Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

27. Reassurance

"In Imladris they have far more scrolls and books than here in Mirkwood, many dating back to even before your king's birth. But your sister must have told you about them."

I have the misfortune of sitting beside Elros' betrothed at supper, who wears a gown a shade brighter than daffodil, or the sun. Where in Arda did she attain the fabric? Surely not from the elegant halls of Imladris.

Even Halflings wear less vibrant colors.

"It has been since Faeleth's wedding when I last visited, but I could never forget the vast libraries of the House of Elrond."

Emlinith finishes her bite of apple cake, and dabs her mouth delicately with her linen cloth. "Do you not feel envious? I wonder if Thranduil would allow you to move there to live with your sister."

Thranduil? How disrespectful to mention the King without his title. Even I have never done so in the presence of anyone save Ada. I move my eyes to Thranduil, who is in a rapt discussion with Caewen and appears oblivious to what occurred.

He nods his head while listening to her, even offering a smile as she continues gesturing enthusiastically. The harp and flute play a light melody, reminding me of the crimson leaves floating on the Forest River. The mood in the Dining Hall is much like the song.

I return my gaze to Emlinith, feeling heavy.

"It is not about King Thranduil allowing me," I say, "but that I do not wish to depart the Greenwood. I am fond of my homeland, despite its troubles."

"It has many." Emlinith's moon-pool eyes flash with the barest hint of delight. She dabs her mouth again. "But you are young, my lady, and--"

"I believe I am older than you."

"Well, yes, but you are not...well-traveled. Once you have been far and wide as I, Greenwood the Great will not seem so great after all."

"You presume to know much about me." I hold my gaze steadily. "Who is the source of your information? Lord Elros?"

Emlinith adjusts her position. "He knows you and your family well."

"He likes to believe so. He once even believed I would have his hand in marriage. It would not be wise to rely on his expertise."

Though Emlinith looks away at my blunt statement, her expression does not reveal any surprise. Then it is true; she somehow knows about Elros' near proposal. Not only does it explain her foul behavior, but also her attempts at persuading me to move away.

"I have seen enough of the world to know I am content in living here," I say. "There is no realm without its faults, even fair Imladris. Though I agree it does not have many."

Emlinith cocks her head and studies me as if I am a strange and ugly weed. "All my life I have heard the Wood-elves are an odd sort, and this ever rings true."

Losing all semblance of patience, I feel an unusual desire to go against the peaceful nature of my kin and strike Emlinith. To be called a mere Wood-elf is not only offensive, but degrading.

"Our people are called Silvan, of which I am half," I say through clenched teeth. "My father, Lord Gailon the Advisor, is Sindarin."

Emlinith smiles. "Regardless of your heritage, you and your kin dwell in the woods, do you not?"

"If you marry your desperate choice of partner, so shall you. But please excuse me. I find I no longer have an appetite."

I stand up, planning to make a swift exit before Emlinith speaks further and drives me to cause a scene.