To Live Again: Waiting Between Worlds {Lord of the Rings Fanfiction}

24. Remembrance

The Feast of Remembrance, as it has become known as, is held in my gardens every year without fail, on the anniversary of the final battle and Oropher's passing. Although Thranduil does not expressly state that this is his reasoning for selecting this date to remember our fallen, in fact he rarely explains his decisions to anyone, but it takes no genius to assume this was his sentiment.

On this grand evening in my elaborately dressed gardens, teeming with starlike lanterns and flowers blooming in glorious colours, we join with our people for the customary celebrations. It is not uncommon for there to be much joy and hearty cheer in the sharing of memories during the feast, in fact it is mostly encouraged.

Elven families from outlying farms and homesteads often arrive with beautiful floral displays to place on the many tombs and memorials of the fallen. Candles are lit and prayers are offered up in honour of those who went before us, and for all those left behind who still bear the burdens of war. After this most sombre of events we return to the gardens to feast and celebrate, with many of the young elves putting on bold and colourful theatrical enactments of battles and their heroes of legend.  Our talented singers will serenade many of us into the night, while the people eat and dance with one another in peace and contentment - a reminder of why we fight and why we remember the courage of those that bought this freedom with their lives.

It is in this thrumming and jovial embrace that we find ourselves tonight.

As both King and Queen, it is essential that we sit in view of everyone, which is a difficult task considering the swelling numbers, but we manage. A circular stone pavilion, in the midst of feasters, is were the royal table has been set up, and it is where I sit with my family...well, almost all of my family.

Thranduil rests peacefully on an ornate chair, oak I believe, and crafted by carpenters as a coronation gift. It is masculine, lean and tall, with a back that shapes upward and flares out like the branches of a tree. I sit snugly by his side, in a slightly less intimidating and obvious chair, but it is no less pretty and feminine draped in its strings of woven flowers to match my crown of cream and pink blooms tonight.

To my left sits Oliel, the position meant for my daughter but she has long since abandoned the table with more pressing concerns; like dancing, and chasing after a boisterous little elk, that somehow managed to get out of its new pen in the stables and follow her here. At least this is the excuse she gave, I find that entirely unbelievable, I think she has had him stowed away nearby. I am washing my hands of this, Thranduil and she can have their words about it, and so far she has done nothing but win her doting Ada over with apologetic and innocent filled eyes...pushover!

Aradan is seated at Thranduil's right side, and by him is Legolas. Usually this is the other way around, for Legolas is always at his father's side, but on a night such as this Thranduil always honours his friend and former captain by giving him such a valued place. It feels right to do so, even Legolas agrees, because to him Aradan is a hero and seasoned warrior and someone who he adores.

The three of them spend much of the night discussing the art of combat and battle, mostly quizzing my all to eager son on his training which delights him to no end. This leaves Ollie and I to reminisce over the old days, when we were nothing more than glorified servants and spent our days chasing dreams of love and magic.  I had my two princes' and she had her knight, and between the five of us we created so much mischief. Of course now we have added to our merry band, because two little chocolate haired rascals crawl between our laps or play around our feet, and somewhere in the crowd my little miracle is shining brightly amongst her people...most likely lapping up all the attention.

While Ollie is momentarily preoccupied with a grumpy Aranir, who is very much fighting his sleep, I take a moment to scan the crowds again.

I nod approvingly at all the smiling faces, giving myself a congratulatory pat on the back for my efforts this year. Everything looks stunning, with the soft pastel palettes I have chosen weaving harmoniously with my gardens. The only thing I was not overly satisfied with was the food, for I sort of pushed it around the plate. My stomach seemed too filled with butterflies to eat, and generally I felt a little jittery. I assumed it was maybe the stresses of preparing this feast alone and then the rather intense reunion with Thranduil that has brought about my unsettledness, but I absently wonder if it is something more?