Finally the shadows began to lengthen and the stifling heat of the summer afternoon gradually cooled, filling the glade that served as the banquet Hall with the warm, sweet scented breath of evening. The soft red glow of the sun’s dying rays slowly departed as the darkness of night won the battle for the sky and one by one the glittering silver lights of the stars winked back into existence, twinkling with delight at once more being able to be seen by their children in the world below.

All was in readiness for the Midsummer celebration, Ithilien’s first in the new Age.

The lanterns were lit high in the trees above and despite the warmth of the night, the friendly flames of a small fire danced in the centre of the fireplace. The stone tables in the outdoor Hall were now laden with the food that had been prepared for the banquet. There were platters of various meats, roasted and flavoured with herbs and spices, fresh vegetables cooked in creamy rich sauces, freshly baked bread rolls and many assorted pastries and delicacies for desert. On one of the smaller tables were vats of wine, ale and cider and it was around a table in this part of the glade that it suited Gimli and the other Dwarves to sit. They had already filled their tankards and were singing a merry drinking song, obviously already enjoying themselves immensely.

Aragorn and Arwen were seated at the main table speaking to one of the Elves from Eryn Lasgalen who had accompanied Thranduil on his journey to Ithilien. With a smile and a polite nod of the head, he wandered off to join his friends just as Éowyn, Faramir and Imrahil arrived, the two men still seemingly involved in the discussion of history that they had begun earlier that afternoon. Éowyn sat next to Arwen and soon the two women were laughing and making light conversation as they awaited the arrival of Legolas and Thranduil. Éowyn was mesmerised as she watched the Elves glide about the glade, laughing and singing, for in the ever-increasing darkness the pale luminescence of their light made them appear like moonbeams dancing in the forest. “They truly are Fair Folk, as you call them,” Éowyn whispered to Faramir, who was seated on her other side. Her eyes widened in amazement as Legolas and Thranduil entered the glade, for father and son shone with the same light as their kin.

Despite his request for informality during his stay in Ithilien, Thranduil had nevertheless dressed formally for the important celebration of Midsummer. He wore his usual robes of deep green velvet embroidered with leaves of gold, and his golden hair flowed free of braids, held in place by his beloved crown of leaves. Legolas had decided that more informal attire truly reflected the spirit of his settlement and had chosen a pale green overshirt made of a very fine satin that fell midway down his thighs. His shirt was belted at the waist but he had left several buttons undone, allowing a small part of his chest to be exposed to the starlight. His leggings were of similar green velvet to his father’s robes and his feet were bare, ready for an evening of dancing on the soft grass. As a small concession to his station as the King’s son, his unbraided hair was adorned with a circlet formed from a single chain of fresh leaves.

Thranduil took his place of honour at the head of the table and watched with the others as Legolas walked slowly around the glade, inspecting everything for the first time since the work had been completed. He stopped occasionally to compliment his friends for their part in the decorating of their outdoor Hall and he ensured everyone knew how exceedingly pleased he was with the final result of the combined effort of the Dwarves and Elves.

“You and your friends have outdone yourselves, Gimli,” Legolas declared his voice filled admiration for the skill of the workmanship, as he finally reached the table where the Dwarf sat. “The carvings are exquisite and exactly as I drew them,” he exclaimed. “There are no words to thank you for such a wonderful gift!” Legolas added, surprising everyone by kneeling down and giving the Dwarf a friendly hug.

“Yes…well…your reaction is more than enough thanks,” stammered Gimli, slightly flustered by Legolas’ unexpected display of affection, and also a little self-conscious as he noted the looks of shock and disbelief on the faces of his companions. Not that he could blame them for such a reaction after having been told of Thranduil’s threat; the last thing any Dwarf would have expected to see was such a display from the Elvenking’s son.

“May I suggest that you continue to admire this excellent setting, after we have eaten?” suggested Gimli, successfully hiding his discomfort from the Elf.

“That is the kind of question I would expect from a Hobbit, not a Dwarf, ” teased Legolas with a merry twinkle in his eye. “However, I officially announce that the festivities have commenced!” He proclaimed to everyone after he had taken his place at the main table.

To the delight of all, the musicians had formed into two separate groups, taking turns to enjoy the feast and play, so that the sweet elven music added to the merry atmosphere of the banquet. There was much laughter and light-hearted jesting amongst the elves and almost all of their guests. The occasional dark look that passed between Thranduil and the Dwarves did not go unnoticed, but Imrahil expertly drew the elder Elf’s attention away from them with a well-timed question.

“What do you think of the settlement your son has established here, Thranduil?” he asked refilling the King’s goblet as well as his own. “I would think it would not be dissimilar to the beginnings of Oropher’s colony in Greenwood.”

“Very astute. Yes, as I told Legolas earlier, it reminds me very much of our village in Greenwood. Although our dwellings were mostly on the ground, the conditions were just as rustic, and the lifestyle just as uncomplicated. I am pleased with the achievements of Legolas and his friends and that the forest is rapidly regaining its beauty,” replied Thranduil, scowling slightly as he saw Legolas, Faramir and Aragorn, join the Dwarves at their table.

“It seems old alliances have been renewed, does is it not?” Imrahil asked as his eyes followed Thranduil’s gaze.

“Yes,” agreed Thranduil, without further comment. “Speaking of alliances, I hear your daughter wed the young King Éomer?” Imrahil nodded eagerly allowing the conversation to turn to a much safer topic, a discussion of his own family.

*******

As the feasting neared an end and most of the tables had been cleared of the little food that remained uneaten, the music became livelier, inviting the dancing to begin. The two ladies of Gondor watched the graceful elegance of the Elves as they danced and Arwen found herself wishing she had worn a gown of lightweight material, for the evening was still warm and some of the dances were quite fast paced. However, for the moment her dress was not a concern as both she and Éowyn had lost their dance partners to the Dwarves. There seemed to be some kind of dispute occurring between Aragorn and one of Gimli’s friends.

“I wonder what that is all about?” Arwen asked as raised voices could be heard drifting across the clearing.

“It seems that our gentle Men have become involved in an argument of some kind,” answered Éowyn also turning to look towards the other side of the glade. Thranduil also heard the uproar, and excusing himself from his conversation with Imrahil, he stormed over to the group, his eyes flashing with anger. Had he not warned Gimli that he would tolerate no trouble from his friends?

“What is the meaning of this disturbance?” he shouted as Aragorn and one of the Dwarves glared aggressively at each other. The power and fury in his voice silenced everyone instantly, even stopping the music. There was no answer, which only infuriated the Elvenking more. “Legolas?” It was more of a demand than a simple question.

“Apparently there is some dispute as to whether Men or Dwarves are less prone to becoming drunk,” he replied, trying to be as tactful as possible. “Aragorn and Faramir have been challenged to a drinking contest with the Dwarves to decide the matter.”

“Only a Dwarf could suggest such nonsense!” exclaimed Thranduil. “I would think you two,” he said to Aragorn and Faramir, “would much prefer to spend the evening dancing with your lovely ladies, than becoming involved with such lowly behaviour.”

“It has become a matter of honour, something you would not understand,” declared Aragorn’s antagonist scathingly. There was deathly silence as all eyes turned to the Elvenking, who suddenly appeared as the formidable warrior he had once been and spoke with ice-cold fury.

“Had I a weapon, those would have been your last words, Dwarf!” he hissed. The shocked silence was broken when Imrahil walked casually over to the group and placed his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder.

“The lovely Queen Arwen has asked me to dance with her, but I fear I am too tired, perhaps you could do her the honour instead?” he suggested, the quiet firmness in his voice somehow reaching Thranduil, who turned to stare at the Prince of Dol Amroth.

“”Yes, I fear we have been remiss in our attentions to the ladies. Shall we join them?” Legolas agreed, taking his father’s arm, very surprised that the still furious Thranduil allowed himself to be lead away. He signalled for the musicians to resume playing and soon all had returned to their merrymaking.

There was a general sigh of relief from the Dwarves as they suddenly realised the true danger they had courted; a large group of Elves had approached silently and surrounded them in support of their King.

“Well, Aragorn, will you accept our wager or not?” asked the Dwarf, his persistence apparently not in the least dampened by Thranduil’s anger, nor by any number of outraged Elves. Looking at Faramir who simply shrugged his agreement, Aragorn smiled dangerously. Confident that they would be victorious, he filled both his and the Dwarf’s tankards and the competition began.

Rather than return to where Arwen and Éowyn were anxiously awaiting to hear what had happened, Legolas suggested that he and Thranduil should join the merry group of Elves who were singing and dancing on the other side of the glade.

“Leave the Dwarves to their own devices, Adar. Do not let your dislike for them spoil the festivities,” he pleaded. Something in his son’s tone of voice, a hint of disappointment perhaps, touched his heart, and he belatedly realised that it was Legolas’ special night, and the Midsummer Festival that he was on the verge of ruining.

“I do not apologise for my anger at the insult I received, Legolas,” he said sternly, “but for your sake I will keep well away from those creatures from now on.”

“That is all I ask, Adar,” said Legolas, a brilliant smile returning to light his eyes. “I do believe that dancing is an excellent way of reducing tension, and I am certain many of the maidens here would be delighted to partner their King,” he suggested, his feigned look of innocence causing Thranduil to laugh out loud.

“I will seek relaxation in the dance square, if you will,” his father replied. “Come, let us find ourselves some partners.”

Neither of them had any trouble in that regard.

*******

“Is everything all right?” Arwen asked Imrahil as he returned to his seat. Like everyone else in the glade, she and Éowyn had witnessed the altercation, and they were relieved to see that the tense situation had apparently been peacefully resolved.

“It is now that I see Legolas has convinced Thranduil to seek alternative entertainment,” replied the Prince, smiling at the two Elves who were now totally oblivious to anything but the music and the dance. “However, I fear that Aragorn and Faramir will be involved with the Dwarves for the rest of the evening over a trivial matter of honour,” he added apologetically.

“Not another drinking contest?” sighed Éowyn, with a roll of her eyes. “Last time we were in Minas Tirith, Gimli and his friends made a similar challenge, and I believe Aragorn and Faramir prevailed, did they not?” she asked, looking to Arwen for confirmation.

“Yes, apparently it has something to do with the elven wine Aragorn and Faramir normally drink being much more potent than the ale in the taverns that the Dwarves favour. It takes quite a few tankards before either of them will be affected in any noticeable way,” the Queen explained. “They arrived back at the palace in an almost respectable condition after their last competition, and in possession of some lovely gold bracelets.”

“How interesting. No wonder Aragorn was looking so smug. I think I will join that little group and ensure that their behaviour remains as respectable as possible. Maybe I might even suggest a wager or two,” he added with a conspiratorial wink. “Gold jewellery suits my Lothiriel well.”

“You are as bad as they are. Be off with you then!” laughed Arwen, gently shoving Imrahil in the direction of the Dwarves. “So, my Lady Éowyn, it appears we are left to amuse ourselves. What do you suggest we do?” asked Arwen.

“Something totally bold and outrageous,” suggested Éowyn. “Let us go and ask Legolas and his father to partner us for a dance. At least they seem to be having a wonderful time.” As it happened, it was not necessary for the ladies to ask, for as they approached the dance square, Legolas and Thranduil met them.

“Since your husbands have clearly made the totally incomprehensible choice of deserting you for the evening, my son and I have come to see if you would care to dance?” Thranduil asked, the epitome of charm and gallantry.

“I would love to, this one happens to be one of my favourites, ” said Arwen taking Legolas’ hand and pulling him eagerly into the midst of the dancers.

“And you, Lady Éowyn?” Thranduil asked graciously.

“I would be honoured,” she replied, taking his arm as they moved slightly more sedately to join the others. “Legolas seems to be enjoying himself, I have not seen him in such a high spirited mood before,” Éowyn commented as Legolas and Arwen twirled by laughing gaily.

“It has been a long time, even as Elves count years since I have seen my son so happy,” agreed Thranduil.

“May I ask you a question?” she enquired as they danced.

“Of course.”

“Legolas is an exceedingly handsome, if not beautiful Elf, and I am wondering if he has ever been in love.” Thranduil was surprised at the boldness of the question but answered it nevertheless.

“Legolas loves every note of Ilúvatar’s music that he hears.” He could not help but smile at the confused look on Erwin’s face at the very elvish response.

“I meant with another Elf,” she explained, thinking he must have misunderstood her words.

“I know, but that is something only he can answer,” replied Thranduil as he looked around to watch his son dancing with Arwen. At one time, there had been some speculation of an attraction between the two, but it had amounted to nothing more than a close friendship. To his surprise, he saw that they were no longer amongst the dancers but moving towards one of the tables that had been cleared of the remnants of the feast.

“Sit here, if you please, my Lady, ” Legolas instructed, pointing to the table. Her curiosity piqued, Arwen complied with the request.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he knelt down and began to unlace her shoes.

“Taking your shoes off so that you can dance properly, of course,” he stated.

“Is that proper behaviour?” she asked, pretending to be shocked.

“Dancing barefoot is definitely proper behaviour in my Hall,” was the matter-of-fact response.

“What if Aragorn sees you?” she enquired.

“There is no need for concern, * everyone * can see me, my dear Arwen, and I think it unlikely that Aragorn would find reason to protest. He knows full well that my intentions towards you are as they have always been, nothing but honourable. Now does that not feel more natural?” he asked gently pulling her to her feet and swirling her around.

“Yes, it does, and it is a long time since I danced with the grass beneath my feet,” she said sadly as memories of the many nights she danced so in Rivendell and Lothlórien filled her thoughts.

“Then you should enjoy it while you can. I will go and rescue Aragorn and Faramir from those ‘evil’ Dwarves shortly, for it would be unwise to let any of that group over-indulge. But you do realise that there are likely to be several wagers resting on whether the men can hold their ale better than Dwarves?”

“Yes, I know. I think Prince Imrahil is the ring leader in that regard,” she confided. “You will definitely not be popular if you intervene too soon.”

“Sound advice, I can wait a little longer. Let us return to the dance, a much more rewarding pastime, would you not agree?”

******

True to his word, albeit several dances later, Legolas left both Arwen and Éowyn in Thranduil’s care and rejoined his friends at the Dwarf’s table. Drawing Gimli aside, he spoke quietly to him, explaining his desire to put an amicable end to the contest and asking for his assistance.

“A good idea,” agreed Gimli, “ especially since Aragorn and Faramir are definitely winning, neither of them seem the least bit inebriated.”

“I would have thought your friends would have learned that lesson last time,” Legolas commented. “How much did it cost them in gold?”

“Obviously not enough,” laughed Gimli. “I think you had better allow me to end this; Elves are not in favour in this part of your Hall at present.”

“As you wish,” conceded Legolas. Gimli smiled and made his way to the table where he promptly climbed up and stood in the middle of it and using the handle of his axe as a gavel, called for everyone’s attention.

“As much as I wish to see the outcome of this contest, I must insist that it ceases immediately. I remind you, my fellow Dwarves, that we still have a part to play in this evening’s celebrations for which we should all remain in possession of our senses,” he said glaring directly at the Dwarf who had challenged Aragorn in the first place. “If any amongst you do not wish to comply with my request, please feel free to remove yourselves to our campsite, NOW!” No one moved, but there were a few grumbles of protest.

“And I think it is time for the men to return to the company of their ladies,” added Legolas, ignoring the startled look on Aragorn’s face, for neither the King nor his Steward were showing signs of having too much to drink. “Perhaps you might have a rematch, at a more appropriate time and place, but for now I declare the contest a draw!”

*********
Thranduil escorted the ladies back to their seats and after providing them with refreshments, sat quietly sipping his wine, watching with a great deal of pride and more than a little amusement as Legolas skilfully dealt with his friends. His son’s affection for them was obvious, even in his expression of displeasure at their behaviour. The declaration of the end to the contest disappointed both the participants and those who had placed bets, but all had enough respect for Legolas to accept his decision.

“I have some business to discuss over there,” Imrahil told Legolas, pointing to a rather noisy group of elves on the outskirts of the glade who appeared to be involved in some kind of dice game. “It is many decades since I played that game, I must try my hand at it again.”

“Be wary, for several of those are elves who accompanied my father here, and both Aragorn and I have lost many a wager with them in the past,” warned Legolas, feeling it only fair to alert Imrahil of the skills of his opposition.

“Ah, a challenge! Excellent!” the Prince of Dol Amroth exclaimed happily. “I will heed your words if you heed mine…. call me if you need any further assistance with your guests.”

“Thank you, I certainly will,” agreed Legolas as he placed a friendly but firm arm around the shoulders of his two friends and ushered them back to the table where their ladies awaited.

“Queen Arwen, Lady Éowyn. May I reintroduce you to your wayward husbands,” Legolas said, a wicked gleam in his eye indicating that his slight sarcasm was purely intentional. “I do apologise for their ‘flushed’ features but I am afraid it is a side effect associated with drinking ale made by the Dwarves.” Both men turned to glare at the Elf but he totally ignored their outrage at his words.

“Thank you, Legolas,” said Arwen as she took Aragorn’s hand. “I believe a few turns around the dance floor will provide a suitable antidote for the condition.” Before he had a chance to protest, the King of Gondor found himself in the midst of a swirling group of Elves, their movement making his head spin and his balance decidedly difficult to maintain. Arwen showed little sympathy for his self-inflicted predicament and his only consolation was that Faramir was suffering the same fate at the whim of the lovely Éowyn.

Legolas remained with Thranduil and gratefully accepted the goblet of wine his father offered. “I hope the actions of that Dwarf have not changed your opinion of Gimli,” he said.

“I do not hold him responsible for the words or actions of his fellows,” conceded Thranduil.

“I am sure he would be pleased to hear you say that,” Legolas answered, relieved that there was no real harm done to the fragile beginnings of a relationship between his father and his dearest friend. Thranduil smiled at the less than subtle hint for him to complement the Dwarf and actually considered doing it.

“It was very wise of you to ask Gimli to deal with the Dwarves, he handled the situation well. I think that you have learned more about leadership and diplomacy since you left my Court, than you ever did while you were there,” observed Thranduil.

“No, Adar, it is just that now, as leader of this colony, I find I must practice the skills I learned under your tutelage,” Legolas replied. Thranduil laughed out loud. “What is so amusing?” Legolas asked, a frown of confusion ceasing his brow.

“Legolas, ever have you been my most loyal and ardent defender, for which I love you dearly, but I have a confession to make; diplomacy is not an attribute I am well known for, even amongst our own kin! I doubt you learned that skill from me!” Legolas looked startled at such an admission from his father, and in truth he had heard many comments about the Elvenking’s lack in that area, but he said nothing and joined in the laughter instead.

“Well, I have spent quite some time in Minas Tirith, so perhaps it is Aragorn’s lead I follow in that regard,” he suggested good humouredly.

“Perhaps so. Nevertheless, I am most impressed,” insisted Thranduil smiling affectionately at the pleased expression on his son’s face. “By the way, what have you done with Imrahil?” he asked, just now noticing the Prince’s absence.

“He is otherwise occupied,” said Legolas, pointing to the now quite large group of Elves who surrounded the Prince and his opponents. They sat in companionable silence enjoying the music and the silvery laughter that floated around them, and Legolas was pleased to see that after several dances, Aragorn and Faramir did indeed appear to be behaving more like they should. To his delight, the Dwarves were also once again in a decidedly friendly mood, teaching some of the other Elves one of their raucous drinking songs.

“This has been a wonderful celebration,” commented Arwen as the two couples arrived back at the main table to take a well-earned rest from their exertions on the dance square. Legolas smiled as he noticed that all four now sported flushed cheeks, a result of the lively dancing rather than the ale.

“Yes it has, but I believe the best is yet to come,” Aragorn said cryptically, as he watched Legolas make his way over to the musicians.

The first gentle strains of a delicate melody filled the glade and a hushed silence descended as Legolas began to sing. It was a joyous song, and although the lyrics were in the language of the Silvan elves, everyone in the glade clearly understood their meaning, if not the actual words. There was a mystical quality to the music and the power and beauty of the sweet voice mesmerised the listeners, turning words into images in their minds, making Elves, Men and Dwarves believe that they were part of the story Legolas wove as he sang.

******
They saw Thranduil celebrating as his elves defeated the darkness of Mirkwood and released the once Greenwood the Great from the shadow to become the beautiful Eryn Lasgalen; felt the delight of the Prince as he danced in the moonlight with his elven friends, whispering to the trees, basking in the starlight.

A second, slightly deeper voice, that of Isildur’s heir, joined in the song and everyone experienced the changing emotions as the first wary overtures between a young Ranger and a Wood elf blossomed into a deep and everlasting friendship.

The deep, gruff voices of the Dwarves joined the chorus, singing of their love for their caves and jewels until the melody became more melancholy as the images and sadness of the losses at Moria entered the scene. The light of the Lady of Lórien filled their hearts with a slowly increasing joy, reflected in the melody once more, to be gradually replaced by wonder at the beauty of the caves at Aglarond, the rebuilding of the city of Men, and the joy of the Elves as they helped build their place of celebration in the rejuvenated forest.

The melody changed again as the voices of all but one of the Dwarves fell silent, leaving only the harmony of the three…their words telling of the warm glow of the light of Elvish love for one of the children of Aulë and the King of Men…and of the bonds of friendship that had been forged between their races in recent times.

*******

Not until the last note of the song faded, and the spell was broken, did anyone realise that the Midsummer Festival had ended and the first light of the new day filled the glade.