Note: Got some new chapters coming your way! Shoutout to idreamofvalinor for the kind words.
To all readers, whether you are new to this work or have been around since the beginning, your reviews always encourage me to keep going!
Small correction to Chapter 27... at one point, I'd written that this was our protagonist's first experience meeting menfolk, which was patently false. A trade delegation of Northmen had come to Mirkwood earlier in the story! I've gone back in and corrected that.
Thank you all for your patience. I hope you enjoy where the story goes next! *Crosses fingers and toes*
He'd caught them—Thranduil Elvenking was sure of it. If his son had not already confessed his feelings to the elleth, then he must have been about to.
It had been too close.
After weeks of doing his best to avoid the bard and hope that this… foolishness… ceased on its own, he'd been dismayed to find that his feelings for her had only grown. This evening, some warning had stirred in his blood when Ayduin had gone to fetch her and she hadn't returned. Initially of course, he'd suspected some sort of danger, but finding her with the Prince… well. That was—different. A different kind of danger.
Manwë, Oropherion, what are you playing at? He scolded himself mercilessly as he made his way back to the banquet hall. She is not a possession, nor a toy. You have no claim to her beyond her service to your household… You have no idea what the young elleth's goals might be, absolutely no indication of her thoughts or feelings. And Legolas…
Legolas. His son had been upset. Hurt, angry. Frustrated.
Not enough, though.
Not enough to tell his father what had truly happened. Thranduil had hoped that the Prince would be willing to share, if only so that this exhausting game they played might finally be tethered to reality. But the young ellon had simply flung a few clipped words at his father and then huffed off to his own quarters, ostensibly to finish packing for the next morning.
You are both no better than a pair of hounds fighting over a scrap of food, Thranduil told himself. But Legolas may not know better. You do. You might have done anything. You might have turned aside, let them finish. You could have pretended you didn't see them. You were graceless, tactless. And then a horrid new thought occurred… What must she think of you?
He almost laughed aloud in incredulity. He'd never cared one whit for what another person might think of him and often dared others to speak their disdain—punishable, of course—yet here he was, the very King of Greenwood the Great, reduced to the indignity of guessing this bard's next moves on the game board when she hadn't even agreed to play him. It was extremely ironic.
The doors to the banquet hall were closed, but the warm, mellow light of the lamps gilded the edges. Thranduil stopped and, placing his fingers on one of the door handles, rested his kingly head against the carved wood.
As sovereign, he could do anything. He could command an end to his family's personal relationship with the bard. He could dismiss her from her position, have her sent away. Great gods, he could have people executed or imprisoned for refusing to indulge him, but certainly none of these was the right answer. Thranduil was aware of his more… controlling tendencies. They had served him well in many cases, but he knew with surety that strong-arming in this situation would only push the elleth away; that it already may have done. He had been so selfish. He felt ridiculous admitting it to himself, but what this courtier desired was now of utmost importance and had to be discovered. This final thought haunted him: Why? Why did you stop them? Are you so afraid that if Legolas offers her his heart, she will accept?
He had no answer. All he knew was that Filauria Illitris and Legolas Thanduillion must not pledge their lives to each other. Everything in his being forbade it.
When he opened the door, it was to relative quiet. He was surprised indeed, considering both the time of evening it was and the company within. Generally, menfolk enjoyed taking their wine, beer, or mead at celebrations and could often be found rather compromised at such times, making for rowdy exchanges. But all was calm. The bard had taken her place in the corner with a few other musicians and they were playing a quiet air together. Reyren, Connak, and a few others were entertaining the Gondorians at the head table. Lord Elrond Half-Elven, too, his daughter, and their entourage were supping close by.
The Elvenking took his place among the elfkin and menfolk.
"You Highness," Connak purred. "We wondered what had become of you."
What, indeed?
But he put on his most disarming smile and replied, "Just stepping out for a bit of air. Is everyone satisfied with the food? And the company?"
Enthusiastic noises in return. One of the men from Minas Tirith, a commander if the King was not mistaken, added, "Very! You positively spoil us, your Highness. I've not had such superior repast this twelvemonth. And—" this, indicating the group of musicians in the corner, "Your consort! Gods, but what beautiful music!"
Several of the men toasted this, and Connak positively beamed. As foreign affairs advisor, anytime a hosted visit turned out well, he surely derived a fine sense of satisfaction. He was a good ellon, sensible, but blessed with the ability to anticipate the needs of others before they were spoken, as well as the gift of soothing and affable speech.
Out loud, Thranduil King rejoined, "I'm glad to hear it. If you enjoy the music so much, perhaps you'd like to hear another tune? My royal bard has a fine voice."
An unranked human man laughed. "A 'fine voice' to the elves is as heavenly music from the spheres to us—let her sing!"
He'd had a feeling this was how the evening would go. They'd all be up a little late. Another glass of wine, a few more songs… perhaps even a dance or two. That was fine. Thranduil nodded to Ayduin, who looked tired but not unhappy. The ellon immediately understood and moved to the King's side.
"Highness?"
"What would show her off to the best advantage, you think?" Thranduil asked, nodding at the musical consort.
Ayduin blinked. "Beg pardon, my King?"
"The music," he clarified. "Let us pick a song… something the men would enjoy, but something that showcases our bard's talent. What do you think?"
The other ellon smiled. "I'm hardly the proper person to recommend the next selection, your Highness. Unless you have a piece in mind, I suggest we put it to Filauria herself—she has excellent taste, you know."
Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. "She does," he agreed. "Very well. Tell her something slow but impressive. And I want her featured. No more floating about in the background for her."
This seemed to amuse Ayduin immensely. "No, I don't suppose there is anymore, your Highness—not for her," he said, grinning.
Thranduil gave his attendant a sharp look, but the ellon was already striding off to the corner.
The King watched as Ayduin bent at the waist to speak a few quiet words to Filauria. Her fingers continued their measured, languid movements on her lute, but she pricked up her ears to listen to the request. Her eyes flickered over to the main dais to meet his, and Thranduil thought he caught a hint of reproach in that gaze. But then it was gone, and she was listening, nodding, and then speaking a brief assent.
Ayduin rubbed his hands together thoughtfully and returned to the head table once more.
A few minutes later when the musicians had finished their song, the bard stood up slowly and spoke a few soft words to the others. Then she came to the middle of the room to prepare for the next song, leaving her lute behind.
Some of the guests had noticed and begun to shush each other.
The bard was truly resplendent this evening. She'd dressed in a shimmery rust velvet gown that fell in majestic folds to the floor and perfectly set off her copper hair, pulled half up for the occasion in all kinds of sumptuously textured braids. The slender column of her waist was showcased expertly and to beautiful advantage by the design, and at her graceful shoulders, the fabric swept upward into two thick, twisted straps that wrapped intricately around the back of her shapely neck. A stunning pair of jewels hung from her pointed ears, lending just a hint of sparkle.
She's finally grown accustomed to dressing herself for court, he thought appreciatively. And to great effect. This was how a beautiful young elleth of Mirkwood ought to appear. Legolas had evidently noticed and been appreciative as well.
He studied her face for a moment, but any lingering emotions from what had occurred in the vestibule were carefully masked or otherwise put aside.
There was no preamble. Filauria simply nodded to the musicians in the corner and then turned back to face the room. Her shoulders were back, her head up. She looked every bit as confident and professional as a seasoned performer should, setting everyone immediately at ease.
When the music began, it was a sweet, low, processing tune. Thranduil had never heard it before.
She began to vocalize. The piece was in Quenya, an interesting choice. After listening for a few moments, the King realized that the words were about forbidden love.
What, then? Does she return his feelings? Have I…ruined something? If only he knew her thoughts! Oh, but this was maddening. He would go utterly mad before the season was over, he was certain of it.
Just then, the song swelled in volume and pitch and everything seemed to melt away for a few blessed moments. This piece was characterized by high, soaring vocals with no vibrato whatsoever, very demanding of the singer. In addition, the melody was in frequent dissonance with the accompaniment, making it even more challenging. He could see Filauria's core working to support her, but to anyone who didn't know music—or her—it would appear that the elleth stood perfectly still from the waist up, her graceful collarbone standing out at the neck. She was most impressive, but more than that, she was… what was the word?
Queenly.
She looked and sounded… queenly.
He forgot everything; where he was, who was immediately around him. Once again, her performance was absolutely arresting, and he leaned into the oblivion, grateful for the opportunity to focus on something other than himself and his own concerns.
When she had finished, the room was silent for a moment, save for a few quiet sniffles. Then everyone exploded into an applause that lasted for almost a full minute. Courtiers turned to one another in wonder and several of the menfolk stood to show their appreciation.
The bard granted everyone a close-lipped smile and stood, graciously accepting the accolades. A young elleth took to the floor to give Filauria a single blossom, curtsying to her before turning to leave.
Thranduil Elvenking was astonished to find that he'd wept during the song. He turned his head aside and composed himself while the room slowly quieted.
He had requested something impressive—and she had delivered.
With a surreptitious wave of her hand, the bard signaled to the rest of the court musicians and they began to play a quadrille—obvious dancing music. At first, Thranduil King thought it was inappropriate, that surely the rest of the court wouldn't be ready to engage in this way given the timbre of the room—or even that most would be ready to retire—but to his surprise, several couples took to the floor and formed up. Well, what did he know?
Filauria took her time rejoining the rest of the consort. She'd only just picked up her lute when one of the menfolk approached her. He was young and rather handsome. What's this, now?
Filauria seemed to listen intently and then to smile graciously at the man. He held out a hand to her and spoke something Thranduil could not hear… but in response, the bard laughed prettily, shrugged, put down her lute, and placed her tiny hand in his.
Thus coupled, they strolled to the center of the floor!
The King was dumbfounded. The stranger had asked her to dance… and she'd accepted!
Someone said a few words low at his shoulder, and he turned to attend the speaker. "What was that?" he asked.
"I was wondering what you think of the wine?" Connak was repeating.
"Oh, yes," he replied. "Splendid, really. Very happy with it."
The ellon beamed, nodding. "I agree. Our guests were complimenting the choice, Highness."
Thranduil nodded absently. He was suddenly terribly bored with his present company. All he could think of was the movements of a certain royal bard. It was all he could do not to be caught staring at her.
Several dances followed, the evening taking a turn he hadn't been able to predict. Even little Arwen stood up for two turns on the floor before retiring for the evening. Over the next couple of hours, Thranduil watched Filauria dance with manling, ellon, and elleth alike. She was glowing—clearly enjoying herself, and he couldn't help noticing that much of the court was enjoying watching her. The court musicians smiled on her, begrudging not a moment of her fun, most likely since she was normally the busiest and hardest-working of all of them on any given day. The company from Minas Tirith was clearly smitten with this singer of mysterious, angelic songs, and the elfkin present seemed heartily proud of their prodigy.
It was Filauria's moment. All he had to decide was whether he wanted to stay and bask in her brilliance or steal softly away, leaving her to it.