Lord Elros, Keeper of the Keys, is the true match for Gwendes.
His keen expression and the subtle spark in his gray eyes when I introduce her remove any doubt I have. But it is no wonder why he is intrigued. The yellow glow from the lanterns reflects off Gwendes' hair and shimmering brocade dress and makes her a walking star.
"She is also an artist," I say. "Her pottery work rivals even the tableware from Imladris."
Though Gwendes' blush is not obvious in the lantern light, I know it is there.
"Lady Rîneth is kind, but-"
"I speak nothing short of truth." I address Lord Elros. "You must let her show you."
I am sincere with my words. While my gift is with quill, Gwendes' is with clay. At dinner, she was astonished to see some of her flower-detailed jars and bowls resting upon the King's table. Gwendes does not know her own talent.
"Oh, of course. She must show me...soon, yes," says Elros with a nod. "I always trust your judgment, my lady."
His green robes, only a few shades darker than Gwendes', make for a pleasing contrast, as does his dark hair compared to her light. Already they look like a pair. I feel a small tingle of excitement at the possibilities, and that I am the one to bring them together.
While I have never called Elros a friend, we are on good terms. He has always treated me with enthusiasm, not lacking for kind words or smiles. If it comes to marriage, he will have the means to provide Gwendes a life with all she needs and more, surely prizing her as King Thingol of Doriath prized the Nauglamir necklace.
I envision their chambers close to mine, a few steps away from conversation and honey cake by the hearth. It would be a comfort to have a friend so near. Perhaps I could be an adopted aunt to their future children...
I only wish I knew why Elros continually glances in my direction. Does he require reassurance Gwendes is interested? The light touch of her hand on his arm is the obvious proof; the Eldar do not make such intimate contact unless it is close friendship or for reasons of love. I smile and give him a small nod.
While Gwendes' interest in Elros is as palpable as the wine goblet in his hand, it will depend on him to deepen it.
"I think I shall take my leave and watch the dancers," I say. "I trust you both have enough to speak about without me?"
I do not wait for a reply. Elros calls my name, but I wave my hand at them without pausing. His sudden timidity is hard to comprehend. If he cannot find his courage, perhaps Gwendes will have better success with Legolas.
The harpist and flutist are playing the Song of Eärendil. The uplifting melody reaches to the heavens, which watch our merrymaking with a sense of calm pleasure. It is a clear night, the view unobscured. A few of my kin are gazing upwards at the celestial bodies while others are dancing and laughing to the tune, the Greenwood wine working its magic.
Lady Aethel stands against the cavern wall without company, studying the empty glass in her hands. If I did not mind hearing about her daughter's descriptions of grander parties in Lothlórien for the night's duration, I would join her. Instead, I walk to the edge of the balcony and grip the unyielding stone.
In the distance is the outline of the Lonely Mountain. I have never been to Erebor. But in my beloved book of Ori's drawings, I have seen it in vivid detail. The dark forest which lies before me is a barrier to it and the outside world. The evil which dwells within keeps us from receiving visitors who are not brave, Men or Elves. Never Dwarves.
Like Erebor in the past, we have our own Smaug, though this evil is vaster than one dragon alone. Instead of keeping us out, it traps us within. There is no one coming to reclaim the land. Perhaps we will be forgotten, our woodland realm a myth to tell the children of Men.
I can dwell on it no longer. Turning back around to a brighter and warmer view, my dark thoughts subside. The Song of Eärendil comes to an end and a slower, more solemn melody takes its place. It is the fountain singer's ballad of Gondolin.
I search the vicinity to ensure the minstrel is not here, else I shall be retiring early. When I do not see him, my eyes fall on Legolas. He is asking Tauriel for a dance, his face ardent. It is the same look he always wears when she is near. Tauriel accepts his request, but it is not without a glance behind her shoulder.
Will he ever concede defeat? I feel for them both.
Nearly a thousand years ago my father nudged me in the Prince's direction. Being only a few years older than Legolas and having spent our childhood fighting pretend dragons together – though I did more advising on the most creative way to slay them rather than fighting – his logic was sound. I gave it deep consideration, as did Legolas.
But his heart resided in distant lands with a chance for adventure, and mine remained under the boughs of the Greenwood. He yearned for excitement; I was happy at home. It did not take us long to agree pursuing more than friendship would not bring us joy. There were no feelings of love, so it was not a loss. Only for my father.
As for Thranduil, he knew from the beginning we were not compatible.
I do not have to look to know he has joined me. His familiar, strong presence is enough.
"He still has strong feelings for her," I say. "After everything."
"Yes." The textured brocade from Thranduil robes brushes against my hand as he leans against the railing. "Legolas may be subtle in some ways, but not when it comes to Tauriel."
I look at him. It is always the night of Yestarë when he begins wearing his many-spined crown with white woodland flowers. I shall never tell him, but they soften his expression, even the hard line of his mouth. The King looks friendly and approachable in springtime...almost.
"He needs another to steal his attention. Lady Aethel mentioned her daughter is returning from Lórien soon. If we believe her description, she is more beautiful than even Lady Arwen of Imladris. And more accomplished."
"You are forever on the search for a new pairing. It is why you invited this Gwendes, daughter of Tadion. She is watching my Keeper of the Keys like a hunter watches his prey. Perhaps I should ask her to join the Guard."
"Do not be so harsh on her. She is young, but so is he. They are both fair and kind-hearted. If they are not betrothed by the first falling leaves of autumn, I shall be surprised."
Thranduil narrows his eyes, as though trying to discern if I am being serious. "The match will never work."
"Why?"
"Elros, of course. You have misjudged his character."
"He has always been exceedingly kind to me."
"That is no surprise."
"But the way he looked at Gwendes earlier..."
It is pointless to continue. Arguing with Thranduil is as wise as arguing with the cavern walls. He will not be moved.
"All this matchmaking for others, yet you are still intent to never marry."
"I enjoy seeing the happiness which love brings to my friends. As for myself, it is as I have told you. I have everything I need. Family and friends do not provide a romantic love, but tis love all the same. I am content, Thranduil. Though I do not believe your son shares my sentiment."
Legolas leads Tauriel around the floor with his usual light feet, his face never straying from hers. I wonder if only an attack upon the realm would break his rapt attention.
"I do not wish for him to go through heartbreak," Thranduil says.
"I fear it is too late."
"Yes."
It is the uncharacteristic tone of his voice which makes me suspect there is more to his concern than paternal love alone, but I do not pursue it. A silence falls over us until the song comes to an end and Legolas and Tauriel go their separate ways.
"Is Mithrandir still here? I have not seen him since yesterday."
"He requested to speak to the prisoner one last time ere his departure at break of day. Before you ask, I did invite him to the feast."
"How hospitable of you." I smile. "Has he spoken to you further about his interrogation, or does he maintain his secrecy?"
"The wizard has withheld much information from me. But I ascertained Gollum let loose the Ring's location in Mordor. They tortured him until he did so."
A russet-haired elfling runs by, a bouquet of pink woodland flowers in one hand and a wine goblet in the other, far too large for her small body. It is not long before her mother quickly walks by to catch her. The elfling's laughter blends in with the music. I glimpse Thranduil's short-lived smile.
"Does Mithrandir know where the Ring resides?"
"It is in the Shire of all places, in a Halfling's home. Bilbo Baggins' home, to be exact."
"Bilbo?"
I shall never forget the brave Halfling who rescued Thorin Oakenshield and his company from right under the guards' noses. I have never met him, but Ori and Dori spoke of Bilbo the Burglar with nothing short of admiration.
He even made an impression on Thranduil, and only through my father did I learn he gave the Halfling the title "Elf-friend".
"You are surely jesting. How in Arda could Bilbo have taken it from Gollum? How could they have met?"
"It is a tale which begins in the Misty Mountains and involves a game of riddles. I do not know the exact riddles, but perhaps the Wizard can tell you."
"Is Bilbo aware of the significance of the object he keeps?"
"He knows it is a magic ring, but no, he does not know it is the Ring of Power. Bilbo is currently residing in Imladris. He passed it down to his nephew still living in the Shire."
"That is where Mithrandir is traveling to in the morning."
"Yes."
An unpleasant sensation of fear coils in my stomach. What if he does not reach it in time? I am so deep in my thoughts of Halflings and the forces of Mordor that I am surprised to notice Lord Elros standing in front of me, his arm outstretched.
"Would you care to dance, my lady?"