Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

14. White Hart

Lord Amdiron is smiling.

I watch him across the King's table as his son speaks to him animatedly about his journey, and wonder when last the stone-faced lieutenant allowed himself the luxury. I cannot remember it. As a child I found him intimidating, as an adult more so. But his loyalty to the King and the realm is unfailing.

As for Ferdir, he carried a smile upon entering the capacious Dining Hall, and it has never faltered. Not even when receiving a frigid reception from the King while paying his respects. Thranduil gave him a mere nod, uttering nothing in acknowledgment. The others at the table seem overjoyed at Ferdir's presence.

My gaze moves to the King. He sits at the center of the long table, the high back of his oak chair carved to resemble a row of forest trees, the tops of their boughs tightly entwined. It is a smaller representation of his throne, and though it lacks the grandeur of the elk antlers, it is no less beautiful.

Its occupant is not engaged in any conversation, his glacier eyes staring at his plate of untouched venison and summer greens. I wonder if the hard set of his jaw and rigidness of his posture are caused by our visitor. What could Thranduil have against Amdiron's son?

"I had forgotten your excellent taste in wine, my lord," says Ferdir, addressing the King with a raised goblet. "I found the drink in the Lady's realm too sweet for my palate."

Thranduil tips his head forward slightly. I wonder if anyone else noticed the movement at all.

Undaunted, Ferdir continues. "Your great cave stores the finest wine in Arda, and I daresay the finest maidens. The ladies of Lòrien, though indeed fair, lack individuality. They seek to imitate their Lady of Light, whose beauty cannot be imitated. I prefer more...uniqueness."

Everyone's eyes shift to mine as they follow his pointed gaze, including Thranduil's. Elros clears his throat.

Feeling my skin flush and heart pound like a stampeding Mûmakil, I suddenly wish to excuse myself and hide away. But it would only provide more fodder for the gossips. What game is Ferdir playing? I am unsure whether to be offended or flattered by his brazenness.

"What is your occupation in Lòrien, Lord Ferdir?" I ask, ignoring his comment. "Do you help patrol the borders as you once did here?"

The others resume eating and lose their interest. I exhale in relief. It is only Elros who maintains a keen stare.

"Yes, alongside a friend of mine: Haldir. Have you heard of him, my lady?"

"So often of late that I am now curious. He accompanied Lady Caewen on her return journey this spring, but did not linger..."

"Ah, Lady Caewen." He takes a bite of melon.

"We were happy to see her return to the realm indefinitely. You must have been acquainted with her in Lórien..."

"Indeed, I was." Not elaborating, he reaches for the fruit platter and scoops more fragrant red melon on his plate.

His impassive replies about Caewen are puzzling, but I say nothing further. Would they not have shared a bond, being from the Greenwood and far from home? Perhaps he found Caewen's secretive demeanor off-putting, or perhaps there are ill feelings between them. My imagination lights up like the amber pendants which hang low down the length of the table.

Legolas leans forward. "I know your stay is short, but the Guard is in dire need of help. If you have other obligations, I understand--"

"My lord," Ferdir interrupts, "I planned to volunteer my service even if not requested."

I relax as they begin discussing the ongoing evil in Mirkwood, relieved the attention is no longer on me. When the staff from the kitchens arrive to clear the table, I notice Thranduil's plate is still full.