Ringspell

Chapter 17.
The Elven-King's table...

Aragorn dressed as quickly as he could manage, under the scrutiny of the two Elves, hurrying his companions on, as he went. The Ranger thought he knew enough, to know that keeping Thranduil waiting was probably not a good idea.

Their guides, however, appeared not to share Aragorn's desire for haste, leading them slowly down the hall and up the stairs to level three of the Halls.

When they reached the level on which the Prince's chamber lay, they travelled only a third of the distance down the hall, and turned right through a closed door.

The passage beyond appeared to be some sort of service route. It was quite narrow and consisted solely of stairs, occasionally broken by a door set into the wall. They travelled up the through the passage to the first level, without stopping.

When they stepped through the door at the top, they found themselves standing in the hallway the bore the epic murals on the walls. Aragorn relaxed significantly; his need for a direct route out of the levels below, had been satisfied.

They headed down the hall, into the first great chamber, striding past the fountain without pause, and going out through the huge door in the wall to their right. The hallway they found curved sharply to the right and then quite suddenly stopped. There were two huge, double-doors, facing each other at the end of the hall, both identical, heavily gilded in the golden theme that graced the top level of the Elven-King's home.

The company's guides halted and gestured towards the doors on the left.

"The Dining Hall lies through this door." One of Elves said.

"Where does that door go?" Pippin asked, pointing to the one on their right.

"That door leads to the Hall of Kings." The Elf replied.

"The what?"

"It's the throne-room." Aragorn told him. "Come on," He urged them, "Let's not keep the King waiting." He reached out and, since the doors appeared to have no handle, pushed hard on the gilded wood.

The doors swung open, with surprisingly little resistance and beyond, as their guides had promised, lay the Dining Hall.

The chamber was four times the size of any other they had seen. Simply a massive square, filled with row upon row of long tables, set in two columns, a path between them leading to the far end of the hall where, on a landing some four feet above the floor, lay the King's table.

The chamber was filled to the brim with a sea of Elven citizens, who sat at their tables, chatting easily while they awaited their meal, the words that issued from a thousand mouths filling the air with a steady buzz.

The company made their way, somewhat nervously down the hall, towards the King and as they did, the tables of Elves that they passed eased their chatter, watching the strangers. Remarkably, there was very little in the way of reaction to their presence and Aragorn suspected the citizens of Mirkwood may have been warned about the appearance of their guests.

As they neared the King's table, Aragorn saw that Gandalf sat beside Thranduil, on his left, and on the Elven-King's right, sat his son. On either side of Gandalf and Legolas, eight seats were empty, reserved for the King's guests. The first to mount the stairs that led up to the landing, Aragorn went straight to the chair that sat beside the Prince.

Feeling somewhat obliged to apologise for their tardiness, (the Elves in the hall had obviously been waiting, for some time, to be fed) Aragorn hesitated before seating himself, addressing the Elven-King with as much respect as he could muster.

"**Forgive us our lateness, your Majesty,**" He began, but Thranduil would have none of it, waving him to his seat with very little in the way of greeting. Feeling awkward in the unfamiliar social setting, Aragorn sat, relieved to have been excused from his speech.

"Good evening." Legolas said, smiling. Aragorn looked beside him, at the Prince. Legolas appeared to have changed clothes again, for the engagement.

Trading his casual look for something a little more formal, the young Elf was dressed now in a perfectly tailored robe of rich green, that hugged his slender form, like a glove.

In the Prince's hair had been woven several slender chains of silver, barely visible amongst the golden locks. The look was quite elegant and, Aragorn thought as he watched the Elf gaze out over his subjects, decidedly feminine, though there was no chance of confusing the Prince's gender.

Aragorn found himself staring again; the finely cut profile of the Elfs' face holding the Ranger's attention.

He let his eyes wander over the vision, consciously remembering what he saw; the angle of the jaw, the finely sculpted nose, the long, dark lashes and soft, pink lips. If he hadn't thought so before, Aragorn now decided that Legolas was perfect.

As though sensing the intensity of the Ranger's gaze, the Elf turned his head, to look at him, curiously.

"Is everything alright, Aragorn?" The Prince asked, concern touching his flawless features.

As he always did, when Legolas looked at him, Aragorn smiled.

"Yes," he said. "everything is fine."

Legolas smiled back at him, sweetly and as their eyes met, amongst the buzz and activity of the giant hall, the two friends shared something.

It was not something tangible or specific; if asked, Aragorn would have been unable to describe it. It was simply a warm feeling of friendship and familiarity, a silent declaration of fondness, that occurred without thought or presumption.

It was comfortable, and pleasant and utterly pure.

Aragorn's heart, full of love for the beautiful Elven Prince, began to flutter.

Somewhere in the hall, a loud bell was chimed, shattering the private moment and immediately, several dozen Elves appeared through a series of doors in the side wall, each heavily laden, with huge platters of food.

Further down the table, Gimli laughed.

"Ah-ha! Food!" The Dwarf triumphantly announced. "Bring it on, my belly's been grumbling for hours now."

The King's table was, unsurprisingly, served first and, as plate after heaped plate was set along the length of the table, Aragorn realized the full extent of his own hunger.

The platters consisted mostly of heaps* of dark berries, from several different bushes, and all kinds of fruits; sliced, diced and in some cases left whole. There was also a good deal of greenery, and piles of warm, soft bread, presented with with more kinds of cheese than Aragorn had known existed.

One of the Elves, came along and filled the elegant glass before Aragorn, with a dark red liquid, presumably wine. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, under the service of his hosts, Aragorn reached gratefully for the drink and had raised it almost to his lips, when Legolas gently touched his arm.

"Wait for a moment." The Prince said softly, to him.

Aragorn replaced his glass on the table and looked around, realising with embarrassment that he had been the only one about to drink. Even Gimli appeared to be patiently awaiting some signal to begin, perhaps given similar warning by the Elf who sat beside him.

Finally, the entire hall had been presented with its meal and when the Elves who were serving disappeared, the noise died down considerably, and those on the tables below looked expectantly towards their King.

Thranduil, who had observed the serving in silence, now stood, lifting his glass off the table and holding it out before him. The others in the hall followed suit, the quiet hum of lowered voices becoming silent.

"**My friends,**" the King addressed his people, his strong voice easily filling the hall. "**to peace.**" The hall rumbled with the sound of gentle thunder, as a thousand voices repeated the simple words, and then was silent again, as the citizens drank.

The conversation struck-up where it had left off, as though there had been no interruption, joined now, with the sound of clinking plates and cutlery, as the Elves began their meal.

"Where's the meat?" Aragorn heard Gimli's voice, from the other end of the table.

Someone apparently told the Dwarf that there was no meat.

"What?! What kind of person has guests for dinner and doesn't serve any meat?"

Several conversations ceased, as the Elves shot uncomfortable glances in Gimli's direction.

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged concerned looks.

"I mean, how am I supposed to eat this? It's mostly grass."

Everybody froze; Thranduil spoke.

"You are welcome to leave, if you wish." The King said ominously. Gimli, who sat on the other side of Gandalf, looked across the wizard, at Thranduil and took it upon himself to voice his complaint, directly to the King.

"Well, I don't mean to cause offence, your Majesty, but we're not rabbits." The Dwarf explained. "We should be eating rabbits. I saw some nice-looking deer on the way in."

"Gimli!" Gandalf whispered harshly. "Hold your tongue."

Thranduil took a moment to reply, seemingly reigning in his irritation.

"If you truly wish to behave like an animal, friend Gimli, you can go down to the kennels and share the Wolves' dinner." the King said, matter-of-factly. "I believe they have are being served bear carcass, tonight."

Not surprisingly, Gimli took offence.

"You'll not put me in with the dogs, you pompous son of a "“ argh!"

"Be quiet, Gimli!" Gandalf repeated, apparently stomping with some force, on the Dwarf's foot. "You must forgive him, your Majesty, our friend is unaccustomed to the company of Elves." The old wizard explained.

"Indeed." Thranduil seemed neither convinced or appeased. Though nothing else was said on the matter, the atmosphere at the King's table was tense and conversation sparse, as the people around them continued their meals.

Aragorn for one, was thoroughly enjoying the King's offerings, trying hard to appear civilised while he stuffed berries and fruit and warm bread into his mouth, washing it all down with copious amounts of the sweet, red wine.

Invariably, as the Man's glass was emptied, an Elf who stood silently behind the table, reached over his shoulder and refilled it.

He drank again.

The glass was filled again.

A part of Aragorn's brain began warning him to slow down, but he could not hear it, over the rumbling of his stomach and the joyous celebration inside his mouth.

"You found the baths alright?" Legolas asked. Aragorn tried to swallow, but his mouth was too full to allow the food easy passage.

He drank some wine, to help it down.

"Yes." He replied to his friends' question. "The water was remarkably warm." He commented. Legolas nodded.

"It is taken from the springs to a chamber where it gets heated before it is sent to the baths. I trust you enjoyed it, then?" The Prince asked.

Aragorn's mouth was full of food, again.

He washed it down.

"Oh, yes. We just sat in there until the -hic- people came and got us."

All of a sudden, Aragorn's meal threatened to return on him. He took a deep breath, to settle it.

He noticed his glass in front of him.

He drank.

Then, he ate.

Then, he drank some more.

Legolas appeared to give up on the conversation, allowing the Ranger to eat for a while, without interruption.

Aragorn scraped clean his plate and promptly reached over and began to refill it. It seemed to him that the noise in the hall had increased significantly, and he almost asked the Elves in the hall if they would mind being quiet. The conversations around him were becoming hard to follow, the swiftly spoken elvish words beginning to run into each other, when they reached the Ranger's brain. He gave up trying to listen, and concentrated instead, on the plate in front of him. He looked down at his heap of food and had trouble deciding where to start.

He took a drink of wine, to clean his palate.

He had ploughed through almost half of his second plate, when Legolas spoke to him again.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" Aragorn's host asked, pleasantly.

Aragorn was half-way through a drink.

He nodded emphatically, as he struggled to swallow without spilling the liquid out of his mouth.

"Yes." He finally got out. "I've not eaten so much in years!" He said, expansively before putting a large chunk of bread and some cheese in his mouth.

Had he looked across at Legolas then, Aragorn might have noticed the mild amusement that crossed the Elfs' face, as he watched the Ranger chew, swallow, and drink some more wine.

"Take care to leave room for dessert." The Prince warned.

Aragorn had not considered the possibility of dessert. He looked down at what remained on his plate and considered carefully the size of his stomach.

He drank some wine, to help him think.

He decided he would make room for dessert, if need be, and dove back into the fresh food in front of him. He was just scraping up the last dregs from the emptied plate, when another bell chimed, and the Elves who had served the food, returned to collect what was left. Aragorn's glass was taken away from him, and he almost protested, before another glass replaced it. He held up the new glass, meticulously inspecting it. It seemed terribly small.

"What's this for?" Aragorn asked, louder than he had intended.

"Sína." Legolas answered. Aragorn grunted.

"What's that?"

"I believe your people would refer to it as 'the good stuff'." The Prince explained.

"Ah." Aragorn put the glass back down on the table and waited for it to be filled. Before it was, though, the second part of their meal was served.

Aragorn did not know what the wobbly, white stuff on the plate set before him was, but instinct told him it was probably very tasty. A small bowl filled with a thick, red substance was placed on the table beside his plate. Following the Prince's lead, Aragorn used a small spoon to pour some some of the red stuff over the white stuff.

The preparation complete, he ploughed his spoon into the dessert.

It wobbled.

For reasons he could not explain, Aragorn found this extremely funny and though he tried valiantly to prevent it, a somewhat ridiculous sounding giggle escaped him. The sound he had made also struck the Ranger as amusing, and he began to feel decidedly giddy, as he struggled to contain his laughter.

Legolas looked at him, thorough confusion written on the Elfs' fine features.

"Are you alright?" The Prince asked, in his pretty voice. Aragorn realized he was making something of a scene, and he swiftly rounded up his runaway humour, trying to regain his composure.

"Of course I'm alright." The Ranger said, with some difficulty.

Legolas eyed him closely for a moment.

"Would you like a glass of water?" He asked.

Almost simultaneously, the same Elf who had poured the Ranger's wine, now filled his new glass with a clear liquid.

Without pause for reflection, Aragorn lifted the glass.

"That is - " Legolas began.

He threw the contents down his throat.

" - not water."

Aragorn choked.

The clear liquid in the glass had burned his throat and he struggled to breathe around the searing heat in his chest. For a moment, he feared he had been poisoned. He coughed violently and Legolas suggested that he take some dessert. He did so, and gradually the burning inside his body eased, as the Sína was diluted and helped down by the white stuff, which turned out, as per the Ranger's suspicion, to be very tasty.

His glass was refilled.

Aragorn ate about a third of his dessert before considering the Sína again. He lifted the small glass and eyed it warily for a moment, considering his angle of attack. He tried a tiny sip. The liquid seemed to evaporate before it reached his throat. He tried a bigger sip. The stuff made it down this time but tasted terrible. Seeing only one way to deal with the situation, he tilted the glass back and braced himself. The burning sensation came again, but did not seem so bad, now that Aragorn was prepared for it. In fact, he now decided it was quite pleasant. The Elf behind them poured some more of the stuff.

He drank it.

He looked down at his dessert and out of nowhere, his gut complained again, heaving dangerously as Aragorn took deep, laborious breaths. A part of his brain told him he was drunk, in a tone that suggested it had warned him, that that might happen. Aragorn paid little attention to it. He cared not.

What the Ranger did pay attention to though, was the persistent call of nature that was becoming louder and more urgent, by the minute. He tried to count the number of drinks he had had. He made it to three, when the memories of seeing his glass refilled began to overlap.

Sighing, Aragorn resigned himself to the facts; yes, he was quite drunk and yes, he would have to ask someone for directions to the nearest privy.

He turned to Legolas, and, trying to be discreet, asked where he could go to relieve himself. Alarmingly, the Prince turned immediately to his father, and Aragorn feared the whole table was about to find out how badly he needed to pee.

However, when Thranduil broke himself from his quiet conversation with Gandalf, Legolas spoke to him in little more than a whisper and asked, quite enigmatically if he could be excused. Thranduil nodded imperceptibly, and Legolas rose and turned back to Aragorn.

"Come," the Prince said, "I will take you."

Aragorn pushed back his chair, which ground loudly against the polished floor, causing several Elves to look curiously in his direction. He then struggled to follow Legolas' straight path out of the Dining Hall, painfully aware that everyone was looking at him.

He was, he admitted quietly to himself, somewhat unsteady on his feet, and the room heaved dangerously to and fro, before his eyes.

Once they had made it safely out of the Hall, and Legolas had pulled the doors closed, softly behind them, Aragorn was drowned in a sea of relief. That was, he decided, the most socially awkward situation he had ever been in. He followed Legolas down the hallway and into the first great chamber, where the Elf quite suddenly stopped and looked at him.

"How badly do you need to go?" He asked, frankly.

Aragorn responded, he needed to go, very badly.

Legolas pointed to the exit.

"Out there will be much faster than in here." The Prince said, with a tone that indicated he had taken that route himself, many times. Aragorn whispered a heart-felt 'thank-you' and walked, as fast as he could without falling over, towards the forest, weaving a good deal, along the way.

He returned a minute later, much more relaxed, but still just as drunk and when Legolas suggested that they return to the Dining Hall, the Ranger was unable to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Legolas smiled sweetly, and told him that it mattered little, if they returned or not, the meal was almost over.

They stood in the Hall for a moment, neither with anything more to say and the silence threatened to become awkward until the Prince, whose face Aragorn was having more and more trouble bringing into focus, headed off the discomfort.

"Shall we go downstairs?" He asked. "I have a bottle of Sína, in my room" He offered temptingly.

Aragorn succumbed, saying he would like very much, to go downstairs.

Legolas turned and headed off towards the central passage-way, and, his heart doing unexplained acrobatic manoeuvres in his chest, Aragorn followed.

*1)That's 'heaps' as in 'piles', not 'heaps' as in 'lots'. Just thought i'd clear that up.
*2)Sína "“ the word I made up for elvish Vodka.

-------------

To be continued...