Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

22. Mereth Nuin Giliath

It is the eve of Mereth Nuin Giliath when Elros and his betrothed arrive from Imladris. As I walk to my chambers, passing by the carved pillars which rise to the ceiling like ancient trees, I catch a glimpse of her. She stands with Elros at the foot of Thranduil's high throne, paying her respects to her new king. From what little I can see from a distance, she is petite and elegantly dressed, with hair the same silvery blonde as Thranduil's.

Though her face is hidden, I doubt she is an ugly duckling.

I do not mention her to Gwendes, deciding to distract the younger elleth by inviting her to my chambers before the feast and letting her choose a gown from my wardrobe.

"I am not sure this shade suits me." Gwendes bites her lip as she stares at the looking glass.

No other color could suit her more. I assure her of it no less than a dozen times. The cerulean blue satin contrasts beautifully with her strawberry hair, which I arranged in a loosely-plaited bun at the nape of her neck. She wears a twisting gold circlet, sloped in a V-shape on her forehead. Though I shall never tell Gwendes, Elros will question his decision after seeing her.

"You look radiant," I say. "I would not lie to you."

Gwendes is finally convinced enough to look away from her reflection. She turns her attention to me. "Perhaps I am only envious of your gown, my lady. It gleams like a waterfall under a full moon's light. Lord Ferdir's eyes will not stray for even a moment."

I glance down at my slate beaded gown, and the sheer silver-veined fabric draping over my shoulders and trailing to the floor. I wonder not for the first time if I should have chosen something more subdued.

"His eyes may stray all they like. In truth, I would prefer if they did."

Gwendes lets out a soft sigh. "But he is someone to dance with. Tis my favorite night of the year and I am without a partner. I am sure Elros will dance with only his lady."

"Someone shall ask you to dance, Gwendes. I am sure of it. Let us go before we are late for the feast."

We leave the cavern halls and join the parade of others in a merry walk to the practice grounds, now cleared away to make room for the entire kingdom. I pause to take in the sight. Large silver lanterns hang in the surrounding trees, twinkling brightly, as though the stars have descended to watch our celebration. They cast a glow over the long oak tables adorned with platters of stuffed fish and quail, oversized bowls of venison stew and sweet rolls, fresh greens and fruit and tiered honey cakes with ivory frosting. Harp and flute song mingle with happy laughter from several elflings running over the open field. The chilly evening air seems to tingle with excited anticipation from Sindar and Silvan alike, the one occasion in a year where we are joined together without reservation. The Feast of Starlight.

I feel a pleasant warmth in my chest as I soak it in. I walk towards the tables to find a seat, Gwendes trailing behind.

The King's proud chair from the Dining Hall is now positioned at the centermost table. Thranduil stands behind it and speaks with my father, his tall branched crown now entwined with berries and red leaves of autumn. Ada says something to him, and he turns to look at me. He bows his head.

He has always been striking with his tall stature, even more so when he wears his crown, but he is most magnificent on Mereth Nuin Giliath. His robes of blue-gray shimmer in the lantern light like a beacon in the night. They are the same color as mine. I hide a smile.

"Our king is very handsome," Gwendes says.

"He is."

There is no denying it. He outshines every lord and lady present, even the forest stars with their celestial light.

Ferdir insists on sitting beside me during the feast. But he speaks little, giving only approving murmurs for each dish he samples. He withholds his usual bevy of compliments, even though I am more lavishly dressed than usual. Instead of feeling disappointment, my spirits lighten. Perhaps he will not wish to dance after all...

"Have a look at Caewen's hair," Ferdir whispers. "Do you suppose it was Lady Aethel's idea, or her own?"

I allow a circumspect glance towards Caewen, not wishing her to believe she is the topic of gossip. I look again, wondering if I have missed something. Her hair is exquisite, gathered atop her head with white jewels placed at random, and cascading down her back in golden curls. I wish I had thought of it instead.

"Perhaps it is in honor of her admirer."

"It will surely scare him away."

I smile, but it does not reach my eyes. Why is Caewen the object of his disdain? I consider asking him, but think better of it. For the remainder of the supper I give my attention to Gwendes instead, and try my best to distract her from watching Elros and his bride-to-be. It proves an impossible task.

"...but I do not see much affection on her part. The way she looks at him would make one wonder if...."

My gaze wanders down the length of the table. Gwendes' voice blends in with the music and enthusiastic chatter until I no longer hear it. There is my father, and Lord Amdiron, and Thranduil, whose stony face is carved with a smile for once. I lean closer, my curiosity piqued...

"She is walking this way!" Gwendes says. "What ever shall I say to her?"

I reluctantly turn back around, feeling more than a touch of frustration. "Be yourself, mellon."

We stand to greet her.

Emlinith is of small stature for the Eldar. Though pretty-faced with bow lips and moon-pool eyes, her thin brows are even lighter than her hair, disappearing into alabaster skin. She wears an ornate crown upon her blonde mane, of silver and crystals and pearls, as though she is a princess of Arda rather than a maiden of Imladris.

"I saw you from the other end of the table and knew I must speak to you. I am acquainted with your sister," she says, ignoring Gwendes.

"What a lovely surprise. You must tell me about your friendship..."

Emlinith's mouth curves in the semblance of a smile. "Regrettably, your sister has been busy with her child of late and keeps to her own family. A pity, really. A friendship has been difficult to...achieve."

I pause, taken aback. "I am sure once my nephew is older she will have more time to spare. She is the kindest being you could possibly know."

"I shall take your word for it." Her smile turns sour, and her eyes rove over me boldly. "That is quite the remarkable gown. Where did you come by it?"

"I drew the design myself. But I had the seamstresses make it, for I do not have much skill with the needle."

I notice Emlinith's robes are a garish pink. I have never liked pink.

"Oh yes, your sister mentioned you are a skilled artist. Yet you work as the King's scribe?" she asks, as though a lowlier position does not exist.

I now understand why my sister did not pursue a friendship. In truth, I am sure I have never met someone more dislikable, save for the time I ran into a cave troll with Legolas when we were children.

"I feel honored to have the position. What did you do in Imladris, Lady Emlinith?"

She gives a half-suppressed laugh, and swiftly covers her mouth with her dainty fingers as though it is accidental. "What did I do? I had no need to do anything. Elros prefers it to stay that way."

"I see."

"I really must return to him. I am sure we will be speaking often. Novaer."

As soon as Emlinith turns away, I exchange a glance with Gwendes. We break into helpless wide smiles.

"We should feel sorry for Elros instead," I whisper, meaning it.