They talked a while as the food on the table gradually diminished to crumbs and a few slices of cake, or a handful of nuts. Then Elrond stood and there was instant hush. He raised his arms out, his billowing sleeves making his presence even more imperious.
“I hope the food as been enjoyable,” he said, and there was a great banging of happy fists on the table in reply, “but now I ask to you stand so that the servants may move the table back.” Everyone did so, and the mahogany table was moved as quickly as possible. It actually split into two, and one half went to one end of the hall and the other was placed at the other, by the door. Elrond spoke again as a small group of elves sat themselves in one corner and produced instruments of exquisite nature. “Now I can announce that it is time for merriment; song and dance is all welcome!”
The guests clapped as the minstrels struck up a tune. Freyja joined the dance, for it needed many people and she knew it well. She noticed most of the companions stood to one side – the Gondorian, the dwarf, the four hobbits, and Aragorn, who stood beside Arwen’s chair, speaking to her quietly. The wizard, Gandalf the Grey, who came here often, had disappeared with Elrond into a small chamber adjoined to the hall. Legolas, it seemed, also knew the dance, and was joining in. Freyja felt her heart to begin to beat wildly as they came nearer and nearer to each other. She gripped, it seemed to her whirling head, countless hands and span countless times, until she reached out and clasped his. It was warm, and though callused she knew it could be a soft touch when needed, and her skin tingled with the sensation. She avoided his eyes, which she could feel penetrating her face, and carried on the dance. She did not want to part from the brief moments in which they touched, but she let go and did not notice that she was repeating the dance with another.
Soon, the air became dense and hot. She took part in only two more dances before the atmosphere became unbearable. She stumbled towards the balcony doors, feeling the night air cool her burning skin. There was no other out on the balcony. It had a thick stone wall running around its rim, and two stone staircases winding away down the mountainside to her right and to her left. She rested her hands on the stone wall, closing her eyes and breathing deep the small of autumn and pine. The stone was cool to the touch, but it harboured tiny warmth from the sun or from the fire inside, she could not tell. She began to sing quietly to herself, as was normal for an elf to do.
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there,
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold ~
She stopped and span around as she heard a small sound behind her. Legolas stood in the doorway, framed by the light of the hall behind him, and his face glowing silver with the moonlight before him.
“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, “I like the song even better when it comes from your fair lips.” Freyja reddened, and looked away. He came to stand closer to her. “I believe we have not met before. My name is Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm. I have no need of titles, so call me Legolas.” Freyja inclined her head and tilted her knees into a small and polite curtsey.
“I am Freyja of Imladris. I have no title.” Legolas nudged the upper half of his body into an easy bow.
“Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo.” He said. A star shines on the hour of our meeting. It was a phrase often used metaphorically, for stars and the night were held in high regard between elves, and the phrase was simply another way of saying that one was honoured to meet the other.
“Hannon le. But I am not worthy of such a statement.” She replied, and turned her back on him, pressing her palms against the cool stone to calm the frayed beating of her heart.
Legolas came and stood next to her, looking out across the valley between the mountains. All was silent between them; the only sounds were the rush of the waterfalls, the breeze stirring the leaves and the sounds of gaiety from inside the hall.
“It was getting far too hot in there. I came out for fresh air.” Legolas finally sighed, turning his head to look at Freyja. “I had hoped that I would not simply stand on a balcony. I have two months to wait here, but I would like to know Rivendell well. Perhaps a moonlight walk would be nice, if you accompanied me.” Freyja smiled.
“That is a long way to go about asking me to walk with you.” She looked at him, a mischievous spark in her eyes. He smiled, his cheeks acquiring a bit of pink. “But I shall. Where would you like to go?” He shrugged.
“Take me anywhere.” Freyja hesitated and then began down the steps to her left.
“Then I shall take you to my favourite place.” He followed without question.
They sat on a marble bench, shrouded by the bushes about them. The stars were like diamonds above them, and before them stood a marble statue of a woman.
“That is Aragorn’s mother, Gilraen. She brought him here after Arathorn, his father, died. She died soon after, and Elrond himself looked after Aragorn. We know him here as Estel.”
“Hope.” Legolas murmured. Freyja nodded.
“She was a brave woman. I remember her well. Beautiful, for a mortal. And proud. Aragorn was two years. I wish he could remember her.”
“You are fond of Aragorn?” Legolas asked. Freyja nodded.
“He is like a brother to me.” She looked at Legolas. “You may say title has no bearing, but to me it does. I have never been wholly popular here, but Aragorn took care of me.” She looked back at the statue and smiled fondly. “As his mother once did.” She sighed heavily. “Aragorn fell in love with Arwen, and I have not had such a friendship with any other. We are good friends, Legolas, but his attentions have changed. To much better things, might I add. I am not unhappy or bitter. Just… lonely sometimes.” Legolas wanted to reach out and touch her, to show her that he cared. But they had only just met, and it would not have been right.
“Do you believe in love, Freyja?” He asked.
“I do.” She replied instantly.
“Then do you believe in love at first sight?” There was a slow silence, as Freyja studied him, her heart pounding wildly. Could he tell? Had he guessed?
“Sometimes, yes. Then other times, I wonder if such a gift could be true.”
“I believe it to be true.”
“Have you experienced such a thing?”
“Once.” He said slowly. “Once, I believed I had. But until I tasted real love, what love truly feels like, I could not see what it really was.”
“What was it?”
“Desire.” He answered huskily. “We desired one another, and such a thing cannot build love from such treacherous grounds. Desire can come and go like the winds of spring, and that is no reason to believe in love.” He looked away, his eyes clouding with distant memories. But I desire you! Freyja wanted to cry. And I believe this to be the foundation of such a love!
“But Tinúviel and Beren – theirs was desire, and that created a love so pure and strong that ~”
“It killed them both.” Legolas replied, almost with anger. Freyja recoiled slightly, feeling the biting jab of hurt in her chest. He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts that plagued him, and felt in his heart sorrow. “I’m sorry, Freyja. That was not I speaking. I was too deep in thought about bad things that it shows. Forgive me.”
“It is already forgiven. I cannot blame you, and I feel bad for pressing such memories on you.”
“Don’t.” He insisted desperately, reaching out and touching her arm. “I would not like this evening to be ruined.” He did not notice that he kept his hand there.
“It wouldn’t ruin it.” She whispered, her whole body screaming at his touch.