When the King signals the supper's end, my hopes are overturned when Ferdir follows through with his promise. He takes my hand and leads me to the open field where others are beginning to gather. The clipped grass is an endless silvery floor beneath my feet, reflecting light from the surrounding tree lanterns. Voices whisper excitedly about the musicians and the stars and the dancing to come. I feel a surge of relief at the start of the familiar song. It is one of the Greenwood's own: a group dance.

With Ferdir's hand on my waist and his other flattened against my palm, we dance in an intimate circle until the exchange of partners. An enthusiastic guard with dusty blond hair takes my hand next, his rounded facial features giving away his young age. The lively song's tempo increases. I notice Sírdor's mother among the musicians, fluttering her fingers across her harp with a contented smile.

After several energetic group dances, the mood changes when the flutist plays the opening somber notes of The Sea-Bell. The harpists follow in accord as the singer's delicate voice rises in the velvety night air. Ferdir appears distracted as we dance alone. His dark eyes dart to places behind me, his mouth a thin line pulling downward.

I clear my throat. "You are quite good at this."

His gaze returns. "Thank you, my lady."

"Did your aunt teach you?"

"My aunt? Alas, she cannot dance to save all of Elvendom. I taught myself."

"All the more impressive."

Ferdir grins, but his gaze does not linger.

Whatever the reason for his odd behavior, it is not enough for him to take his seat. If anything, he seems more adamant to stay at my side. Does he intend to dance with me until the stars burn out? I know it should be a thrill to have him as a partner, a proud lord of Lòrien eager for my company, but my heart is not in it. Whether it is because of his strange mood, or my own, I cannot say.

My gaze leaps to Thranduil. He is as conspicuous as a moon-lit mallorn tree as he watches the dancing from afar. Lady Aethel is speaking to him, her hands gesturing as animatedly as her expressions despite his lack of attention. As though sensing he is being watched, he suddenly locks eyes with mine. I hold them for a single breath before Ferdir's steps move us in the opposite direction.

The feel of his hand pressing hard against my waist makes me stiffen. My movements become wooden and forced, and I feel a strong desire to flee. Since the evening's start, more than one elleth has given me an envious stare. How I wish he would dance with them instead...

Offering the explanation of needing a drink, I excuse myself mid-song. Circlet-crowned heads turn to look as I leave the dancing floor abruptly. I take a wine goblet and make my way to Gwendes, who is sitting at a table alone, like an undiscovered sapphire in a sea of shiny crystals.

"I believe you broke Lord Ferdir's heart."

"I did no such thing."

But it is true he appears out of sorts, even lost. He leaves the dancing throng and joins Lady Aethel, who has given up trying to converse with the King. How strange it is he would seek the mother of the elleth he so despises. Caewen, however, has danced with many partners already, all respectable ellyn.

"Do you not fancy him?" Gwendes' tone is clipped. She is breaking apart a sweet roll with more force than necessary. "He seems keen."

I swallow, and take a seat. I have entered troubled waters. "I like him as a friend. As anything more, I do not believe so."

"Why?"

"He is very affectionate, offering honeyed words and acting as if I am a prized gemstone, but it is overdone for my liking. Our conversations are mundane at best...he speaks of himself more than anything. He does not excite me."

"That is not how I felt even about Sírdor," she says, her face softening.

I look at Ferdir again. His sideways smile makes a brief appearance while he listens to Aethel. "I see he cares for me. He is very kind. Yet his overt attention makes me uncomfortable. And he is--"

"Arrogant?"

"Perhaps. I do not sense he has malicious intent. Yet the manner he speaks of others..." I shake my head. "It is clear he does not like Caewen, yet he now talks with her mother as if she is dear to him. I believe he wears another face."

"He cannot be worse than Emlinith, no matter how many faces he wears." She motions to the other end of the table.

I look in time to witness Emlinith refusing her betrothed's request to join him dancing, her plummy voice loud enough to reach the ears of children nearby. They giggle. Elros takes a few steps backward and busies himself with straightening his chestnut brown tunic.

"She must really not like dancing," whispers Gwendes.

"I doubt she likes much of anything, especially him. She was likely desperate, and Elros had a suitable enough lineage. I doubt many lords were lined up to ask for her hand."

"Poor Elros." Gwendes watches intently as he walks down the path leading back to the keep. "Perhaps he is reconsidering...."

"Do not even think it for a moment. It is time to set your sights on someone far superior to Elros. Have you...seen Sírdor tonight?"

When her frown returns, I regret mentioning him.

"No one will ask me to dance."

I would have stayed home in my quiet, too-large chambers and forgotten the feast entirely if it meant Ferdir would dance with Gwendes instead of me.

"The night is far from over, mellon," I say. "You must move closer. You are much likelier to be asked if he can clearly see you in his sights."

It is with some reluctance Gwendes leaves the safety of her chair and edges closer to the dancing. With her arms tightly wound around her chest and her gaze darting back to the table, she looks more like a frightened rabbit than a willing dance partner.

My feet guide me away from my troubled friend and the throng of jewel-toned dancers to the far edge of the field. A brisk wind lifts my long curls and silver-veined cape, as though attempting to pull me back to the party.

I am not deterred. Here I have a closer view of the hanging lanterns, a tradition which came to life during King Oropher's reign. The intensity of their glow burns into my vision, and when I shut my eyes I see their bright starry imprints.

The forest is well-guarded tonight, especially with the entire kingdom in one place. How odd it is that we celebrate at all. Death and darkness suffocate our home, our world. Will the Woodland Realm have another Feast of Starlight? Or will next year, and all the years to come, belong to Sauron?

Perhaps it is the true reason my heart is elsewhere, far from the dance and song, far from my kin who choose to remain oblivious of what is to come...

"Rîneth."

I whip around, my breath catching in my throat.

"What are you doing here alone?" asks Thranduil.

"I...needed some momentary solitude."

His eyes reflect the tree stars. He narrows them. "Since when have you needed solitude on Mereth Nuin Giliath? You even have an eager dancing partner. He has been looking for you."

"I do not doubt it." I look away from his probing stare. "I needed a change of scenery for a time. Is that really so curious, my lord?"

"For you, it is."

My vision falls on his intricate elk brooch, and the shimmery blue-grey fabric of his robes. The shade is not the same as mine as I first believed, but richer, more mysterious. Like its wearer. I have a strange desire to reach out and touch it. "Is that why you followed me? Curiosity?"

"No." His mouth quirks.

"Did my father ask you to come? He worries far too--"

"I came to ask you to dance with me. But if you would prefer to stand here and watch the trees for the remainder of the night, I shall not try to convince you otherwise."

I open my mouth, but my tongue will not move. If a fire-drake from the mountains flew over our cheerful celebration and breathed its flames down on us in a scarlet rage, I could not be more surprised.

"Have you become mute?"

"Of course not." I feel heat in my cheeks. "You caught me by surprise; that is all. Since when has the King joined the dancing?"

"Since tonight," he says simply, as though it explains everything. "Come."

My feet stubbornly remain rooted to the ground as he walks ahead, his robes trailing on the grass, his silhouette tall and proud. With a great force of will I move my legs and hurry to catch up with him, and wonder if someone has slipped something into my wine. Or his.

As we near the crowd of dancers, he removes his voluminous outer robe and hands it to my father. Ada's serene expression shows no surprise, as though this occurs every evening and always has.

Thranduil holds out his arm. The raised texture of his tunic under my hand is soft, a stark contrast to the hard muscle underneath.

Like wind through a field of summer barley, the crowd parts to make way for the King. Their faces show a mixture of disbelief and astonishment; it has been before the Queen's death when they last saw him do anything so frivolous. I maintain my composure, even when he clasps his hand to mine, and places his other at my hip. I am convinced the jolt in my stomach is due to the unfamiliarity of his closeness. It is not as if I have ever danced with him before.

It feels strange, daring even, just resting my hand on his shoulder.

A nod from the King is the only signal the musicians need to begin the next song. I recognize the first opening harp notes like a brilliant sunlit day. I look at him in surprise. I have not heard my mother's song in at least a hundred years.

"White Sails on a Glittering Sea."

"I believed you would enjoy hearing it."

"You are full of surprises tonight." I smile, carefully following his steps. "Are you certain you have not fallen under a forest spell?"

"I am immune to such enchantments. Are you?"

"I do not know."

If it is true that Thranduil has not danced since his wife's death, no one could dare say he has lost his ability. His movements are smooth, elegant, and controlled. And while not as playful as Ferdir, he moves me across the silver floor with a graceful command Ferdir lacks. The other dancers allow us a wide berth, as though afraid to come too close.

"Tis good to have you dancing with us, for once."

"It may never happen again." His voice is serious, but his half-smile betrays him. "You should feel privileged."

"I should, yes. But what I feel most is bewilderment."

"Bewilderment that I can dance?"

"No, though I shall say you are very good at it." I swallow as the pressure of his hand on my hip increases. "My...bewilderment comes from the reality that you are dancing at all."

"I see."

The flute plays a lovely tremolo, and for the briefest of moments I shut my eyes and see the still waters of the Gulf of Lune, a proud ship with a sail like a large cloud resting at the harbor, awaiting a voyage to a distant land. I stand on a high grassy bank overlooking the scene, my spirit soaring. I turn to look beside me. But there is no one there, only grass and air and forever.

"When my mother wrote this song, she was soon to make her journey to the Havens. I have oft wondered why she felt the Sea-longing so strongly. It is strange for a Silvan elf."

"She is a dreamer, like you. Yet her heart was not contented in the forest alone. When evil began to take hold, she grew restless, and her paintings became scenes of ships and the Sea. But paintings were not enough. Not for her."

I smile wistfully. "She tried to convince us to come with her. Ada told her it was not time, Faeleth and I were far too young, and he still had work to do here. I am sure you remember his devastation at her departure..."

"I remember yours as well."

"I was young. I did not understand. I confess I still do not. But I hear the Sea-longing is stronger than anything...do you ever feel it?"

He looks away. "No."

Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling?

The voices of my people gone before me?

I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;

For our days are ending and our years failing

And soon I shall go and soon I shall see,

While sails on a glittering, glittering sea

"I know you did not leave the celebration earlier only for a change of scenery," he says. "What troubled you?"

"It matters not. Do I look troubled now?"

"No." He twirls me around, then pulls me against him and moves his mouth over my ear. "You look beautiful."

Before his words settle, the song is over in a final gentle wave of notes like a tranquil sea, and he lets go of me. I find myself clapping with the crowd. Whether they applaud for their king, or my mother's song of homecoming, I cannot say. But I clap for my friend, and the thrill of the dance, and the hope there will be another.

Feeling emboldened, I open my mouth to ask. But Ferdir steals the moment, causing a stir as he jostles through the throng to reach us. His dark eyes meet the King's in a silent challenge, but his voice carries dutiful respect as he asks permission to take his place as my partner.

I decide to answer for him. "Perhaps later we could--"

"You may," Thranduil says. He looks at me, his face impassive, though I am certain I see a flash of irritation. He bows his head. "No veren, Rîneth."

Be joyous. I feel a pang in my chest as he leaves, like I have lost something dear. Who is Ferdir to believe I prefer his company over the King's?

I say nothing as he takes my hand. Nor do I speak when the music begins, a blur of sound I cannot discern as a song. It is only noise. And only a dance.

"I know I am no equal to King Thranduil," he says after a time.

Be joyous, Rîneth.

"I...apologize. My mind has been elsewhere tonight." I force a smile.

"You seemed much more spirited when you were with him, my lady."

"If you knew our friendship, it would not surprise you."

"What surprises me is that you are friends to begin with."

"Why should it?"

"You are kind, full of warmth and light," he says. "He is cold and unyielding, like ice clinging to a branch in midwinter."

A sound fills my ears unbidden. It is Thranduil's warm laughter as he listens to Ada enthusiastically tell a Dwarven story. I remember it as though it was only a few breaths ago, and can hear it as clear as the bells of Elvenhome.

"He has been through more than you know." My voice is taut. Our dancing slows. "You should not judge him until you know him as I."

"I doubt I shall ever know him as you, Rîneth."

A wintry wind returns, a dancer of another kind, giving me gooseflesh and making me wish for a cloak. Or my chambers, shielded by impassable stone. Ferdir could not bother me there.

"I believe Caewen has danced with every eligible elf in the kingdom tonight."

"Save for you," I say.

"I count it as a mercy." His eyes narrow as he follows Caewen's movements behind my shoulder.

"I cannot say I am surprised by her popularity."

He frowns. "She appears desperate."

"She is not doing the asking."

If not for the uncomfortable silence which overtakes him, I might finally brave asking why he dislikes Caewen. But the start of yet another song makes me weary, and whether my friendship with Ferdir endures the night matters little to me now. He is soon to leave for Lòrien. I cannot bear to dance with him much longer.

My eyes rove the crowd for Gwendes. Standing in the same spot where I left her, she is looking at her slippers, her posture dispirited. I plan to go to her as soon as the song finishes. But what can I say in consolation? I had assured her someone would ask her to dance. Yet no one has.

Thranduil reaches her before I can, holding out his arm in a request for a dance. A dance with the King. Gwendes' eyes light up like moons. She smiles nervously as she takes his proffered arm, her face revealing a pretty blush. The crowd parts again as he leads her to the dancing floor.

I watch behind Ferdir's shoulder as Thranduil guides Gwendes' steps with effortless control, making her appear an accomplished dancer. Everyone is avidly staring in interest, for who expected the King to dance at all, let alone twice? I am as surprised as the onlookers. Perhaps more.

"Our king is cold, you say?"

"It may be that dancing with you melted the ice tonight, but tomorrow he will be the same as yesterday, and the day before it."

Ferdir excuses himself, stating a need to rest before his journey in the morning. Feeling peace with his absence, I happily watch Gwendes dance for the duration of the night. After dancing with the King, she never lacks for another partner.

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thanks as always for all your comments and votes. :)

Magical art by hatteeho, commissioned for this chapter by the amazing MaggieShivers.