Chapter 10

Rivendell was beautiful during the spring. The waters of the Bruinen River ran clear and deep, the rapids roaring loudly. Saplings stretched their tender, uncurling leaves for the vast blue sky. The flower filled pastures were full of stumbling foals and watchful mares. The halls of the Last Homely House were a hive of activity, for today was the Spring Solstice and tonight marked the start of three nights of feasting and celebration.

The cooks in the kitchens stirred, whipped and shouted at one another above boiling pots steaming with aromatic smells. Maids and errand boys bustled through the halls, chattering quietly but happily as they went about their tasks. The gardeners were busy in the fields and terrace gardens gathering flowers and herbs for the festivities. The stable doors were propped open, a parade of horses going in and out as the best of Rivendell's steeds were led out to be groomed.

Elrond Half Elven stood by the railing of the library's porch, watching the preparations with a content smile. Today for once, the golden circlet upon his brow did not feel like a burden. The day was warm and bright, so his usually heavy velvet robes had been replaced with a light silk robe instead, belted with a thin black sash. His hair was free this day from the traditional braids to trail down his sturdy back in thick waves of ebony.

Turning at the sound of the library door opening, Elrond observed the nervous errand boy pausing upon the threshold. With a sigh, he moved from his place on the porch to resume his seat behind the large oak writing desk that dominated the floor of the airy room.

"You may enter. What can I do for you, friend?"

With a swift bob of his head the errand boy took a few steps into the study and paused, giving a bow from the waist to the Lord and Master of Rivendell. A pale flicker of gold shifted behind the deep blue of the errand boy's tunic, bright against the shade of the hallway.

"A messenger has arrived, my lord. He waits in the hall."

Elrond smiled.

"So I see. Where is this messenger from, if I may ask?"

The elf blushed at his unintentional omission.

"Apologies, my lord…he has journeyed from Lothlorien."

Despite the warm sunlight and light breeze playing amongst the treetops and along it verdant borders, one could not tell that spring had come to the heart of the Greenwood. The trees did not unfurl green leaves and the flowers that bloomed were all the colors of the night, petals black as orcs' blood. The rivers ran slow and quiet, miasma floating above the dark waters. Spiders tended their young in webs strung between fungus ridden trees, their numerous eyes glittering in the gloom and mandibles clicking loudly away in the heavy silence.

Deep within the forest and far beneath the earth, laid the home of Thranduil, King of Greenwood the Great, and his court. Within the largest of the underground halls, a great feast was in progress. Figures in glittering finery twirled and danced before a huge hearth, the flames making the jewels draped upon the spinning figures sparkle like stars.

Before the hearth stood a large throne, carved of black wood and twisted into pained contortions like the roots of a dying tree desperately seeking water. Upon the throne lounged the figure of Thranduil, son of Orophor. The honey brown fur and forest green leather draped across his tall figure set off the silver, antlered crown upon his head and the bright golden hair woven through it.

Thranduil sipped at his wine, watching the merry making of his people. He was about to join in the dancing when a commotion came from the opposite side of the hall.

Slipping through the crowd with ease was the thin, armor bedecked form of a border scout. Thranduil settled back onto the throne with a sigh. The dirt smudged scout went to one knee without hesitation. The king frowned for a moment at the sight of bloody tears in the scout's green and black uniform, before waving a hand at a nearby servant and nodding at the kneeling elf.

"Bring food and water, now."

Turning to the scout at his feet, he stared at the elf, sky blue eyes growing cold and curious.

"You are many leagues distant your post, warrior. Why?"

Lifting his bowed head at the king's question, the scout softy replied.

"Two evenings past a stranger attempted to enter our borders with stealth. My squadron and I detained and questioned him. He is a messenger from the White Lord and Lady, my King."

Galadriel stared into the pool of water, the silver bottom of the pool distorted in the ripples caused by the wind. She willed the water to show something, anything but no matter how hard she concentrated or how long she watched, the surface of the water remained clear.

Coming to this glade in the heart of the Golden Wood was something she had not done in an Age or more. She came here now as last resort. Nearly two years to the day had passed since that night she had been woken from her sleep, the light of two powerful beings flaring to life in her minds eye. It had been two years of fruitless searching for them in the perilous depths of Fangorn and being rebuffed at every turn by the dark presence of the forest. Every scout sent to Fangorn found their way barred by thickets of thorn and thistle, every creature within setting tooth and claw against elven armor with a terrible fury.

The bright sparks of light that had represented these elven souls in her Sight were gone, disappeared. Not gone in death, no, for she would have felt it had such power disappeared from Arda completely. It was as if a veil had covered them…shielded them from her ever seeking eyes. Fangorn, it seemed, had claimed them as its own.

And not even the old magicks of ages past could help her find them.

Turning and making her way out of the glade into the perpetual blue twilight of Lothlorien, Galadriel pondered upon her dilemma. Celeborn, her Lord, had been in the right when he sent messengers to Elrond and Thranduil mere months ago. But still, there was a part of her, deep within the deepest recesses of her heart, which wished she had been able to find such powerful creatures herself.

Galadriel gave a sharp shake of her head as she made her way up the pale, glowing stairs the led to her and Celeborn's bower, high amongst the mallorn trees. Such hungering for power had no place within the heart of the White Lady, not when she knew the dark reaches such desire would lead her to.

When Galadriel had reached the top of the stairs, she paused for a moment to observe her husband sleeping upon a daybed. Silver hair spread out beneath his head in shimmering strands and one broad hand had slipped from its resting place upon his chest to trail long fingers against the warm wood floor.

Galadriel smiled at the sight of him and shook off the dark feelings that had plagued her mere moments before. While the power of those vanished soul may never be hers, Celeborn's heart was. Joining her husband upon the daybed, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and closed her eyes, ready to join him in dreams.

With the other elven lords coming to her aid, it would matter not who or what was hiding the two from her Sight. Nothing short of a powerful Istari could stand up to the combined strength of two Rings of power.

Elrond leaned back within his chair, studying the crowd of elves before him. Lords and ladies dressed in their finest danced to the minstrels' lively music, servants slipping with quick footed grace between the dancing pairs. In the midst of the crowd a dip in the stone floor held a crackling fire, sparks leaping high and flickering in the wake of the dancers. The feasting hall was grand and large, and the dance floor was hemmed in on three sides by heavy hewn tables groaning under the weight of rich food and plentiful drink.

The doors to the feasting hall were thrown open to the warm spring air and through the archway streamed elves to and fro, the roar of the river dim amidst the loud celebrations. Seated at the center of the high table with his daughter, Arwen, to his right and his chief counselor, Erestor to his left, Elrond held the place of honor in this Feast of the Solstice.

To the right of Arwen, two seats were empty, though wreaths of herb and leaf sat upon them to honor those who were absent this night. Other than these two seats, every chair and stool in the cavernous banquet hall was filled. Those who had no seats danced or stood conversing against the walls and spilled out onto the steps outside of the hall, the heady scent of wine, flowers and roasting meat drifting through the air.

Gazing upon these empty seats, thoughts of the White Lady's messenger filled Elrond's mind. Erestor, noticing the direction of Elrond's gaze, turned toward his friend.

"Elladan and Elrohir were due to return from their hunt two nights past, were they not?"

Elrond nodded.

"Indeed they were."

Erestor frowned in concern as his lord continued to stare at the empty seats. Arwen, who had been watching the dancing, turned to her father and placed a pale hand upon Elrond's embroidered sleeve.

"Do not worry, Ada. They have not missed a Solstice Feast since they were elfings. They will turn up soon enough, I am sure. But until then, dance with me, please. Unless, of course" and here Arwen paused, a mischievous smile tilting her lips up " you feel your old bones might tire trying to keep up with me."

Elrond's dark eyes finally turned from the empty seats and towards his daughter. Truly, the "Evening Star' of Imladeris was glorious as her grandmother, Galadriel, this night. Clad in a red and blue velvet dress with a starry jewel upon her throat, her deep blue eyes shone with reflected light. Elrond smiled and decided Galadriel's message could wait for one night. Elrohir and Elladan were as predictable as their sister said and most likely would turn up sometime during the festivities, boasting of their hunt till their mouths ran dry.

The Lord of Riven stood and pushed back his chair and drew up Arwen. Walking past Erestor towards the dance floor, Elrond snagged his counselor's arm and drew him out of his chair as well. He gave a laugh as he pulled his friend along, ignoring the usually demure elf's cursing as he and Arwen made their way off the raised dais the head table stood upon.

"Come, my old friend, stop your cursing. Let's dance the night away as we did in our younger days and show my daughter the true meaning of tired!"

"We're going to be laaaate!"

Elrohir gritted his teeth at the long drawn out whine which grated against his ears. Though his brother, Elladan, was supposedly the older of the twins, tonight he was acting like an elfling. Even the horses were starting to get annoyed with Elladan, manes and tails twitch in irritation every time his twin's voice reached that particular pitch. Taking a slow deep breath as his black steed cantered steadily along the path between the tall, wide trees, Elrohir relaxed his jaw and kept looking steadfastly forward.

"The Feasting doesn't end till the day after tomorrow, 'Ro, and we'll be home by evening if we keep this pace. We are not going to be late!"

Elladan gave a moan of horror and quickly moved his horse to walk side by side with his brother's horse. Where his brother's steed was midnight black, his was the pale white of a river stone, though with the coat of dust upon each steeds hide it was hard to tell in the early morning light. Elladan held his mount's reins loosely in one hand and gesticulated wildly with the other.

"We are too going to be late! The first night of Feasting is always the best...and we're missing it! And this time it's completely your fault!"

Elrohir looked at his brother in astonishment. Each brother had long black hair gathered together in a rough braid beneath his brown hood and the same large grey eyes looked at one another. Each wore light leather armor covered be a lengthy cloak, its heavy material still damp with last night's rain. Elrohir carried two curved blades strapped over his cloak and Elladan a single sword, heavier and broader than his twin's scimitars. Heavy saddle bags bulging with the fruits of their hunt lay snug and secure upon their horses backs. The smell of blood came from the saddle bags and mixed with the crisp scent of the evergreen trees around them

"It is not my fault! I'm not the one who thought it'd be a good idea to stick a wasp's nest into a sleeping warg's mouth. That one was all your idea!"

Elrohir rolled his eyes in exasperation. When he made to keep up his scolding, his brother quickly interrupted him before he could gather any more steam.

"How about a wager, 'Dan?" he asked in a calculating voice. If there was one thing that Elrohir enjoyed more than scolding his big brother, it was gambling. Elrohir raised a suspicious eyebrow at his brother, wise to his twin's scheming after so many years.

"What kind of wager?"

Elladan grinned.

"It is the racing kind, little brother. If I make it back to the valley before you, you promise you'll never tell Ada about the warg and the wasp's nest. Is it a deal?"

Elrohir held up a hand.

"Not so fast, 'Ro. What do I get if I make it back first?"

Elladan thought for a moment.

"I promise I will never tell Ada it was you who dyed Arwen's skin purple last Solstice."

Elrohir gave a decisive nod. It would be a relief to remove that particular incident from Elladan's blackmail material. He quickly squeezed his knees to his steed's side, taking off in a flash and laughing at the indignant squawk he heard behind him.

"It's a deal!" he shouted over his shoulder.

The two brothers disappeared into the trees, late afternoon light filtering down upon the forest loam.

Thranduil took a deep drink from his goblet, staring at the thick parchment spread before him on his study's stained and blackened table. The glow of the evening lamps lit every corner of the cavernous room, the walls thick with weapons of past battles and painted scenes of war. The stone floor was covered heavily with furs and rugs of all sorts, muffling the soft murmur of scribes. Though the study was many floors below the feasting hall, the stamp of dancing feet and the slow, steady beat of drums could still be heard.

Setting his goblet down and picking up the letter, Thranduil walked towards one of the study's fireplaces. This one was large and dominated most of one wall, the heat overwhelming the chill of the air so far beneath the earth.

So a new power had come to Arda…one interesting enough to have the White Lady calling for counsel in the finding of it. And Fangorn of all places is where it chose to roost. How curious.

Thranduil crumbled the missive in his hand and tossed it into the leaping flames. However curious such a thing might be, he could not spare aid for the White Lady now. Not when the Greenwood was slowly growing dark and the long, watchful nights closed in about him. Let her erstwhile son-in-law send her aid from his hidden valley, safely nested within the long arms of the Bruinen.

Thranduil sent a look of disgust towards the flames and turned away. Gathering his goblet, he made his way across the study and towards the grand stairways, intent on rejoining the evening's festivities. The doors closed with a heavy thud behind him, Galadriel's forgotten message curling slowly within the fire.

Enjoy every one!