Chapter Four: Banquet A few fast hours after her arrival, Uruviel found herself seated amongst the elven royals, all dressed in their finest, as they had been at the final banquet in LothL�rien. This feast, however, was being attended by elven royalty from each of the three kingdoms, Mirkwood, LothL�rien and Imladris. At the head of the grand table sat Lord Elrond, healer and lore master. It was he that threw the large fete every midsummer, and invited the others to stay in his spacious and beautiful home. Much like the past ceremony, it didn�t take long for some of the younger elves to get quite tipsy, possibly even a little drunk. Many began to slowly sneak out of the hall, bottles of wine tucked under their tunics, with pretty maidens from another land in tow. At the High Table, however, it was royal decorum to not leave before the celebration had truly ended, and, of course, to not get nearly as drunk as everyone else. The latter half, however, was often disregarded by many. Seated on Elrond�s right was the High King of Mirkwood, Thranduil, and next to him, his dashing son, Prince Legolas. Dinendel, Thranduil�s advisor sat beside Elrond�s own, Glorfindel and Erestor, who were shortly followed by the princes, Elladan and Elrohir at the end of the table. To Elrond�s left, Galadriel sat, emanating a majestic white aura and smiling with all the beauty of the hidden lands. Beside her, Celeborn was gracefully trying to avoid getting as tipsy as Thranduil was drunk, but they were both already deep into their cups. Uruviel, Haldir, and Fereveldir, the last remaining delegates of LothL�rien who were seated at the high table, were chattering quietly amongst themselves and waiting for some of the boring conversation to pass. Although it was considered uncourteous to speak of the Hunt at the High Table, many of the lesser nobles did, specifically the princes. Whilst Elladan and Elrohir chattered away, naming who they felt would be the heroes of the next day�s task, Legolas sat in silence, hearkening to their every word. Elrond tried to keep up polite conversation at the head of the table, but it quickly became obvious that no one would have it, and that only one subject was on their mind. As the night grew more rambunctious, the height of speech at Elrohir�s and Elladan�s end of the table grew more and more profound, talk turning to not who would win, but who could win, should they accept the challenge. Naturally, Haldir was the centre of much conversation, and much of it focused on selecting a decent candidate who had the ability to out do him. The elf lords, of above all else, were mentioned as possibilities. �Thranduil could take Haldir any day.� �Granted, he could take anyone any day!� �Yes, well so could Lord Glorfindel, he is the master of the Hunt after all, and, well he�s Glorfindel.� �What about Celeborn?� �Haldir would never try to win against him, Celeborn is his lord.� �But in a fair match, would he win, or would Haldir?� �Probably Celeborn.� �Who else? The Marchwarden is quite good at the Hunt.� �Can�t think of anyone else. Maybe Legolas.� Of course, everyone heard the chatter from around the hall, easily picking up the names that were mentioned and, more importantly, those that weren�t. Elrond simply sighed and picked up his goblet, realizing his name had not, and probably would not be mentioned. Erestor, Elrond�s chief Advisor and a strict follower of decorum, said nothing and drank little. In naming contestants, many were avoided, and many were looked down upon as never having the ability to be champion. Some comments were more brutal than others, but others were simply intended in good fun. One question raised was the chance that Galadriel might possibly strip Haldir of his title, and in truth everyone knew she could. She was, after all, the most powerful elf in all of Arda. As the talk drifted up the table, and the wine bottles were passed round and round, many of the stiffer elves began to loosen their tongues, saying small comments that they would undoubtedly regret in the end. Each comment spurred another, and each empty glass was replaced, much to the dismay of Elrond, who would undoubtedly have to replenish his wine stores. From one corner, a soft comment was spoken, �could any she-elf, other than Galadriel take the lead over Haldir?� Naturally, a raging discussion ensued. �No, Galadriel�s the only one who wouldn�t fall for Haldir�s charm.� �Arwen�d be too busy trying to seduce him.� �No one else has the talent.� �No one has the ability.� �No she-elf could ever win the competition, anyway.� A soft chuckle echoed around the males of the table, though the rest were deathly quiet. Elrond pursed his lips, displeased with the way things were going, and rather appalled by the comment. Elves were not naturally chauvinistic, nor prejudiced against one gender, but she-elves had always been associated with pure beauty, voice, and power, never a sporting championship. Galadriel glared down the table, deeply offended by the critique against she-elves, though she herself had been mentioned as the only one to win. Uruviel, however, merely stared across the table at Dinendel, the hapless elf who had made the comment. She, for the moment, was utterly speechless with rage. Her tongue returned quickly, however, as she turned on the drunken advisor. �What exactly is that supposed to mean, Dinendel?� Silence ensued, all around the High Table, conversations were cheerful and light, but at its centre, time had stopped. Thranduil�s chief advisor, who had been stopped in his tracks now had a quite terrified look on his face, unsure how to reply. �I- I- I- � I�m n-not certain, princess.� Uruviel glared, her azure eyes turned to ice as she drilled into her victim. �You seem to think that a female can�t win the Hunt, is that it?� she questioned. �N-no, princess.� The terrified advisor stammered in reply. He looked down at his plate, ears now three shades more red than when he had begun. �Never, Uruviel.� Everyone seated at the table had their eyes focused on Uruviel, and Dinendel, who would regret having said such a disagreeable comment for many centuries to come. �Uncle,� Uruviel commented, turning to face Elrond. �Are there any rules to prohibit a she-elf from entering the Midsummer competition?� Elrond shook his head, a secret smile playing about in his mind. �None that I�ve ever heard of. Glorfindel?� He referred the question to his War Councillor, who, as Master of the hunt, would be most likely to know the answer. The blonde-haired lord shook his head, answering with a spark of amusement in his voice. �There is no rule that bars she-elves from entering the competition, it�s simply unprecedented.� He glanced at Dinendel before continuing, ��but there�s no reason why that can�t change.� �Excellent.� Uruviel remarked, as she returned her gaze from Glorfindel to Elrond. �Lord Elrond, it is my desire to enter the Midsummer Hunt, as no rule says that I may not.� �Very well,� the lore-master replied, having no desire, whatsoever, to stop her. Uruviel stood up, turned away from the table after a short bow to Elrond, Glorfindel, and her grandparents, and walked briskly away. No one on either side said a word until she had disappeared. The first to speak was Elrohir, who, also deep into his cups, had managed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. �Haldir� you�re screwed.� Back |
