7.  Sing We And Chant It

 

 

 

Legolas brushed sweat from his eyes.  He crossed one leg behind the other, and then bent slowly forward, until his hands brushed the floor of the dancing chamber.  He held the position for several moments, enjoying the stretch in the back of his crossed leg.  Then, as slowly as he had bent down, he straightened his spine, imagining the bones stacking themselves one on top of another.  As he came up from his stretch, he caught a glimpse of Neldorín balancing on one foot and swinging his other leg forward and back.

 

The Masque was approaching quickly, and Innil had worked both of them for a long time today.  She had paused to retune her fiddle, and both Legolas and Neldorín were glad of the opportunity to stretch their sore muscles.  Neldorín glanced at Innil and then signaled to Legolas.  Legolas looked, and saw that Innil had set the fiddle on the small table that held her instruments and was flexing her hands, stretching and massaging each finger.  She caught their eyes and smiled.

 

“Do not think you are the only ones who must work,” she said.  “You have been dancing for a long time today, but I have been providing music for just as long.”

 

“It is lovely music, and we thank you for it, Mistress Innil,” Neldorín said, bowing deeply.  “We would not wish to tire your fingers overmuch, however.”

 

Innil laughed.  “Flattery will not avail you, Neldorín.  I would see the two of you dance the Hunter’s Dance before I release you today.”

 

“One dance,” Legolas said.  “It will not be so bad, Neldorín.  One dance, and then you will be free.  I must stay and attend the rehearsal of the Sword Dance after this.”

 

“Ah, well,” Neldorín said, with an exaggerated sigh.  “That is not so bad, then.  Come, let us dance.”

 

He and Legolas took up their positions at the far end of the dancing chamber.  Innil tucked her fiddle against her arm, tuned it briefly, then nodded.  She played a bright, sprightly melody, and Neldorín danced to the center of the room with the graceful leaps and whirls that signaled his identity as the King Stag.  After his introductory dance, Legolas performed his own entrance as the Hunter King.  They moved together through the complex, athletic Hunter’s Dance, performing the Hunter’s pursuit of the Stag through the forest and showing off the skill and physical prowess of both dancers.

 

The Stag challenged the Hunter to leap progressively higher barriers.  In the full performance, Innil’s assistants, dressed in black, would raise large, twisting branches.  In this rehearsal, they wielded short wands intended only to give Legolas and Neldorín a reference point for their leaps.

 

The Hunter’s Dance was spectacular but demanding, and both dancers were covered with sweat by the time it was over.  “You have done well,” Innil said, setting her fiddle down.  “Legolas, you must be more precise with the placement of your feet just before the spiral, and Neldorín, you must remember to keep your back straighter.  After all, you will be supporting a headdress.  But you both have good memory for the steps, and the flow of the dance is improving.  Go and clean yourselves, for you have worked hard today.”

 

Too weary to say anything in response, Legolas and Neldorín nodded their thanks and headed for the washstand in one corner of the dancing chamber.  Neldorín stripped off his undershirt and washed his face, arms, and chest thoroughly, while Legolas, for whom the rehearsal was not yet finished, contented himself with a splash of water and vigorous toweling.

 

“You dance well,” he said.  “Will Arasiel come to see your performance?”

 

“I do not know,” Neldorín replied.  “We have discussed it, but we have not yet reached a conclusion.  Faron is still too young to sit up for the Masque.  I think that Arasiel wishes to see it, but she does not wish to leave Faron alone.”

 

“There must be a solution,” Legolas said.  “Faron is not the only small child in the settlement.  Galion might know what other parents plan to do on that night.”

 

“That is a good thought.  I will go and ask him before I go home.”  Neldorín reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head.  “In the meantime, enjoy the Sword Dance.”

 

Legolas nodded and draped his towel over his shoulders.  Neldorín and the two assistants left the dancing chamber just as six adolescent dancers, four girls and two boys, filed in.  They all carried blunt metal swords.  Innil greeted them and made sure each child had brought a sword.  They gathered near the doorway, removed their shoes, and pulled on soft doeskin slippers.  When they were ready, they lined up in front of Innil.

 

“Welcome,” she said.  “Today, I wish to begin with the end of the Sword Dance, since Legolas is here with us now.  We will begin with the final circle.  Please take your positions.”

 

The children and Legolas moved to the places that Innil indicated, and she exchanged her fiddle for a pipe and tabor.  As she played, the children wove their swords into the six-pointed star that they would use for the symbolic execution of the Hunter King.  At the appropriate moment, Legolas stepped forward, and the tallest of the children placed the star around his neck.  As the Sword Dancers circled him, Legolas’s heart began to beat faster.  This part of the Masque had always made him uneasy.  In previous years, when he had drummed for the dance, he had always been glad that he did not have to drum for the Sword Dance and could look away if he wished.  But he did not have that luxury this year, and he stood tall and straight, bearing the weight of the star of swords.

 

The children’s circle grew smaller and faster.  When the music drove them so fast that they were almost running, they would stop, seize the grips of the swords, and pull the star apart.  Legolas counted the beats of the music, readying himself for that moment.  Precisely on their cue, the children stopped and grasped the swords.  The girl standing directly in front of Legolas looked into his eyes and screamed.

 

Legolas started, and the other dancers crowded around the girl.  Innil dropped her instruments and rushed over to them.  Gently, she pushed the children aside and grasped the crying dancer’s shoulders.

 

“Celebwen, what is wrong?” Innil asked.  “Are you hurt?  Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

 

Celebwen shook her head but continued to cry.  The other children patted her back and shoulders and made soothing noises.  Legolas removed the star of swords from his neck and took her hands.  Celebwen made a mighty effort and choked back her tears.

 

“I – I am sorry,” she said.  “I did not mean to disrupt the rehearsal.  But I could not pull the sword.”

 

“You have done it before when we practiced,” one of the boys pointed out.

 

Celebwen nodded.  “Yes.  But I did not have to look at Legolas then.  It made me think of my brother Daintáro.”  She glanced at Legolas.  “The Orcs killed him in the long battle,” she explained.

 

The children nodded and murmured in agreement.  Innil sighed and embraced Celebwen.  Legolas tried to swallow a lump in his own throat.  “I understand,” he said softly.  “This is a difficult part of the Masque, especially for someone who has lost someone they love.”

 

Celebwen nodded and hid her face in Innil’s shoulder.  “I am sorry,” she said again.

 

The corners of Innil’s mouth quirked into a wry smile.  “I think that we will do something different today,” she said.  “I think that you all know the Sword Dance very well, and I trust that you will continue to work on your parts until our next rehearsal.  Perhaps we should spend our time today simply talking about what the Masque means and how it makes us feel.  What do you think?  Can I trust you to practice on your own if we do that?”

 

The children nodded.  They and Innil and Legolas all sat on the floor in a circle.  At first, no one spoke.  But slowly, one by one, the children began to describe the battle and the fires that had raged through the settlement and destroyed their homes.  Some of them wept a little, remembering homes or friends or family they had lost.

 

“My little sister wakes up in the middle of the night and wants to know when we can go home again,” one boy said.  “She does not understand that our old house is gone, and we live in a new one now.”

 

“My house does not feel like my house,” Celebwen said.  “My brother is not there, and it does not feel safe.  What if the Orcs come back?  What will we do then?”

 

“They will not be nearly so dangerous now as they were before the War,” Legolas assured her.  “Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee made sure of that.”

 

“My Ada says that he has only ever seen one Orc since the War ended,” a girl volunteered.  “He said that it was all alone and it ran away when it saw him, because it was frightened of him.”

 

“We have peace now,” Innil said, “but it came at a terrible price, and we do not yet know what to do with it.  When I think of people I have lost, I comfort myself by remembering that they will live again, someday, across the Sea.”

 

“But even if they do live again, they do not live here with us,” Celebwen said.  “That is not fair.  Maybe they do not live again, either.  Maybe that is just a story that grownups tell so that children will feel better.  I have never seen any dead person return.”

 

Legolas smiled at her.  “I have.  When we walked through the Dwarf mines of Moria, I saw Mithrandir fall to his death in battle with Durin’s Bane, the Balrog who lived under the mines.  And I saw him return in the forest of Fangorn”

 

The children considered this carefully.  “Mithrandir is special,” Celebwen said.

 

Legolas nodded, unable to deny her words.  “He is special.”

 

Celebwen sighed.  “I wish there were a place where we could really be safe,” she said.  “I do not like to look at my brother’s grave.  It makes me think about Orcs, and that frightens me.”

 

“Orcs make me angry,” the smallest girl said.  “That is what I think about when I have to pull the sword in the dance.  I pretend that there is an Orc inside the star, and I can chop its head right off.”  She glanced at Legolas and blushed, but Legolas laughed.

 

“That is a clever idea,” he said.

 

“Indeed it is,” Innil said.  She put her arm around Celebwen’s shoulders.  “Do you think you could try that?” she asked.  “Imagine that Legolas is an Orc and not your brother?”

 

Celebwen looked dubious but intrigued.  “I could try,” she said.  “Can we try it now?  Just once?”

 

“If you want to, then certainly.”  Innil rose to her feet, and Legolas and the children followed her.  They began the Sword Dance from the beginning, twisting through patterns, linked by their swords.  As he watched them, Legolas considered Celebwen’s wish for a land of peace and safety.  Her pleas reminded him of Neldorín’s longing for a safe place for Faron to grow up.  Perhaps he could offer them a chance to see their dreams come true.

 

 

 

Yule arrived with a fresh, clean fall of snow.  It delighted the children of the settlement, who rushed outside to play, reveling in the first snow of the season.  The snow lightened the hearts of the adults as well, for it covered the burnt trees, ash heaps, and graves with a soft, white blanket.  Once again, the forest looked whole, at least on the surface.

 

Inside the delvings, teams of Elves wove evergreen garlands to decorate the Great Hall, and Galion supervised the kitchen staff in cooking the Yule feast.  As the shadows lengthened outside, parents collected their children so that they would have time to dry off and grow warm before the evening festival.  In their little house in the trees, Arasiel stripped Faron of his wet play clothes and hung them before the hearth to dry.  She debated for a few minutes, then fetched his nightclothes.

 

“Is it bedtime, Nana?” Faron asked.

 

“Not yet,” Arasiel answered.  “But you are going to stay with Mistress Doronrîn tonight, so you might as well put your nightclothes on now.  That way, there will be one less set of clothes for her to look after.”  She pulled the soft tunic and trousers onto the child’s body, then wrapped a cloak around him.  She took him by the hand, and they set out along the walkways to the house where Doronrîn lived with Beleghir.

 

Doronrîn saw them coming and opened the door when they arrived.  “Welcome, Faron,” she said.  “I see that you are all ready to spend the night.  If you will let me take your cloak, you can go and play with the other children.”

 

Faron looked up at Arasiel, and it suddenly dawned on him that his Nana meant to leave him.  He clung to her leg and refused to move.  “No, Nana!” he cried.  “No leave!”  Arasiel’s hands fluttered in his general direction, and she looked almost as stricken as her son.

 

Doronrîn laughed and gently pried Faron loose, sweeping him up into her arms so that he could bid his mother farewell.  “Do not worry about him, Arasiel,” she said.  “As soon as you are out of sight, he will discover the other children, and he will have a wonderful time.”

 

Arasiel gulped.  “I hope so.  Thank you for caring for the small children tonight, Mistress Doronrîn.  I am glad of the opportunity to see my husband dance tonight.”

 

“It was just the thing to do,” Doronrîn said.  “Last year, Menellir danced as the Hunter King, and I do not think that I could face seeing the Masque again tonight.  And someone needed to watch the children.”

 

“I appreciate this deeply.”  Arasiel leaned over and kissed Faron.  “Farewell for tonight, little one,” she said.  “Ada and I will come to pick you up tomorrow morning, and Ada will have a Yule gift for you then.”

 

Then she steeled herself and walked away, Faron’s horrified cries echoing in her ears.  When she had gone far enough that Doronrîn’s house was out of sight, she stopped and listened.  Very faintly, she heard the sound of a small child beginning to giggle.  Relieved, Arasiel continued toward the delvings.

 

 

 

In an antechamber off the Great Hall, the dancers were preparing themselves for the Masque.  Legolas carefully covered his face with a glittering paint made of crushed beetle shells mixed with bear grease.  Beside him, Neldorín adjusted his great horned headdress.

 

“I spoke to Arasiel about your proposal, Legolas,” he said.

 

“What did she think?”

 

“She is considering it.  It is a difficult choice.  On the one hand, it is everything we wish for Faron, but on the other hand, neither of us has ever lived anywhere but here.”

 

“Few people in this settlement have,” Legolas said.  “I had never passed the western edge of the forest until last year, with you.  The world is much bigger and more varied than I could ever have imagined.  Ithilien is a land of incredible beauty, but it cries out for the attention of the Elves.”

 

Neldorín nodded.  “It is also very close to Mordor.  I do not know that I would be entirely comfortable moving my family there.”

 

“Mordor was vanquished.”

 

“I know.  But it will take longer before I truly believe.  I will discuss it with Arasiel further after the Masque, and we will consider it.”  Neldorín smiled.  “You missed a spot beneath your eyes.  Hold still.”

 

Carefully, he swabbed the last of the paint onto Legolas’s face.  Legolas tucked a stray lock of Neldorín’s hair beneath his headdress, and they both went in search of Innil so that she could inspect them.

 

 

 

Thranduil surveyed the Great Hall with a contented smile.  Most of the settlement had crowded in to enjoy the Yule feast that preceded the Masque.  Although the tables did not exactly groan with food, there was enough to eat, and that was already an improvement over last year.  The guests at the feast were eating and drinking merrily.  Some of the revelry might be a little too deliberate, but the Elves were making the effort to enjoy themselves.

 

Some had hinted to Thranduil that the Masque should not be held this year, that the wounds from the War were still too fresh and raw to admit such a return to the normal cycle of the year.  Thranduil had considered their objections, but had declared that the Masque would be performed anyway.  Mourning could not last forever, and he feared that, if the community gave up the tradition of the Masque this year, they might never regain it.  Thranduil knew the power behind the ancient story and considered it too valuable to throw away in grief.

 

Watching the revelers, he knew that he had made the right choice.  The performance tonight would not be an easy one.  Each repetition called forth memories of past performances, and many who had danced before were now dead.  Doronrîn was not the only person who had chosen to be absent that evening for fear of being overwhelmed by memories.  But the hope and joy of the Masque’s final scene, and the pleasures of dancing in the dawn afterward, would be reward enough for those who could bring themselves to witness the beauty and terror that came before it.

 

After the last morsel of food had been eaten, the waitstaff began to clear the tables, and the Elves moved to clear the dancing space at the center of the Great Hall.  Thranduil signaled to Galion to alert the performers, and then turned his attention to arranging benches around the central circle.  It did not take long before the Elves had rearranged the Great Hall to their satisfaction, and everyone had found a seat.  Thranduil settled himself comfortably and prepared himself to enjoy the dance.

 

His heart surged as he watched Legolas dance, nearly unrecognizable beneath his glittering paint and gold headdress.  He gloried in the power and grace of the Hunter King, meeting the challenge of the Stag and defeating him in the battle of wits between hunter and prey.  He ached at the Hunter King’s willing sacrifice, remembering not only Legolas’s choice to accompany Frodo Baggins to Mordor, but also his people’s willingness to stand at his side and resist the shadow that had nearly destroyed them.  Finally, he rejoiced when the two maidens dancing as the Sun and the Rain raised the sacrificed Hunter to his feet, escorting him triumphantly around the circle so that he could greet the audience and draw them into the dance.

 

Legolas stretched out his hand, and Thranduil allowed himself to be pulled into the chain of bodies moving to the captivating rhythm of the music.  He clasped his son’s hand and was rewarded with a shout of laughter.  Legolas seemed to Thranduil to be more alive than he had been in months, dancing as enthusiastically as if he had not just performed the central role of the Masque, beads of sweat streaking from beneath the headdress through the paint on his face.

 

Legolas turned to Thranduil, and Thranduil supposed that he must have appeared preoccupied, for Legolas’s expression softened a little.  “Do not worry, Ada,” he said in a low voice that carried beneath the music and singing.  “We will not neglect the Masque in Ithilien.  We will perform it there and keep the tradition alive.”

 

“I am glad of that,” Thranduil said, although, in truth, he had not considered the question of how Legolas would celebrate Yule in a new land, far from home.  But it was comforting to know that Legolas would carry the tradition with him.  It was indeed as he had tried to assure both Legolas and himself; only distance would separate them.  The important things, the bonds that mattered, would not be sundered.

 

So the Wood-elves danced and made merry all through the longest, darkest night of the year.  On that night, something ended and something new began, and the Elves once again chose to look to the future with hope.