Eat, Drink and Be Merry by Narya

Chapter 1

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Amon Lanc
S. A. 1200

Logs snapped and hissed in the fireplace, and shadows chased up the walls. Distantly, Oropher heard the excited squeal of a child, and the soft woody echo of a flute. The festivities had begun, then. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned the page.

“With the Valar came other spirits whose being also began before the World, of the same order as the Valar but of less degree. These are the Maiar, the people of the Valar, and their servants and helpers. Their number is not known to the Elves, and few have names in any of the tongues of the Children of Ilúvatar...”

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. The sweet-dust smell of ageing paper curled upwards as he closed the tome and unravelled another, more fragile scroll.

The Mánir and the Súruli...the Nermir and the Tavari, Nandini and Orossi...the troops of the Oarni and Falmaríni and the long-tressed Wingildi... He shook his head. Where are you hiding, I wonder? What are you?

A sharp knock on his study door-frame interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in, Iorthoniel.” He turned to face the broad-shouldered woman who had counselled and advised him since the Greenwood Elves took him for their king. “I suppose you've been sent to tell me I'm neglecting my duties?”

“The Queen requests your company.” Her white teeth gleamed. “And assistance with our Noldorin guests.”

“I thought they were with Galion?”

“That may be why she requires assistance.”

Oropher sighed. “Very well; I'll be there in a moment.”

Iorthoniel came to stand by his side. “What are you looking for?”

“It was a foolish notion.” He gestured at the stack of books and old papers. “I was looking through some of the records we brought out of Lindon. I thought I might find a mention of this strange creature that Gil-galad has turned from his door – or at least a clue as to what he might be.”

“It troubles you that he was turned away?”

“Something troubles me.” Oropher ran a finger over the cracked hide of a fat, red volume, and turned away. “I could not say what. Not yet.”

“I do not like his name.”

“Annatar?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Yet it is the time of year for gifts, is it not?”

“Perhaps – but when have the Bright Ones ever come to our kind with gifts before?” She shook her head; her heavy silver braids swayed, and their painted beads clicked as though in dissent. “I do not like it, and neither, it seems, does the King of the Golodhrim.”

“No. It seems not.”

Her dark eyes watched him carefully, and Oropher was reminded of the efficient precision with which she skinned rabbits and deer. She knew his thoughts on the Noldorin kingdom away to the North – but she was wise enough to hold her tongue while its emissaries were guests under his roof.

“I suppose we should return,” he sighed eventually. “This is not a riddle I will solve tonight.”

“And you are afraid of what your Queen will say if you are away any longer,” Iorthoniel grinned.

“Would I ever admit such a thing?”

“Admit what you wish, sire; we all know the truth of it.”

Outside the halls the sky was fierce and clear, and starlight streamed onto the snow. His folk clambered across rooftops, adorning their homes with branches of pine and trails of ivy and mistletoe. Laughter rang over the hilltop, and below them the forest whispered, alive to the night's strange magic. By a great blazing fire, his wife Sírdal stood with a tray of steaming spiced buns; Thranduil was dancing wildly with Rhaweth and a dozen or so of his friends, Sindar and Silvan alike; at a great wooden table strewn with holly, Galion sat laughing with the messengers from Lindon. Their guests were leaning on one another, their cheeks and eyes too bright.

“It seems they have not had Dorwinion before.” Iorthoniel assumed an air of innocence. “Galion has taken it upon himself to educate them.”

“I see.” Oropher concealed a smile. The two Noldorin boys would have thick heads in the morning – which was just as well. He would not want their reports to speak too highly of the wine. If supplies of his favourite vintage were disrupted because Gil-galad took a liking to it...no, it was not to be countenanced. “Thank you, Iorthoniel; you may go and enjoy yourself.”

“Will you dance with me later?” she asked, batting her lashes outrageously.

Oropher laughed. “As my lady wishes.”

But first there was another lady in need of his attention. Sírdal caught his eye and smiled, and she handed her tray of baked goods to one of her maids. “Did you find what you were looking for, my love?” she asked as she approached.

Oropher kissed her cool, smooth cheek. “No. But then, I'm not sure what I hoped to find.” He drew her close, and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “Thank you for watching over things here.”

“If those young fools from Lindon are too ill to leave their beds tomorrow, it will not be my fault.”

He laughed. “It will do them no harm, I'm sure.” His eyes returned to his son and Rhaweth. The girl's dark hair flew out behind her, the unruly curls as wild as her name; Thranduil's frozen breath curled around them as the dance quickened, his eyes alight with joy. “Is he serious about her?”

“Very.” She gave him a stern look. “Oropher, they've been friends for years. You cannot be surprised.”

“I know. But she never struck me as the kind who would wish to wed.”

Sírdal shrugged. “Things change. People change.”

“True enough.”

She linked their fingers and squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear. “Look at what she has around her neck.”

Oropher looked again, and this time he saw it – a moonstone pendant on a silver chain, the same one he had given to Sírdal many years ago in Doriath, when they were young. “Oh.” His lips curled upwards, and warmth bloomed in his chest. “You let him have it, I assume?”

“He asked what I thought he should give her. It seemed fitting.”

Oropher nodded. “It is. When can we expect the happy announcement?”

“Some time after the snow melts, I should think.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “You are pleased for him, aren't you?”

“Of course I am. You can't think I planned to wed him to some fair maid of Lindon or Eregion, after coming so far to put all that behind us?”

“I hoped as much.” Sírdal planted a gentle kiss on his jawline. “We've built a good life here, my love.”

“Mm.” Again the wind whispered through the forest below. Shrieking children darted in and out of the dancers; Iorthoniel had joined Galion and the messengers from Lindon, and the four of them were singing a bawdy song that Oropher very much hoped the youngest revellers did not understand. In the sky, the star that tales said was a Silmaril shone sharp like the blade of a knife. “Yes.” Oropher smiled, and put the shadows from his mind. “Yes, I believe we have.”

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Chapter End Notes

The first passage in italics is a direct quote from the Valaquenta.  The list of assorted powerful beings is taken from the Book of Lost Tales.