Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 39 ~ The Morning of the Feast

I awake to the trilling notes of morning birdsong. The watery sunlight that trickles through the half-drawn curtains indicates it to be quite early, not long past dawn. I yawn, shifting underneath the covers. My eyes snap open, my mind throwing off the last effects of sleep, suddenly aware of the arm wrapped protectively around my waist, the steady flow of breath that warms the back of my neck, and the comfortable embrace of the Prince next to me, warding off the morning chill that has managed to seep beneath the thick covers. As my sleep-addled eyes adjust to the faint light, it takes only a few moments for the events of last night to come rushing back to me.

My heartbeat quickens in my chest. In my distress last night, I had never stopped to consider what the morning would look like. Most of the events of last night are hazy in my mind, muddled by grief and hysteria, but the linens wrapped tenderly around my right palm and the dull throb of the injuries beneath them confirm the few memories I can recall. Heat blooms across my cheeks at the situation I find myself in. How could I, after months of turning away from the help he offered, so easily have thrown myself into his arms?

Legolas stirs next to me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I hold still as he shifts, willing my heart rate to slow but after a few moments he calms, still asleep. I count the steady flow of his breathing for a few moments before gently untangling myself from his embrace and slipping quietly from under the covers. My mind wanders as I try to search his rooms quietly for a robe to slip over my nightgown before leaving to return to my own.

Some rational part of my mind scolds itself. This was not at all a proper way to be mourning. I should be with my family, seeking comfort in a shared sorrow, mourning a common loss.

But they left me here.

A hollowness settles in my chest, renewing the ache there that had been relieved as I slept.

The pain of last night, that initial shock and sorrow should have been soothed by their hands and yet it wasn't. Instead, something last night had led me here. To replace what they should have been here to offer.

Against the mixed emotions weighing heavily in my chest, I turn my gaze once more to the Prince.

He is peaceful as he sleeps, any sign of the concern he often wears around me smoothed away to reveal his youthful face. Something within my chest tightens but amidst it a spark flickers to life, warming the hollows of my heart. It tugs me toward him, aching to touch him, feel his warmth and heartbeat on my skin again. My fingers twitch, an instinct to reach out, to trace a finger along the sculpted curve of his cheeks, the gentle slope of his lips. Though the grief is still heavy in my chest, commanding me to draw my hand away, something about him seems so in place with the hurting of my heart, as if he were meant to heal it.

I curl my fingers, pressing my nails into my palms until it stings, casting the urge out of my body and grief-addled mind. Focusing on the discomfort of the crisp morning air pricking at my bare skin, I let it repeatedly fill my lungs as I regain control of my head.

Sorrow influences foolish thoughts.

Turning from him before my body can betray me again, I abandon my search for a robe a grab a loose tunic instead, silently stepping out of the room. My heart pounds in my chest, the thunderous beats seeming to echo off the palace walls themselves.

It was a mistake to go to him.

I draw the tunic more tightly around me.

It won't happen again.

But as I make my way through the halls, as the day passes me by alone in my rooms, I find my thoughts turning only to him. To the comfort of his gentle embrace, the way such a simple gesture had chased away my sorrow and eased my pain. And so when night falls, I seek him out once again.

~~~

"The golden one, Varissë."

My maid hands me the circlet I ask for as I sit in front of the mirror in my bedroom, carefully braiding strands of hair back from my face in an elaborate style. Golden waves fall down my back, descending from the small but elegant circlet that now sits atop my head, strands of my hair woven through it to keep it in place.

The Woodland Realm's Feast of Starlight is expected to begin soon. The sun has just set, the world descending into darkness as the Silvan elves wait for the first sign of starlight to twinkle to life in the heavens. As ambassador of Rivendell, I am expected to attend, if not as the guest of honor at the feast, then simply as another reveler. Considering the circumstances of the past few days, King Thranduil was kind enough to let my presence simply be that of a common guest. Though as start of the feast draws nearer, I begin to question if I can bear going at all.

These past few days have been enough of a challenge. Every hollow day was a wretched reminder of my failure to return to my mother, only relieved by the hours spent in Legolas' secure embrace at night. He was the only comfort I had, never pushing me to speak, only holding me tightly against him until the turmoil of my head and heart finally gave way to sleep. He had asked me this morning if I'd be attending the celebration tonight. I'd assured him I would. The relief and joy that had lit up his eyes at my response was enough to send my heart into a flutter.

My eyes find their reflection in the mirror, taking in my appearance. The gown I wear is of a midnight blue, with flecks of gold adorning it like stars in the night sky. I thought it very fitting for a celebration of starlight. I force a smile to touch my lips, trying to chase away the hollowness that still lingers in the eyes that meet my gaze, that seems to deepen at the sight of my mother's circlet placed atop my head.

I hadn't meant to wear it tonight. I had many others that would have gone just as nicely with the dress. But I had spent an hour braiding different ones into my hair just to unravel my careful work as soon as it was finished because I didn't want to wear them. None of them felt right. It seemed sentimentality was a friend of grief.

Tearing my gaze from the mirror I stand, slipping my bare feet into the formal slippers that sit waiting at the side of my vanity. Avoiding the feast would be the act of a coward. I can put on a brave face for a simple evening. Legolas' delighted expression from this morning flashes through my mind. He's already done so much for me. The least I could do in return is try to enjoy myself.

Somewhere beyond my rooms I hear the sound of a horn, and then cheers following it. It seems that the first signs of starlight have finally arrived. Varissë gives me an encouraging smile as she opens the door for me, and I step into the cool hallway.

Let the feast begin.