Lady Aethel had not exaggerated. As Caewen plucks the strings of her harp, it gives forth a glittering, celestial sound, as if from the stars themselves. I am certain it rivals the music in Valinor. Judging from the rapt expressions from those listening, I am not alone in that certainty. All eyes are transfixed on the flaxen-haired elleth and her instrument. Thranduil has even put away his book.
Caewen finishes the song and begins The Sea-Crossing with hardly a pause, as though it is only a continuation. Her hands effortlessly move forward and backward with the soft melody. I look at Legolas standing beside me. There is a question niggling my mind, one I have kept too long.
With the other guests entranced, their ears tuned to the music of the Sea and Stars, there is no better time to ask.
"Why does your father give his Aur en-Onnad such little regard?"
His cobalt eyes widen in surprise. I instantly regret my boldness.
"Lord Gailon has not told you?"
"He does not share the King's secrets, even with me."
Legolas frowns, shifting his vision back to Caewen and her harp. "It is no secret, Rîneth. But many have chosen to forget. It is...the day my mother died."
I inhale a sharp breath. "Please forgive me, mellon. I truly did not--"
"You have nothing to apologize for. He does not speak of it."
The sound of a cascading waterfall floods the room as Caewen's hands fly gracefully down the strings. Lady Aethel begins to clap, though the song is far from over.
"If he would rather be alone, why does he invite us?"
"For that I have no answer," he says solemnly. "I have wondered if the presence of others helps to lessen the memory."
"I do not remember your mother well, but I remember her golden hair. And her kindness...."
"We were both young when she died. But I was younger. I...do not remember what she looked like."
The dramatic harp-song fills the silence which falls between us. Caewen is now moving her head with the music, her usual composed manner crumbling as she loses herself to emotion.
"How did she die? I have heard there was no grave..."
He makes sure his father is still sitting in his chair, far from hearing range. "She was murdered. At an orc stronghold at Mount Gundabad, south of Angmar. She was...thrown into a fire."
My heart wrenches painfully. "Goheno nín..."
His unsettling answer only conjures more questions. Why was the Queen at Mount Gundabad? Had she been captured? Where was Thranduil? Noticing Legolas's tightened jaw and the way his brows pull together, for a fleeting moment not a warrior prince but a boy who has lost his mother, I know the wound pains him still.
I wish I had not asked. I certainly cannot ask more.
I chance looking at Thranduil. His eyes meet mine. He has been watching us. Has he discerned from Legolas' expression the intimate topic of our discussion? I return my gaze to Caewen, hoping it was a coincidence.
Though the Greenwood is my home, every oak and beech around the village and cave known to me, there is much about the forest I do not know, many secrets I have yet to discover. Thranduil is like his forest. A mystery, vast and remote. I once believed I knew everything about him. I was wrong.
After a final crescendo, Caewen ends her song with a barely audible pluck, leaving the guests breathless before they break into applause. Lord Amdiron nods his head with his claps, offering an impressed smile before remembering he is made of stone. Ferdir looks like he would rather be anywhere else. Remembering his unenthusiastic responses about Caewen the night of his arrival, I wonder again at his behavior.
The King stands from his chair, and the room falls quiet.
"Lady Rîneth, sing for us."
If he had deduced the subject of my conversation with Legolas and is punishing me, I will perhaps never know, but the sudden command could not have shocked me more. As if I am stuck in mud, I cannot move. Everyone is looking at me expectantly. Lady Aethel's mouth is agape.
"You are good at the Hymn to Elbereth, I recall," says Thranduil, his deep voice dispassionate.
"I...I shall try my best, my lord." I bow my head.
I force my legs through the mud. They are wobbly from the effort. Though a few steps away, it feels like a journey to the Iron Hills. Or the Sundering Sea. I finally reach where Caewen sits with her harp in front of Thranduil's endless wall of volumes and tomes and scrolls. She looks up in question. I nod.
I shut my eyes to recall the lyrics, and to gather my strength as well; I have not sung in front of an audience since Ada's Aur en-Onnad a hundred years ago or more, and only at his sincerest request. Why would Thranduil command this of me? He never has before.
I open my eyes and see him. He has moved from the hearth and joined my father, and both stand in front of me. He gives me a small smile. With a nod to Caewen, I open my mouth to sing.
Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O queen beyond the Western Seas! O light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!
The flowing notes from the harp complement my voice and fill me with courage. I sing louder, with more feeling, and lose myself to the words and to my own thoughts.
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!
My mind whirls over what Legolas revealed, what I have never known before. It is obvious Thranduil still grieves his wife's passing. Was he there to witness her being cast into the fire, unable to save her? It is unfathomable. No wonder he does not speak of it.
Without intending to, the Hymn to Elbereth, usually played at celebrations and happy feasts, lacks its usual joy.
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas
The harp fades with a last melodic strum, and the watchers applaud softly. Ferdir claps loudest, flashing his teeth in a wide grin. Thranduil bows his crowned head, and returns to his chair without voicing another request.
"Let us now hear Caewen sing," says Lady Aethel. "She has the prettiest voice in all of Arda, I daresay!"
I step back into the small audience between Ada and Ferdir. Ada grasps my shoulder, a comforting gesture after Aethel's thoughtless words. But I know the Lady meant no harm. Her adoration for Caewen surpasses her awareness.
As Caewen begins the Song of Nimrodel, her high dulcet voice as clear and beautiful as the celestial melodies from her harp, a warmth floods my cheeks. I wonder if it is too early to take my leave.
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey
"Your song was far better," Ferdir whispers, his vision fixed ahead.
"You are too kind, my lord. But my attempt--"
"--carried more feeling. A song without feeling is no song at all, which Caewen would do well to learn. Have you determined yet who sent her the harp?"
"How do you--"
"How do I know? Dearest lady, I suspect everyone in this room knows, perhaps the entire Woodland Realm. Caewen may wish to keep her secrets, but her mother sees little point in them."
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free
"That is certainly true." I notice Aethel is watching her daughter with a smile which could light the beacons of Gondor. "I am not closely acquainted with Caewen. I would not even know where to begin in guessing. But I warrant whoever he is, he is...interested."
"I would say so."
"Do you know who sent it, Lord Ferdir?"
"Ferdir. And no, I cannot say for certain, but I have a few guesses." He lowers his voice further. "One in particular shall take you by surprise."
"You act as though they are in this very room."
"You are astute."
Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade
The mischievous glint in his bronze eyes is puzzling. "If your guess is Prince Legolas, I can assure you he only has eyes for our Captain of the Guard. But you have not been around us long enough to know."
"Yes, he is in love with Tauriel. I surmised it the night I arrived. You are not thinking hard enough, my lady."
Ferdir continues watching Caewen as though keen on hearing every lyric. I wonder if my newest friend might be a bit of a troublemaker. Who could he possibly be alluding to? Lord Amdiron has a wife waiting in Valinor, and Ada is not even worth contemplating.
"If this is your idea of a jest, your skills are lacking," I tease.
"Do you give up?"
"I...yes, of course. I have no other choice." I playfully roll my eyes. "But now you have piqued my curiosity."
"I believe King Thranduil sent her the harp."
I laugh out loud. I cannot prevent it. Quickly I cover my mouth to stifle the sound. Lady Aethel casts a displeased glance over her shoulder.
"I was wrong," I whisper after the Lady turns back around. "The joke was quite funny. Well done."
"I was being serious."
At first, I do not believe him. But when he does not speak further, I realize his sideways grin is absent, and his dark eyes lack their humor. I step back, feeling a twist of unpleasant emotions. Troublemaker, indeed.
When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray
"You have clearly had too much wine, so I shall forgive you. Consider putting down your goblet before you start spouting out this impossibility to someone who will not be so kind."
"Why is it impossible, my lady? Even my father noted Lady Aethel has never before been invited to the King's own chambers. It is interesting she received an invitation now that her daughter has returned..."
"His harpist has been unavailable for some time now. Caewen plays the harp. It makes sense." I strain not to raise my voice. "His wife waits for him in the Undying Lands."
"Do not be so sure." He sneaks a glance at Thranduil, who is still sitting in his chair a world away. "I have heard she did not love him."
"What a preposterous claim. Why would she not love him?"
Ferdir raises his brow. "You and your father may be close to him, but the rest of us see how cold he is. An ice king would be a fitting title, if only his cave was not made of stone."
"Where did you hear such a rumor? Is gossip a favorite pastime in Lórien?"
"I will not tell you from whom I heard it, for their sake, but I believe its validity." He looks back at the King. "See how he watches her."
Despite my reluctance, I look. Thranduil is watching Caewen with the barest hint of a smile on his shadowed face, his eyes unmoving. An unpleasant sensation roils in my stomach. I shake my head and the sensation leaves.
Of old he was an Elven-king
A lord of tree and glen
"Caewen sings as if she is one of the Maiar. Do you not see how everyone is entranced? This rumor was invented by a gossip who holds a grudge against the King. I shall never believe it."
"Then forgive me," Ferdir says sincerely. "When you find out the sender of her gift, please let me know. I am...curious."
The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair
Go riding like -
A host of guards suddenly strides through the door, led by the Captain of the Guard. Tauriel's flaming hair clings to her neck in wet strands, evidence she has been in a hard rain. There is blood on her hands. Her usual placid features appear distressed, even afraid.
"What is it?" The King asks, standing.
"My lord." She keeps her head bowed. "We were ambushed by orcs. Gollum has escaped."
A/N: Thanks for all your kind words, your votes and follows! You might not realize how something so small can make such a difference, but it does.