Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

17. Aur en-Onnad

There is no grand feast planned for Thranduil's Aur en-Onnad, nor a dinner held in the Dining Hall. For as long as I can remember, he has preferred a small gathering in his personal chambers, inviting only those closest to him. There have been times when he has not invited anyone at all.

He seems to enjoy the seasonal celebrations like the rest of the Eldar, and while he does not participate in dance or song, he watches his subjects' merriment long into the night. But he gives little regard to his Aur en-Onnad, perhaps feeling he has grown too old in years to honor it. I suspect a deeper reason.

Thranduil's large living chamber with its lofty ceilings makes the guests appear even fewer, though there are more than in times past. Legolas is leaning against the high stone wall near a tapestry of the forests of Doriath. He is conversing with Amdiron and Ferdir, likely about spiders and orcs and battles. I doubt Ferdir is a desired guest, but the father could not be invited without the son.

I look to the other end of the vast room, towards Thranduil's envied collection of books from the First Age. Sitting beside an extraordinary silver harp, the top of its curved neck shaped as a floating swan, are Lady Aethel and Caewen. I feel a small jolt of surprise. The Lady has never before been invited to the King's Aur en-Onnad.

As soon as Aethel sees me, she stands, and smooths her bright periwinkle gown before making her approach. Caewen follows. Both are adorned lavishly, the occasion worthy of their finest gems. A large diamond rests above Caewen's brow, the intricate silverwork of the circlet wrapping around her golden hair and fanning backward to resemble wings. Her mother wears a ring on every finger save her thumbs, of gold and diamonds and emeralds.

I let out a small sigh. Why had Thranduil invited them? I look at the towering rock hearth and see him sitting in one of the chairs arranged in front of it. His crowned head is lowered as he looks at a book.

"Ah, Rîneth," greets Aethel, Caewen trailing behind. "You must wonder why we are here. I overheard our King was in need of a harpist. Who better suited than Caewen?"

"I doubt anyone, my lady."

"It was the perfect timing, for she received a beautiful harp a few days ago. It was sent from...an anonymous source." Aethel utters the last three words in a loud whisper.

"An admirer?"

"Tis the assumption. If true, there is little doubt it was sent from Lord Ha--"

"Nana, you must not tell everyone your suspicions!" Caewen flashes me an apologetic smile. "It likely was sent from my friends in Lórien. I confessed to them often how I dreaded returning home without a harp of my own."

"A friend is one way of describing him," says Aethel.

I stifle a grin. "What is the significance of the swan shape? It must mean something..."

Nodding vigorously, the Lady turns to her daughter. "Just as I said also. A lovely silver swan, like your grandmother's sculpture. You must have told him how she taught you to play."

"It is mere coincidence, Nana. Swans are often used in the Golden Wood for decorative purposes. Lady Galadriel has a swan boat, more beautiful than even my harp. It is clearly of Lothlórien origin."

"Is that not where he resides?" Aethel asks.

I remember the swan sculpture atop Aethel's bookshelf, its elegant wings spread in preparation to fly, and am inclined to believe her assumption is correct. As I had ascertained after Caewen's arrival home, she is far too demure for there not to be something hidden under the surface.

"I see it as a declaration of love," I say. "Your admirer knows you and your history well. I look forward to hearing you play it tonight."

Caewen looks away, her expression inscrutable.