The Prince stormed in through the rear gates, not bothering to answer the guards' calls of greeting as he sought a shadowy corner and carelessly dropped his hunting gear to the ground. He turned, irritated to see that his escort had followed him, even to the base of the retaining wall.
"What?" he asked them snappishly.
The elleth and ellon accompanying him drew back.
"No, by all means," he continued, gesticulating toward the ground. "Protect me. I might lose my balance and trip, falling to my death before your eyes. This wall," he added, with faux surprise, "It could collapse on me at any moment."
"My Prince," the ellon began.
"Nay," cried Legolas. "Don't speak! You put me at peril by doing so. I might go deaf."
The elleth rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "Come," she said to her partner. "We are inside the gates now. The Prince clearly tires of our company."
"But… our orders…" insisted the he-elf.
She was already striding away.
Legolas had dropped to one knee and was unlacing one of his leather greaves, further frustrated by the way his blond locks kept falling forward over his fingers and tangling in the thin strips.
"Forgive me, Prince Legolas," the ellon tried. His dark auburn braids gleamed in the afternoon sun. "I know it is tiresome…"
"It is maddening," the Prince interjected, standing sharply to regard the elf.
"I know," his companion conceded.
"I'm a social creature, it is true. But I value my solitude. One of my favourite things is to be active, running, using the bow or the sword. And the best place for me to practice is there—" and here the Prince gestured to the palace wall, "—In the Greenwood."
His guard listened patiently.
Legolas sighed. "It is not your fault," he added defeatedly. "I just hate it. I hate the new directive. I've never met a fell spider who has managed to survive me. I don't understand the obsessive caution now. I am a practiced warrior—surely this is unnecessary."
When the ellon said nothing, the Prince sighed again and moved to enter the compound.
Over his shoulder though, he heard guards, footsoldiers, and courtiers exchanging reports.
"Where is his Majesty Prince Legolas?" someone cried in alarm. "Has he returned?"
"Yes, you half-wit," someone else answered. "Just there, big as life. Didn't you see him? Seems in a temper."
A third voice chimed in. "Did someone mark him as returned safely? It's a requirement now that we mark any and all elfkind as returned safely when trips outside the border are concluded…"
And, blood beginning to boil again, Legolas quickened his pace, longing to get away from it all. It really was ridiculous. All of a sudden, the whole kingdom was on high alert—all because of some dusty old scroll explaining that now the spiders could damage the souls of their victims.
Ha! He believed inane rules could be just as soul-damaging as mindless insects. Perhaps more.
He believed—
A door on his right opened suddenly and another elf hurried out, not looking—
He didn't have enough time to redirect. His body collided with hers—hard. There was a frantic tangle of scrabbling legs as the two of them attempted to stay upright and then gave up. Filauria emitted a frightened little shriek as she toppled over, her heavy skirts tripping her hopelessly. He felt a whooshhh of air issue from her at the impact of chest on chest, and he reached out quickly to grip her by the waist. Perhaps he could break her fall so it wasn't as painful.
A moment later, the little she elf was splayed out on the floor beneath him, and the Prince looked down into her wide eyes, his hand still holding tightly to her waist. His knees had gone to either side of her slender hips. That was… he tried not to grin… That was not how he'd expected to encounter her today.
He was considering making a joke about the "fall" season when he noticed she was struggling to breathe. Instantly, he pulled himself off of her and gave her space.
Filauria rolled to her side and curled up into a little ball, then managed to draw in a little air and emit a strange, barking sound.
Legolas was horrified then. He'd forgotten how much smaller than him she was.
"My lady," he began apologetically.
But she put up one hand, shaking her head at him. It wasn't necessary, she seemed to imply.
"But I..." he continued.
She closed her eyes and shook her head again, holding up a finger to silence him.
"Water?" he asked then, and she took a moment before finally nodding.
When he returned from his office with a mug of cool water for her, Filauria had finally climbed to her feet and was standing with one hand braced against the wall. She saw him coming and gave him a shaky smile, then managed a laugh.
Legolas was relieved.
"My lady," he said again. "Forgive me. I was in a temper and moving too quickly through the halls. It was careless."
"I was just as careless," she replied faintly. "You have nothing to reproach yourself for, believe me. Though," she added, "I'd very much like to know where you were going in such a hurry!"
His shoulders sagged a little. "To my apartments. I was angry. The royal guard followed me out into the forest today and wouldn't leave me to my peace no matter what I told them."
She shrugged. "At least you're safe. I'd hate it if anything ever happened to you."
And just like that, much of the angst he'd been feeling began to melt away. She'd hate it if anything ever happened to me, he told himself.
It didn't fix everything, but it certainly cheered him.
Filauria had begun to move down the corridor once more, and he followed her, asking, "Where are you going?"
"Lunch," she replied. "A dignitary from Rivendell is joining us today."
"Are you singing?"
"Of course."
He opened a door for her as they reached it. The gown she wore today bared the back of her neck and the slender column of her spine, and he had a wild urge to touch the creamy skin there for a moment before mastering himself and pulling back.
"May I come and hear you?"
The she-elf turned and gave him a strange look. "My Prince," she said. "You may be wherever you wish to be, doing whatever you wish to be doing. You are the Crown Prince of Mirkwood. Do you imagine Ayduin will see you at luncheon and ask you to leave?"
"Well, no, I—"
She gave him a pitying smile as though worried for his sanity.
"I just didn't want to invite myself, if…"
Filauria laughed and shook her head at him. "Excuse me," she said, moving past him to open another inner door. He caught it by the edge and held it steady for her as she went through, then followed after.
The audience chamber was quite full, but any social activity was understated.
The dignitary in question was seated near the King, deep in conversation. She was a tall elleth with nearly white-blonde hair, almost the same colour as the king's. Her fingers and wrists were encrusted with glinting pieces of jewels and silver.
Almost too much, Legolas found himself thinking. He'd never cared for such ornamentation, nor in such profusion.
For such a loudly arrayed elleth, her visage was dull and expressionless. She seemed to be speaking very slowly. As he listened to her, Thranduil looked solemn and, as always—a bit unhappy.
Legolas watched Filauria enter the room ahead of him, saw her greet a few key players, a few courtiers, the correct servants, and one or two guests. The room seemed to stir and awaken with her addition to the party. Others noticed her gleaming coppery hair and the way she stood up straight with her shoulders pulled back.
She was doing well here, he realized, remembering how frightened she had been to begin work at court. It seemed she was respected for her talent now, and had gained a measure of confidence because of it. She'd even been more comfortable with him in the corridor, and moved about the palace with ease and permission. He was glad.
Instead of checking with Ayduin, Filauria went straight to the King. She stopped before the dais and gave Thranduil and his guest a deep curtsey.
Thanduil King seemed to come alive at her approach and listened placidly while she spoke.
The dour elleth next to his seemed miffed by the King's divided attention, and Legolas pitied his father for a moment. This guest might be exceedingly difficult to please no matter what one did.
Filauria was looking back and forth between the two of them and nodding. Then she curtsied again and left them to go and collect some equipment from a corner in the quiet chamber.
In only a few moments, the bard approached them again and struck a stirring cord on her lute. It was noisy, and several courtiers jumped, and then laughed nervously. A new, fresh undercurrent of emotion began to flow through the room, and Legolas relished it. Filauria smiled at them all and began to play and sing.
Cherry red,
Berry ripe,
Bold as a bouquet—O!
Lean and light,
Small and tight,
Brighter than the day—O!
Say you'll stay,
Never stray,
In my arms I pray—O!
Cherry red,
Berry ripe,
Jubilant and gay—O!
And she broke off into a series of lightning-quick arpeggios, handling them nimbly.
It was impressive. The company assembled was surprised and delighted by her choice and execution. The emissary from Rivendell was interested in spite of herself, and even Legolas' father had cracked a small smile.
The bard continued.
Cherry red,
Berry ripe,
Begging me to try—O!
Full of grace,
Fair of face,
Eyes as blue as sky—O!
Were I free,
Happy me,
To thee I would fly—O!
Cherry red,
Berry ripe,
After thee I sigh—O!
Filauria's fingers flew. She bent her head forward to give herself a better view of the strings, effectively shutting everyone else out.
The song was quaint and a bit archaic, obviously a creation of man or halfling—anything that obvious could never be attributed to the elves. But the countermelodies and polyrhythms the elleth wrought on the lute were undeniably engaging, and everyone present listened happily, tapping a foot or bobbing a head to the music.
When at last the piece ended in a frenetic but triumphant flourish, the audience chamber instantly erupted in appreciative applause.
The emissary from Rivendell threw up her hands to join in emphatically, losing one of her pretty bracelets as she did so.
Filauria laughed and looked up at everyone, feigning surprise that they were all still there—as if the music had been so absorbing that she'd forgotten where she was.
Smiling, Legolas shook his head in admiration.
The entire atmosphere of the court had changed from bland to beatific. The air was—charged, somehow. Alive with possibilities. With the song over, the courtiers turned to their neighbors in animated conversation, and the Prince moved toward the throne where his father sat.
Then he saw Filauria place her lute down carefully and walk right up to Thranduil Elvenking—so close!
Why was she so close to him?
Legolas peered at them, frowning in consternation until he understood.
Their guest's bracelet, when it had flown from her wrist, had gotten caught in the King's crown.
With everyone around them chatting gaily, no one noticed the bard reach out to disentangle the offending piece of jewelry. Filauria was laughing merrily at first, but then quieted in order to concentrate. She bit her lower lip while she worked, gently smoothing the hair back from the King's forehead with her hands.
Legolas raised his eyebrows at that.
For a moment, it looked as though Thranduil would reach up to steady her by placing his hands on her tiny waist—but he caught himself quickly and kept them firmly in his lap.
It was a micro-movement, but it was there.
Still, it was forgivable. It could all be dismissed as a strange aberration…
The bracelet was almost free.
Filauria leaned in even closer, and Legolas watched them both darkly.
Her eyes darted down to fix on the King's—just for an instant—surely, that was near enough to feel another's breath on one's lips, and then Thranduil Elvenking swallowed—convulsively, as though suffocating. It was only a small movement, a bobbing of the perfect, white flesh at his throat, but it spoke loudly.
Then the bard stepped back and gave the bracelet to the emissary.
The sounds of lively conversation came back, or perhaps it was only that the Prince began to notice them again.
After curtseying low to the couple near the throne, Filauria picked up her lute and entertained the court with gentle, instrumental tunes for the rest of the afternoon.