Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

A Matter of Heart  by daw the minstrel

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

2. Dining with the King

Alfirin stood in her chemise, holding her damp hair away from her face and inspecting the two gowns she had laid out on her bed. Which one should she wear? She fingered the sleeve of the pink one, feeling its silky texture, and then picked up the green one with the cunningly draped collar. Holding it up in front of her, she tried to see the effect in the small mirror over the chest, but she could see only her own face, framed by the swathe of green and by her dark hair, rapidly springing into curls as it dried. She bit her lip. She liked this gown better, but the pink one was more elegant and might be more appropriate for dining with the king.

A knock sounded at her door, and her mother entered. “Ithilden is here,” she said.

Alfirin gave a little cry of dismay. “I am not ready yet.”

Her mother smiled. “I can see that. Do not worry. He is outside talking to your adar and Tonduil.” Alfirin could not quite suppress a moan, and her mother laughed. “Are you afraid they will disgrace you?”

“No, of course not. But they both watch Ithilden, and I think it makes him nervous.”

Her mother stroked of wisp Alfirin’s hair back from her face. “They are all getting less awkward with one another, and a little time being just males together will do all three of them good. Are you going to wear that gown?”

Alfirin glanced down at the green gown she still held. “I do not know.  Perhaps the pink one would be better.”

Her mother cocked her head to one side appraisingly. “I like the green one,” she said. “Let me help you into it.” She took the gown from Alfirin and settled it over her head and arms, while Alfirin held her hair out of the way. Then she stepped behind Alfirin to do up the laces. “Sit, and I will fix your hair.” Pushing Alfirin into the room’s only chair, she reached for the brush on top of the chest and began to draw it through Alfirin’s long, thick mass of hair. To Alfirin’s surprise, when she had finished with the brush, rather than weaving the single braid that Alfirin customarily wore, she picked up strands of hair near each of Alfirin’s temples, twisted them, drew them to meet at the back of her head, and pinned them there.

Alfirin frowned and reached behind her neck to prod at the mass of curls that cascaded down her back to her hips. “My hair will be all over the place, Naneth!”

Her mother smiled. “Yes, it will.” She eyed Alfirin’s hair critically, and for a moment, Alfirin thought she was going to do the sensible thing and braid it, but then she said, “Wait a moment,” and left the room.

When Alfirin peeked around the doorway, she saw that her mother had gone out the cottage’s back door. She glanced cautiously down the hall in the other direction to see the front door standing open to the spring night and hear a faint murmur of male voices. Her mother came back inside, holding a small spray of lily-of-the-valley. “Turn around,” she instructed, and when Alfirin did so, she tucked the flower into the knot of hair at the back of Alfirin’s head. “There,” she said with satisfaction.

She put her hands on Alfirin’s shoulders, turned her gently to face her, and kissed her on the forehead. “Alfirin, you are a beautiful, kind, intelligent person. Thranduil will be fortunate to have you at his table tonight, and Ithilden is privileged to have you as his companion. What is more, he knows it.”

Alfirin could not help smiling. “Do you think so?”

“I am sure of it.”

Alfirin wanted to believe her, but Ithilden had approached her and then backed away too many times over the past few years for her to be as certain of his feelings as her mother evidently was.

“Are you ready?” her mother asked.

“Let me get my shawl.” Alfirin ran back into her room to get the wrap that she would probably need for the walk home later and then followed her mother out the cottage’s front door. She found her father sitting on the bench next to the doorstep, working at the elaborate carving he had been making in the handle of a basket for Alfirin to use in gathering the flowers from which she made dyes for her weaving. “Where is Ithilden?”

“Tonduil wanted to show him the flet he has been building.”

Alfirin looked toward the tall oak on the other side of the clearing in front of their cottage and caught a glimpse of movement high up where Tonduil had nearly finished the flet on which he proposed to sleep for the summer. She walked tentatively toward it, and through the leaves, she saw Ithilden. She had wondered if he might wear robes tonight, as he did at feasts on the Green, but he was dressed as usual in a tunic and leggings. Even from where she stood, however, she could see that, rather than being a woodsy brown, they were both a deep green, with flashes of what looked like elaborate gold embroidery.

“This side was difficult to anchor securely,” she could hear Tonduil saying. He sounded excited and pleased to have Ithilden inspecting his work. Alfirin smiled to herself. She knew how much Tonduil admired Ithilden, and her heart warmed at the solemn nod of approval that Ithilden now gave to Tonduil’s handiwork as he crouched at the edge of the flet to examine the ingenious way Tonduil had managed to anchor it among the branches.

Suddenly she realized she was watching the flex of muscle in Ithilden’s thigh as his leggings tightened across it when he crouched. For a second, she stared, fascinated, and then he turned his head and saw her. She could feel heat rising instantly into her face, but he seemed to take no notice. Instead, he smiled, rose, made some comment to Tonduil over his shoulder, and leapt down through the branches with a cat-like grace that left her dry-mouthed.

As he approached, she could see that his eyes were gleaming as he regarded her unbound hair. “You look beautiful,” he said in a heartfelt voice. His gaze went to her still warm face and immediately his smile faded, and his brows drew down in concern. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she said hastily. “I am simply warm from hurrying.”

“I apologize for being early.” he said, and she was comforted to see color creeping up his own neck.

“No, no,” she protested. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

He smiled at her. “Shall we go then?” He offered her his arm, and she took it, aware of the warmth and solidity of his body as he pressed her arm to his side.

She looked toward her parents, intending to bid them good-bye, and found them watching her and Ithilden with expressions of half-amused affection. “Have a nice time,” her mother called. Alfirin nodded a little self-consciously and then let Ithilden escort her off into the night.

“Tonduil is doing a nice job on the flet,” Ithilden said. “Legolas will be jealous of his sleeping there.”

“Will your adar not allow Legolas to do the same thing?” Alfirin asked, although as soon as she tried to picture where Legolas would build such a flet, she realized that it would be a long way from where his family slept.

“Adar might allow him to spend the occasional night on a flet, but not the whole summer,” Ithilden answered. “Legolas tends to wander sometimes.”

Alfirin blinked. It was the frankest comment she had ever heard Ithilden make about a member of his family. He fell silent, and his face grew sober. Alfirin held her peace. She knew that Legolas had only just returned to weapons training after a long absence and that some mystery existed over the reason. Moreover, when she had stood next to Ithilden at the edge of the training field that morning, he had been tense enough while watching Legolas to make it obvious to her that he was worried about his brother. Indeed, his concern had warmed her heart. But she did not feel it was her place to pry.

Ithilden roused himself. “I saw a wall hanging you had woven today. It was being hung in the small council chamber. It was very beautiful.”

She felt a small flush of pleasure. “The one of the waterfall? Your adar’s steward saw it in the weaving workroom and asked if he could have it for the palace. I am glad you like it.”

“The scene reminded me of one of the waterfalls in Imladris,” he told her.

“You have been to Imladris?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes. I went to a meeting there with Adar. How long ago would that have been? Legolas was not born yet, but as I recall, Eilian was old enough to be asking for his own horse. Seventy-five years or so? You and he are the same age, I think. Do you not remember Adar being gone for two months?”

Reminded not for the first time of how much older and more experienced Ithilden was, Alfirin shook her head. “At that age, I am afraid I was not aware of much beyond my dolls and my playmates.”

He smiled slightly. “I will wager you were a sweet elfling.” She laughed but still could not help feeling a little dismayed. What in Arda did she have to offer the oldest son of her king?

They crossed the bridge to the palace and went through the Great Doors, with the guards on either side snapping to attention as Ithilden’s passed, although as far as she could tell, he ignored them. How could he do that? she wondered. Did he not even see them any more?

As they entered the antechamber, an Elf rose from the bench to one side of the Doors. “My lord,” he said, approaching them, “I have a message from your aide.”

Ithilden grimaced and reluctantly released her arm. “One moment,” he told her and stepped aside to bend his head close and hear what the messenger had to say. He was evidently not happy at what he heard. With an impatient gesture, he signaled the messenger to wait and turned back to her. “I am very sorry, but I must go and talk to one of my captains. I do not believe I will be gone long.”

She could not suppress an exclamation of dismay, not only at the idea of his departure but also at the prospect of having to approach his family on her own. He must have understood her feelings because he looked apologetic. Then another Elf strode purposefully out of one of the multiple hallways leaving the antechamber, and Ithilden’s face immediately lightened a little. Alfirin recognized Thranduil’s steward.

“Nyndir,” Ithilden called, grasping Alfirin’s elbow and steering her toward him, “would you please show Alfirin to the family’s sitting room? I should be back shortly.”

The steward halted. Alfirin could see that he held a sheaf of papers, so she assumed he was bent on some task for the king’s household, but he spoke graciously enough. “Of course. This way, mistress.” He indicated a doorway, outside of which stood two more guards. Alfirin watched Ithilden disappear out the Great Doors with the messenger, drew a deep breath, and then went through the door the steward was holding for her.

Alfirin had been in the public parts of the palace before, but this was the first time she had entered the royal family’s private quarters. She found herself in a wide hallway that ended at a crossing hallway. From the stone floor of the antechamber, she stepped onto a deep carpet, patterned in shades of green. Tapestries hung on the walls, separated by sconces holding crystal lanterns and by doors made of golden wood. The stone pillars that stood at intervals were carved like the trunks of trees with their branches spreading across the ceiling. As she passed the first set of pillars, she realized that the bark and leaves of the tree on her left were recognizable as those of an oak, while those on her right plainly belonged to a beech.

“I hope I am not keeping you from anything pressing,” she apologized to Nyndir.

“A list of purchases needed by the household when the raft goes to Esgaroth tomorrow,” he said, holding up the long, closely written page. “I have only to deliver it, and then I will be finished for the day.”

“So much?”  She could have bitten her tongue at what must have seemed a presumptuous inquiry, but she had not been able to stop herself.

He smiled at her. “We meet the needs not only of the king and his sons, but also of guards and servants, particularly those who live in the palace. And the summer solstice festival will soon be upon us too. The cooks are planning some very special dishes and need some items that we cannot supply ourselves.”

She returned his smile, but her mind was still on the length of the list he held. Because her mother was a healer and thus was busy most of the day, Alfirin had run her family’s household since before she had even come of age, but with a feeling very like trepidation, she was struck by what a complicated task managing the palace household must be.

Nyndir pushed a door open, and she entered a sitting room in which chairs and high-backed benches were grouped around a large fireplace. At the moment, the only person in the room was Legolas, who was sprawled in a chair, staring moodily into the fire. He jumped to his feet when he saw her. “Legolas, will you see to Lord Ithilden’s guest?” Nyndir asked. “He has been called away but says he expects to be back soon.”

“Of course.” Legolas looked a little uncertain but accepted the request readily enough.

Nyndir paused on his way out the door. “Your weaving looks most elegant in the council chamber, mistress. You should ask Lord Ithilden to take you to see it before you leave.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Will you sit down?” Legolas indicated a chair. She seated herself, looking around the room. The furniture was elegant but a bit somber for her taste, and the benches looked uncomfortable. They need some extra cushions, she thought and then caught herself. The king must prefer it that way, she thought, appalled at her presumption in criticizing the room.

“Would you like some wine?” Legolas offered.

“Yes, please.”

He went to a small table holding a decanter, poured a cup of wine, and brought it to her. Then he poured another, which he mixed liberally with water, and sat down again. Alfirin took a sip of the wine and knew immediately that it was far better than anything she had ever drunk.

“This is very good,” she told Legolas.

He grinned. “My adar has good taste when it comes to wine.”

They sat in silence for a moment, while she groped for a subject of conversation. “Tonduil was disappointed when he could not slice through the target in the sword class today.”

Legolas nodded sympathetically. “He will do better next time.”

“You did well,” she said.

He looked at her searchingly, as if trying to see if there was anything behind her words. “Thank you,” he said noncommittally.

At that moment, Thranduil entered the room, and Alfirin rose, as did Legolas. “Good evening, my dear,” Thranduil said. “Please sit. Where is Ithilden?”

“A messenger was waiting for him when we arrived,” Alfirin said. “Ithilden said he thought he would be back quickly.”

Thranduil nodded and went to pour himself some wine. To Alfirin’s amusement, he glanced at Legolas’s wine as he passed, and she knew he was checking to make sure that Legolas had watered it. Her father would have done exactly the same thing with Tonduil. She relaxed a little. The head of this family might be the king rather than a forester like her own father, but it was not so very different from hers.

Thranduil sat down. “Did you go riding as you intended to, Legolas?”

“Yes.” Legolas brightened. “Turgon is back.”

To Alfirin, Thranduil looked a little dismayed at this news that Legolas evidently thought was so good. She knew who Turgon was, of course. He was in the same weapons training classes as Tonduil, although so far as she knew they did not spend time together outside of classes. Thranduil gave a little sigh and then asked, “How is Turgon?”

Legolas’s face fell a little, and he looked down at his hands, holding his cup of wine. “He rode with the patrols around his family home.” Alfirin could not quite make out the tone in which he spoke. He sounded somehow as if he wondered at Turgon’s daring.

Thranduil rubbed one temple. “So you told me he said in his letters too. He is far too young to have done such a thing.” He hesitated, while Legolas continued to look at his hands. “None of you is ready for such a thing yet,” he said gently, “but you will be when the time comes.”

Legolas looked up at him, and for a long moment, their gazes held. Then the door opened, and Ithilden entered the room. “I am sorry I am late,” he apologized.

“Is something the matter?” Thranduil asked.

Ithilden shook his head. “Nothing serious. One of the Home Guard patrols saw signs of spiders to the east, and I needed to reassign some warriors and send a message to the Eastern Border Patrol.”

A solemn male servant came to the door and announced that the meal was ready. Alfirin realized that whoever was deciding when to serve the meal must have been waiting for Ithilden’s return. She wondered how such decisions were made and who had the authority to do it here. They all rose, and Thranduil offered her his arm to lead her to the dining room. Glancing back, she saw Ithilden put his hand on Legolas’s shoulder in what looked like an affectionate gesture to her, although Legolas shrugged it off. She wondered what it was that Thranduil and Ithilden were so worried about with him.

When they had seated themselves around the table, the male servant began offering them venison while a female passed a platter of roast vegetables. Alfirin vaguely recognized the couple. They were married, she thought. At present, the wife looked annoyed. She kept shooting venomous glances at her husband, who was resolutely ignoring her.

The wife offered the vegetables to Alfirin. “I am most sorry, mistress,” she murmured. “If I had had my way, we would have lovely spring peas, but he got together with cook, and neither one of them would listen to me. ‘We always have the roast vegetables with venison.’ That is what they said, as if nothing could ever change.”

With unnecessary force, her husband slapped a serving of venison onto the plate in front of Legolas, who was grinning openly. Even Thranduil appeared to be having trouble controlling his face. Alfirin glanced at Ithilden to find him looking mortified.

Both servants set their platters on the table, and then she stalked from the room with him close behind. The door closed firmly, but not before Alfirin heard the husband snarl, “That was an utterly disgraceful display!”

Alfirin looked around the table. There was a moment’s silence, and then suddenly, Legolas snorted and then whooped with laughter, seized by it so completely that he all but fell out of his chair. Thranduil chuckled and picked up his wine. “I will have to speak to Nyndir about them tomorrow,” he said regretfully. “Control yourself, Legolas.” Legolas choked and held his napkin over his mouth as he tried to get hold of himself, but above it, his eyes still danced with glee.

“Has he no command over his wife?” Ithilden asked in exasperation.

Thranduil had been taking a drink of wine, and now Alfirin thought he made a spluttering sound, although it was hard to be certain over the noise of Legolas’s continued snorts. She turned to look at Ithilden in surprise. He had sounded entirely too much like a troop commander for her satisfaction. The quarreling Elves were husband and wife, not officer and warrior. She looked down at her plate with a frown. While it was true that the husband was usually the head of a house and thus was entitled to expect obedience from every member of it, surely Ithilden did not believe that husbands should ‘command’ their wives?

And equally surely, she thought, there must be far better ways to manage a household staff than to leave those serving the meal to quarrel over what it should consist of. She felt a moment of despair. If the capable Nyndir could not bring order to the palace household, who was she to think she could do it?

She looked up to find Thranduil watching her expectantly. After a moment, when she remained silent, he sighed and then smiled gently at her. “Would you like some more wine, my dear?” he asked and poured it for her.

***

“I should be going,” Alfirin said with regret, and Ithilden hastily set aside the harp he had been playing and rose.

“Let me show you how your weaving looks before I walk you home,” he said.

Thranduil too got to his feet, came toward Alfirin, and bent to kiss her forehead. “We have enjoyed your company, Alfirin. You must come again soon.” He straightened and smiled at Ithilden over her head.

“Good night, my lord,” she said. “Good night, Legolas.” He smiled at her from where he stood behind his father, and then Ithilden led her out of the room and down the hall to the antechamber. He took her through a side hall she had never been in before and then through a door into a room with a long, polished table in the middle. He turned her to face the wall next to the door, and she saw the weaving of the waterfall over which she had labored for so many months. It did look lovely there, she thought, pleased.

“I think that Adar is hoping the picture soothes his advisors and makes his council meetings more tolerable,” Ithilden said, and she laughed. “Shall we go?” He took her shawl from her and stepped behind her to drape it over her shoulders, lifting her hair out from under it with a touch that seemed to her to linger. Then he put his hand in the small of her back and steered her out of the room and down the hall to the Great Doors. She did not think she had ever been so acutely aware of the curve of her spine and the tingling skin around it.

Finally, once they were outside, he removed his hand from her back and offered her his arm. She slid her hand through it and tried to regain her breath as they strolled silently along through the starlit night. He is serious, she thought suddenly. In time, he means to ask me to bond. And even as her heart leapt at the thought, she felt doubt creep in. How would she ever manage as the wife of the king’s heir and troop commander? I cannot do it, she thought despairingly.

They halted in front of the door of her family’s cottage, and she stood for a moment looking into grey eyes that looked solemnly back at her. Then Ithilden dipped his head a little toward her, and she started back out of his grasp. “Good night,” she choked.

“Wait,” he said, grasping her wrist. “Would you like to walk along the river with me tomorrow evening?”

She looked at his pleading face. This will not work, she thought and then heard herself say, “Yes.” She pulled her hand free from his hold and slipped into the cottage, closing the door and leaning against it for a long moment before walking slowly down the hall to her chamber.

 





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List