a little too loudly. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, hoping she wouldn't notice that he couldn't keep them still. Breathe, he told himself over and over again. Nothing is confessed at this point. Let her behavior be your guide.
The conversation area they'd found themselves in was intimate enough to necessitate that they stand fairly close together. There was a wonderful view here through the frost-edged glass of the shadowy Mirkwood Forest, and beyond the sharp points of the trees, a velvety, jeweled sky.
If he'd had any assurance of her mutual feelings just now, the prince would have taken her hand.
Not yet.
"How do you feel about the contingent from Minas Tirith?" he asked. Stalling.
She smiled again. "I find them… enthusiastic," she replied.
Legolas couldn't help but laugh. "Diplomatic as always."
She was studying the sky, no doubt searching for her favorite constellations. "You are too kind. And still I manage to forget that with you, it is possible to express myself honestly and artlessly and reap no unpleasant consequences."
He gave an encouraging nod, interested in her opinion.
"They seem a boorish, rather crass lot to me," she finally admitted.
He laughed again. "I thought so at first, too. But after a time spent in their company, I have found menfolk very pleasing, wherever they hail from. They are wonderful fighters, you know." When Filauria made a face, he expounded. "Oh, not that their training rivals ours in any significant way, but their hearts are stout and willing. There is a warmth there that I've yet to find elsewhere."
She glanced his way. "If that is true, then I should be glad to know them better. Perhaps I've been too hasty. First impressions are not always correct, and I'm not too proud to suspend judgment until another impression is made."
Legolas could tell she didn't really believe what she was saying—but he believed she would try again—at his behest. And that was encouraging. "Carlath, however…" he amended, "May actually just be a boor. You didn't necessarily run into the best representative."
She grinned.
The two stood that way for some time. In the silence that ensued, the sounds of merriment drifted over to them from the banquet hall.
"I—um," he faltered, his heart beginning to pound.
She watched him.
"I ask…" said Legolas, "I ask what you think of them because… it is my intention to, uh…"
Filauria blinked and canted her head at him.
"It's my intention to go back with them," he finally finished, a little lamely. "To travel to the White City—and weather the rest of the holiday there."
For a moment, the silence thickened. Then, "Oh," she said in a small voice.
Disappointment? He dared to hope so.
"You don't seem especially surprised by the news," he noted.
Filauria gave him a nod. "I heard something about that… about your leaving, that is. I was surprised initially. Indeed, I was quite convinced it was only a rumor."
Trying to gauge her every reaction was beginning to exhaust him. "Why only a rumor?" he prodded.
The bard shrugged, the movement of her silhouette standing out in the darkness. "I didn't understand why you'd leave now, with your wound still healing. And with… with those from the House of Elrond visiting… I was surprised you'd leave while Lady Arwen remains here."
It was very good, really, just a hint of an inquiry with no hint of accusation. He had to respect that. His relief at this tiny show of territorialism was almost a palpable thing.
"Lady Arwen?" he asked gently, his confidence growing, his footing more sure now.
Filauria had dropped her eyes to the floor.
Legolas took this opportunity to shift a little closer to her.
Softly, he took one of her hands and began to wind his fingers around hers. In a very low voice, as an ellon might speak to a frightened animal, he queried, "Why should you care if Lady Arwen remains here…? And I go to Minas Tirith?"
Her fingers curled around his, and she waited. It must have cost her something to wait so long.
He nearly repeated the question, but decided to hold his peace. If she could wait, then so could he.
Finally, Filauria raised her head to look into his eyes.
My heart was pounding so madly, I was sure the Prince could see it thrumming at the neck of my low-cut gown. This was as close as we'd ever come to discussing our feelings for one another, and now that we stood on this precipice, I wasn't even sure of what I felt. To come this close to the royal family, to have the opportunity to speak to them so personally, and that even one of them cared a whit for my thoughts and feelings was totally surreal. How has it come to this? I thought incoherently. That the Prince of the Woodland Realm should reach for my hand and walk us so close… so close! to an admission of, well, affection, at least! Can the Prince really feel this for me?
When I finally looked into his earnest face, his eyes were a deep, stormy blue, nearly black. I was a little frightened at that. But he held so still, and his hand was so warm in mine.
"I—" I said faintly. "I had thought…"
He nodded encouragingly, and I continued.
"When Lord Elrond's retinue came to visit, and when I saw how familiar you and Lady Arwen seemed to be, I had thought that—"
The Prince said nothing, just watched me. I felt a deep blush begin to suffuse my face and neck.
"Well, clearly, you are close," I added softly. "Anyone can see that. I wanted to respect whatever …bounds… you'd put in place."
Finally, mercifully, Prince Legolas spoke. "You imagine that Lady Arwen and I have formed some sort of… attachment?"
I searched his eyes but did not deign to reply.
The Prince moved so as to be directly in front of me, blocking my view of the frigid snowscape outside, and cradled my hands in both of his. We were so close now, closer than we'd ever been, and the sweet, spicy scent of him was heady and alluring. Being taller than I, he had to dip his head to see into my eyes. "I can assure you, Filauria," he said delicately. "We have no such understanding. She is like family to me."
As the words fell from his lips, my stomach seemed to fall away from the rest of my body.
Then, just as gently, he leaned forward and whispered directly into my ear, "My heart is free to rest with whoever cares to tend it."
We stayed like that for a few brief moments, my hands enveloped in the Prince's, his lips still lingering close to my ear. I could feel his warm breaths stirring my hair and the desire to pull him toward me into an embrace was nearly irresistible.
Slowly, tenderly, he moved his mouth toward mine and breathed, "Filauria, I—"
But it was not to be.
"I spoke too too, my dear," Ayduin called into the vestibule in a distinctly irritated voice. "He wants one more song—Oh! Forgive me, my Prince."
The spell thus broken, we separated, knowing Ayduin had seen something, but hoping it was not too much.
"I—tell them I will return shortly," I called back, my voice cracking pitifully. Legolas swallowed convulsively and I could see his jaw clench in frustration.
The other ellon had the grace to exit silently, and when we were alone again, I looked back up at the Prince.
The ardor that had seemed to suffuse his handsome features was gone, and his normally expressive face was placid and still.
"I—" I stammered, feeling lost.
He regarded me passively, coldly, even. "It seems they are waiting. I'd hate to keep you."
I took a step away from him, shaking my head in disbelief. So that was it? Was I truly to walk away from… whatever this was? Whatever the Prince had been about to tell me? And not see the apex of it?
"No," I said firmly. "No. Please, let us continue. I have time before I must return to the hall."
Something kindled in his eyes… hope?
The dark vestibule, the shivering trees outside, the night itself seemed to lean in and listen to me.
"So," I said, leveling my gaze at him. "You are saying that my theory of you and Lady Arwen being a couple—was wrong?"
A small smile began to play about his lips. "Very wrong indeed," he said slowly, emphasizing each word.
Emboldened, I took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his tunic, near the breastbone. I allowed myself a coquettish look up at him through my lashes. "And… this is my business… why?"
Legolas grinned at me then. The path was open and clear. "Isn't it obvious?" he rejoined.
I canted my head at him. "My Prince, you have been unfailingly kind and generous to me, always. If you have something you wish to say to me, I encourage you to do so."
The smile fell away. He cleared his throat, squaring off with me.
He was going to do it. I could not believe it.
He'd just begun to speak when we were interrupted—again.
"What goes on here?" Demanded the King of the Greenwood, striding purposefully toward us, glowingly backlit by the sconces in the long hallway. He was angry. I could feel the waves of his displeasure radiating out toward us both. He'd most likely never deigned—or needed—to fetch another person in his whole courtly life. His voice, even, was unusually pitched, signifying a lack of control, if my experience was any guide. "Lady Bard," he snapped. "You've been summoned to perform for the court again—did you not understand the directive?"
"I—I understand, my King," I stammered. "I—the Prince was just…"
"Was just what?" Thranduil sneered nastily, rounding on him.
Legolas looked unhappy. "I was just telling Filauria that I… leave on the morrow."
Thranduil Opherion glanced fleetingly from one of us to the other then, as if trying to discern something. "I see. And you needed to tell her this in a secluded vestibule, far from other eyes?"
The Prince looked down, cowed.
"Presumably she knows now and is resigned to your absence, dubious choice of venue notwithstanding," the King went on icily. "I assume you have taken adequate… leave of each other?"
"We have," replied Legolas quietly.
"Good," Thranduil finished curtly. "Bard, I will join you in the hall with our guests soon. They are waiting. My son, I would speak to you before you go…"
Legolas shot me a regretful look and I shrugged at him. What were we to do?
"Filauria Illitris," the King invoked boomingly, making both the Prince and I jump. "What are you still doing standing here, elleth? If you value your position…!"
I fled. I would not learn that night what the Prince had wanted to tell me, and nor would I learn my honest feelings on the subject. Sometimes feelings, like spells, need to be spoken aloud to be codified, and without gaining any new understanding, I felt more lost than ever.