Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

5. Yestarë

Lord Elros, Keeper of the Keys, is the true match for Gwendes.

His keen expression and the subtle spark in his gray eyes when I introduce her remove any doubt I have. But it is no wonder why he is intrigued. The yellow glow from the lanterns reflects off Gwendes' hair and shimmering brocade dress and makes her a walking star.

"She is also an artist," I say. "Her pottery work rivals even the tableware from Imladris."

Though Gwendes' blush is not obvious in the lantern light, I know it is there.

"Lady Rîneth is kind, but-"

"I speak nothing short of truth." I address Lord Elros. "You must let her show you."

I am sincere with my words. While my gift is with quill, Gwendes' is with clay. At dinner, she was astonished to see some of her flower-detailed jars and bowls resting upon the King's table. Gwendes does not know her own talent.

"Oh, of course. She must show me...soon, yes," says Elros with a nod. "I always trust your judgment, my lady."

His green robes, only a few shades darker than Gwendes', make for a pleasing contrast, as does his dark hair compared to her light. Already they look like a pair. I feel a small tingle of excitement at the possibilities, and that I am the one to bring them together.

While I have never called Elros a friend, we are on good terms. He has always treated me with enthusiasm, not lacking for kind words or smiles. If it comes to marriage, he will have the means to provide Gwendes a life with all she needs and more, surely prizing her as King Thingol of Doriath prized the Nauglamir necklace.

I envision their chambers close to mine, a few steps away from conversation and honey cake by the hearth. It would be a comfort to have a friend so near. Perhaps I could be an adopted aunt to their future children...

I only wish I knew why Elros continually glances in my direction. Does he require reassurance Gwendes is interested? The light touch of her hand on his arm is the obvious proof; the Eldar do not make such intimate contact unless it is close friendship or for reasons of love. I smile and give him a small nod.

While Gwendes' interest in Elros is as palpable as the wine goblet in his hand, it will depend on him to deepen it.

"I think I shall take my leave and watch the dancers," I say. "I trust you both have enough to speak about without me?"

I do not wait for a reply. Elros calls my name, but I wave my hand at them without pausing. His sudden timidity is hard to comprehend. If he cannot find his courage, perhaps Gwendes will have better success with Legolas.

The harpist and flutist are playing the Song of Eärendil. The uplifting melody reaches to the heavens, which watch our merrymaking with a sense of calm pleasure. It is a clear night, the view unobscured. A few of my kin are gazing upwards at the celestial bodies while others are dancing and laughing to the tune, the Greenwood wine working its magic.

Lady Aethel stands against the cavern wall without company, studying the empty glass in her hands. If I did not mind hearing about her daughter's descriptions of grander parties in Lothlórien for the night's duration, I would join her. Instead, I walk to the edge of the balcony and grip the unyielding stone.

In the distance is the outline of the Lonely Mountain. I have never been to Erebor. But in my beloved book of Ori's drawings, I have seen it in vivid detail. The dark forest which lies before me is a barrier to it and the outside world. The evil which dwells within keeps us from receiving visitors who are not brave, Men or Elves. Never Dwarves.

Like Erebor in the past, we have our own Smaug, though this evil is vaster than one dragon alone. Instead of keeping us out, it traps us within. There is no one coming to reclaim the land. Perhaps we will be forgotten, our woodland realm a myth to tell the children of Men.