The Song of the Dance
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,442
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,442
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Task
THE SONG OF THE DANCE
Chapter 2: The Task
The palace consisted of a series of ascending telain and twining stairways among a dozen great mellyrn in the heart of the city. On the ground, amid grass and twig, was the welcoming hall, formed by great branches curving in arcs high overhead. Several workers scattered throughout, finishing the renovations they had labored over the past few years. Further on were the kitchens and other hidden rooms and servants’ quarters, and many elves were coming and going this time of day. A white stair led to the first level of talan, which held an open court with rarely used thrones for the Lady and Lord. Higher up were conference rooms and a careful series of twisting libraries. Higher still were the homes of several of Lorien’s counselors and advisors. Beyond that was a private dining area, and further up: the quarters of the Lord and Lady themselves.
Haldir reached the welcoming hall at a run. One of his lesser sentries witnessed his hurried entrance and smiled, merely pointing upward as if to say, 'They wait upon your convenience.' Haldir glowered quite fiercely, setting the younger elf to cowering, before he took to the great stairs. Up and up he went, past the courts and meeting halls, past libraries and living quarters until he finally reached the entryway to a long talan. There were no railings on this level, and past the empty length of the room was a small table where sat Celeborn and Galadriel.
Haldir had halted at the door, silently watching as Lord Celeborn reclined in his chair in a rare instance of repose. After a moment of observation, Haldir shifted his stance, the swishing of garments announcing his presence. He only crossed the threshold when Celeborn looked up to bid him enter with a raised hand and friendly smile.
The old elf watched the march-warden stride across the room and upon reaching the table, bow low. “My Lord, my Lady, I apologize for my tardiness.”
“And you are excused,” Galadriel said, a twinkle in her eye, a smirk on fair lips, sending Haldir to nervous shudders as he wondered if she could see just what had been keeping him. “Now, Haldir of the March, friend and trusted servant, join us.”
Haldir inclined his head, pulling out a finely carved chair to sit across from the pair, and fill his plate.
***
The light fare was delicious, and filling to elven stomachs. They dined on the freshest produce from the Lady’s gardens and bread hot from the ovens, and sipped the finest wine, intermingled with light conversation about the previous day’s festival.
But as the dinner came to an end and the three elves finished off a sweet pudding, Galadriel finally got down to the root of his invitation. “Tell me Haldir, what do you know of our upcoming festival of Byeltinyeh?”
Glad to be done with the courtesies, the elf set his goblet aside. “I know that this year’s Midsummer festival has been planned with utmost care and attention to detail. The Lord of Imladris and his family, along with about half his household will attend, as will a contingent of elves from Mirkwood, though I understand Thranduil the King is not… inclined to come himself.”
“Aye, you have it correctly,” Celeborn nodded, pushing away his own chalice. “And we are determined to make this celebration unlike any occasion Arda has yet known.”
A small smile tipped Haldir’s lips in his usual smirk. “This I have seen. The welcoming hall has undergone some great renovations these past years. Now I know why: the hall has become a dance floor, and the bonfire pit enlarged, yes? The weavers have been busy… do they then prepare decorative tapestries and elegant costumes for these nights of feasting? And I couldn’t help but notice an increase in attention to the fruit trees this year, for the finest food imaginable I presume, and I know your ey ofy of staff in the winery has increased as well. All this for three nights of celebration?”
“You’ve hit the mark every time,” Celeborn confirmed, impressed at Haldir’s deductions. He grinned at Haldir’s perception and the warden returned the expression, though quickly turned away again.
“But we want this to be more than a ritual observation, more than a gathering of friends,” Galadriel coolly explained. “This shall be an occasion no one will ever forget, a chance to join most deeply our bodies to our souls in the Great Feast of Byeltinyeh.”
“To do this,” Celeborn continued, “My Lady has thought to resurrect an old custom, a tradition that I fear may have been lost through the ages in fear and doubt.”
When the conversation lapsed, Haldir asked, “And what is this ancient secret you speak of?”
Galadriel leaned forward in her seat, a light of intrigue and happy anticipation in her endless eyes. Her voice was secretive indeed and low as spokspoke, “Have you ever heard of The Dance?”
Frozen in uncertain shock for a moment, Haldir’s face then lit up in a disbelieving grin. “The Dance?” he asked, laughing, “But that is just a myth!” Observing Celeborn’s sober expression and Galadriel’s intensely serious one, Haldir’s grin faded as his eyes flicked back and forth between the two ancients. “…Isn’t it?”
The powerful elves shared a look before Galadriel answered. “The Dance,” she explained, “Is an ancient tradition. No one can tell of its origins or even how it ever came to be or why. Also, few are gifted with the ability to perform this feat of magic, even if they have the knowledge. For nearly two ages of this world, The Dance was considered a profane offense, punishable by exile. At the dawning of the third age, this ban was lifted, but the deed itself is still considered forbidden. None would dare to do this thing on their own. But the world is a free place where all aspects of ourselves should be embraced. We want to celebrate that.”
As she spoke, Haldir’s mind had calmed, and it seemed that ageless voice called forth images of times long past, deeds long misunderstood, and hope for a new acceptance - a new freedom among the firstborn. For a moment, the March Warden seemed lost to memories that were not his until he realized the voice had ceased, and silence reigned in the open room among the high trees.
He hadn’t realized his eyes were closed until he opened them, seeing his Lady’s hopeful face, pale and new and beautiful before him. Still, he doubted. “Let’s say you are right,” he began for the sake of argument. “Why are you telling me?”
Celeborn was the one to answer, his deep tenor soothing and his eyes kind. “Besides my Lady and myself, you are the only one we trust to do this thing.”
A raised eyebrow questioned this trust.
Celeborn sighed wearily. “Our many counselors and advisors are good and honest elves, but they are simply too…”
“Stuck in their ways,” Haldir said bluntly. “They would not approve the wisdom of your ambition, nor willingly pursue it.”
The Lord and Lady shared a knowing smile. They had chosen Haldir for a reason.
“So,” he continued, “when they do not serve your needs, you turn to the ever reliable March Wardens. And yet,” Haldir leaned back, tipping on the legs of his chair as he thought a moment. “The eastern March Captain… Annaglar would take up your cause enthusiastically, but his tendency for talk is far too great a risk, as I imagine you’d rather retain SOME air of mystery regarding the eve’s entertainment. On the other hand, Cudae, Captain of the southern March and the son of a Lord, would speak not a whisper of your plots, yet blushes at the mention of courtship; he is far too old fashioned. And Din-alqua of the west, bless her heart, is simply too young for whatever it is you have in mind. So, you turn to Haldir, ever subtle in his unending loyalty,” he sighed at his almost humorous th hig highly accurate description of himself, “to… do what, exactly?”
“To go out into our lands,” Celeborn decreed. “There must be someone in Lorien who knows the art. We are certain, if there is, you will find him or her. Besides, any simple sentry sent on such a mission would probably not glean the truth, and you are right: people here know and respect you, Haldir. They have faith in your honesty and,” he grinned, “subtlety. As do we. That is why we ask this of you; that is why we charge you with this task. Short of Galadriel or myself going out to do this same thing, there is no other way.”
Haldir nodded his agreement. “And you’ve not the time to pursue this matter; I understand. Very well,” he said, standing from the table. “A most… unusual request. But if there is any in our wood who knows the Art of The Dance, I will find them.”
“Excellent,” Celeborn said, rising to dismiss the guar. “. “You have half a year.”
TBC
Chapter 2: The Task
The palace consisted of a series of ascending telain and twining stairways among a dozen great mellyrn in the heart of the city. On the ground, amid grass and twig, was the welcoming hall, formed by great branches curving in arcs high overhead. Several workers scattered throughout, finishing the renovations they had labored over the past few years. Further on were the kitchens and other hidden rooms and servants’ quarters, and many elves were coming and going this time of day. A white stair led to the first level of talan, which held an open court with rarely used thrones for the Lady and Lord. Higher up were conference rooms and a careful series of twisting libraries. Higher still were the homes of several of Lorien’s counselors and advisors. Beyond that was a private dining area, and further up: the quarters of the Lord and Lady themselves.
Haldir reached the welcoming hall at a run. One of his lesser sentries witnessed his hurried entrance and smiled, merely pointing upward as if to say, 'They wait upon your convenience.' Haldir glowered quite fiercely, setting the younger elf to cowering, before he took to the great stairs. Up and up he went, past the courts and meeting halls, past libraries and living quarters until he finally reached the entryway to a long talan. There were no railings on this level, and past the empty length of the room was a small table where sat Celeborn and Galadriel.
Haldir had halted at the door, silently watching as Lord Celeborn reclined in his chair in a rare instance of repose. After a moment of observation, Haldir shifted his stance, the swishing of garments announcing his presence. He only crossed the threshold when Celeborn looked up to bid him enter with a raised hand and friendly smile.
The old elf watched the march-warden stride across the room and upon reaching the table, bow low. “My Lord, my Lady, I apologize for my tardiness.”
“And you are excused,” Galadriel said, a twinkle in her eye, a smirk on fair lips, sending Haldir to nervous shudders as he wondered if she could see just what had been keeping him. “Now, Haldir of the March, friend and trusted servant, join us.”
Haldir inclined his head, pulling out a finely carved chair to sit across from the pair, and fill his plate.
***
The light fare was delicious, and filling to elven stomachs. They dined on the freshest produce from the Lady’s gardens and bread hot from the ovens, and sipped the finest wine, intermingled with light conversation about the previous day’s festival.
But as the dinner came to an end and the three elves finished off a sweet pudding, Galadriel finally got down to the root of his invitation. “Tell me Haldir, what do you know of our upcoming festival of Byeltinyeh?”
Glad to be done with the courtesies, the elf set his goblet aside. “I know that this year’s Midsummer festival has been planned with utmost care and attention to detail. The Lord of Imladris and his family, along with about half his household will attend, as will a contingent of elves from Mirkwood, though I understand Thranduil the King is not… inclined to come himself.”
“Aye, you have it correctly,” Celeborn nodded, pushing away his own chalice. “And we are determined to make this celebration unlike any occasion Arda has yet known.”
A small smile tipped Haldir’s lips in his usual smirk. “This I have seen. The welcoming hall has undergone some great renovations these past years. Now I know why: the hall has become a dance floor, and the bonfire pit enlarged, yes? The weavers have been busy… do they then prepare decorative tapestries and elegant costumes for these nights of feasting? And I couldn’t help but notice an increase in attention to the fruit trees this year, for the finest food imaginable I presume, and I know your ey ofy of staff in the winery has increased as well. All this for three nights of celebration?”
“You’ve hit the mark every time,” Celeborn confirmed, impressed at Haldir’s deductions. He grinned at Haldir’s perception and the warden returned the expression, though quickly turned away again.
“But we want this to be more than a ritual observation, more than a gathering of friends,” Galadriel coolly explained. “This shall be an occasion no one will ever forget, a chance to join most deeply our bodies to our souls in the Great Feast of Byeltinyeh.”
“To do this,” Celeborn continued, “My Lady has thought to resurrect an old custom, a tradition that I fear may have been lost through the ages in fear and doubt.”
When the conversation lapsed, Haldir asked, “And what is this ancient secret you speak of?”
Galadriel leaned forward in her seat, a light of intrigue and happy anticipation in her endless eyes. Her voice was secretive indeed and low as spokspoke, “Have you ever heard of The Dance?”
Frozen in uncertain shock for a moment, Haldir’s face then lit up in a disbelieving grin. “The Dance?” he asked, laughing, “But that is just a myth!” Observing Celeborn’s sober expression and Galadriel’s intensely serious one, Haldir’s grin faded as his eyes flicked back and forth between the two ancients. “…Isn’t it?”
The powerful elves shared a look before Galadriel answered. “The Dance,” she explained, “Is an ancient tradition. No one can tell of its origins or even how it ever came to be or why. Also, few are gifted with the ability to perform this feat of magic, even if they have the knowledge. For nearly two ages of this world, The Dance was considered a profane offense, punishable by exile. At the dawning of the third age, this ban was lifted, but the deed itself is still considered forbidden. None would dare to do this thing on their own. But the world is a free place where all aspects of ourselves should be embraced. We want to celebrate that.”
As she spoke, Haldir’s mind had calmed, and it seemed that ageless voice called forth images of times long past, deeds long misunderstood, and hope for a new acceptance - a new freedom among the firstborn. For a moment, the March Warden seemed lost to memories that were not his until he realized the voice had ceased, and silence reigned in the open room among the high trees.
He hadn’t realized his eyes were closed until he opened them, seeing his Lady’s hopeful face, pale and new and beautiful before him. Still, he doubted. “Let’s say you are right,” he began for the sake of argument. “Why are you telling me?”
Celeborn was the one to answer, his deep tenor soothing and his eyes kind. “Besides my Lady and myself, you are the only one we trust to do this thing.”
A raised eyebrow questioned this trust.
Celeborn sighed wearily. “Our many counselors and advisors are good and honest elves, but they are simply too…”
“Stuck in their ways,” Haldir said bluntly. “They would not approve the wisdom of your ambition, nor willingly pursue it.”
The Lord and Lady shared a knowing smile. They had chosen Haldir for a reason.
“So,” he continued, “when they do not serve your needs, you turn to the ever reliable March Wardens. And yet,” Haldir leaned back, tipping on the legs of his chair as he thought a moment. “The eastern March Captain… Annaglar would take up your cause enthusiastically, but his tendency for talk is far too great a risk, as I imagine you’d rather retain SOME air of mystery regarding the eve’s entertainment. On the other hand, Cudae, Captain of the southern March and the son of a Lord, would speak not a whisper of your plots, yet blushes at the mention of courtship; he is far too old fashioned. And Din-alqua of the west, bless her heart, is simply too young for whatever it is you have in mind. So, you turn to Haldir, ever subtle in his unending loyalty,” he sighed at his almost humorous th hig highly accurate description of himself, “to… do what, exactly?”
“To go out into our lands,” Celeborn decreed. “There must be someone in Lorien who knows the art. We are certain, if there is, you will find him or her. Besides, any simple sentry sent on such a mission would probably not glean the truth, and you are right: people here know and respect you, Haldir. They have faith in your honesty and,” he grinned, “subtlety. As do we. That is why we ask this of you; that is why we charge you with this task. Short of Galadriel or myself going out to do this same thing, there is no other way.”
Haldir nodded his agreement. “And you’ve not the time to pursue this matter; I understand. Very well,” he said, standing from the table. “A most… unusual request. But if there is any in our wood who knows the Art of The Dance, I will find them.”
“Excellent,” Celeborn said, rising to dismiss the guar. “. “You have half a year.”
TBC