Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

4. Springtime in the Greenwood

Gwendes' words come out in a tumble, as though worried she will lose courage before speaking them.

"...but that is enough about me." She places her little book on the table but does not let go of her hands from its worn cover. "This belonged to my brother. I was told you were the one I should see..."

When Gwendes slides the book towards me and releases her hands, I understand. I touch the soft, chestnut-colored leather, noticing its many stains and scratches.

"Your brother...he is no longer living?"

Gwendes shakes her head. "An orc raid, my lady. It was long years ago. He had a flair for storytelling ..."

"Are his stories in this book?"

But I know the answer. Already I am sweeping through the yellowed pages. They carry the vague scent of lamp oil, full of hastily written text and hints of grand adventure. Words such as "sword" and "cave troll" spring forth, catching my attention.

Surely Gwendes will not mind me reading it...

"Yes, my lady. He had a wild imagination." She grins, more comfortable now. Leaning forward, she watches as I continue scanning through the book. "As you can see, his handwriting is hardly legible in parts. More like scribbles. I...I was actually wondering if you might--"

"Yes."

"You will?" Gwendes's hands fly to her chest. "I did not think...I mean to say, I thought you would be too busy. Are you certain you have time for it?"

The younger elf glances at my overturned drawing of Oropher and I feel a fleeting sense of panic rise from my stomach. While the King's task is overwhelming alone, to add another project to my already burdened shoulders would be foolish. Yet I cannot say no to Gwendes now. Not when it clearly means all of Arda to her.

"I shall make time. But my work for the King takes priority over anything else. Whether I wish it or not."

Gwendes nods. "There is no rush, my lady. How may I pay you?"

With her sudden sheepish look and dress sleeves which fray at the seams, I know the potter's daughter does not have an abundance of silver or jewels. Asking her to give what little she has feels cruel.

"The only payment I request in turn is friendship, Lady Gwendes." I stand. "Would you like to go for a walk? I would rather eat a large helping of goblin stew than spend another moment in this cave."

Gwendes' brows shoot upwards. But when I make my way to the door and open it, she hurries to follow.

-----

"I have never been invited to the King's table, let alone for a feast. Are you sure about this, my lady? I do not wish to be an intruder..."

"You will be my guest, not an intruder," I say. "It is a celebration for all our kin, not just a select few."

It is our second walk together, and already we are friends.

A pleasant breeze flutters our hair as we stroll down the winding path, the trees around us with burgeoning green on their branches. The air smells cleaner somehow, but perhaps I have been indoors too long. It is the eve of a new year for the Eldar, and as usual, the forest celebrates renewal with us.

I desire Gwendes to experience Yestarë, the feast of the New Year, as I always have: tall lanterns flickering around platters of warm sweet rolls, fish from the Long Lake, fresh fruit and berry tarts, and the Greenwood wine free flowing, with long-remembered songs and stories which tell of beginnings. 

"I suppose you are right. But what shall I wear? I do not have a dress suitable..."

I survey Gwendes' current garment, a shapeless dove-gray dress which blends with our surroundings. "This is Yestarë, not a wedding. But perhaps you have a brighter color?"