~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Part Two ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
"Who is that duo? Familiar they are to me," I heard an elf remark in broken Westron to the men folk at the table where he sat. Men and elves were mingling quite a bit now and everyone was in a jolly mood, but I tensed upon hearing his words. Though I had been assured that we could only be recognized while masked by very few, I still tightened my grip upon my drink as I listened and discreetly watched from the bar.
"They usually travel in a larger group - altogether, there are four of them when they are all present," explained one of the men slowly. A few elves from other tables leaned closer to hear the tale, as well as a few mortals including the two mortal women, who did not lean but rather sat straighter and appeared to listen better than the rest. Foreigners, I assumed. "Birds of a Feather, they call themselves. The Canary often regales us with tune or tale, but rarely does the Swan come to sing. It is a true treat this evening."
I felt like saying, 'There are five of us, you dolt,' but the Swan did not need to remind me that I was there to sing, and if needed he would be the one to speak. As he stood to return to our corner I realized he did not find the need to correct the error, and so I stood as well and led our way through the crowd. Halfway, I realized he was not on my heels and turned to see him standing next to the table I had taken note of earlier. I blinked, and that
is when I noticed Him.
Sweeping my hat from my head I bowed as low and graciously as I could without falling to the floor. "Your Majesty, your pardon! I did not see you until now." He said nothing to me as I placed my hat back upon my head and retreated to the stage, but the Swan remained unmoved. I concentrated my efforts to observing and listening and thanked the Elven part of my heritage that I could do so at a distance.
"Your performance has been flawless," said the King quietly. "Your voice does great service to your realm."
"My voice as an instrument of my realm is resting this eve, for it is in my own service tonight," came the answer from the Swan, his voice regal and deep for an elf.
King Thranduil narrowed his eyes -- not in malice but in thought. "Whatever came of that quaint drinking song you would play years past in jest?"
The Swan tilted his head. "Would it please his majesty to hear such a tune?"
"Only if it pleases you to sing it."
There was a twitch, a smile, and then it passed. "I shall consider it," was the answer before the Swan continued on his path to join me at the makeshift stage.
"He's shall consider it?" I heard an elf sputter at another table. "He stands before a sitting King, he does not bow, and he says he shall consider it?" Many of the others looked aghast at what had transpired, but King Thranduil raised his wine-bowl and it took but a look to calm the crowd.
"He is an artist and it is his art that is master over him. To deny him his own will over the matter would be to tell the sun not to rise. The wind blows as it wishes, flowers bloom as they fancy. And the songbird shall sing when he decides." Thranduil drank from his bowl and none said further on the matter.
"He knows?" I whispered to the harper, to which he returned under his breath, "Tune your fiddle."
And all was silent until the birds began to sing.
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Canary, The by Zhie