• Aramil Elu'vian walked lightly across the slender bridge that spanned the two trees. His bare feet could feel the knots in the wood under his feet, but no splinters threatened to p***k his toes. The bridge, if such a word could be used, was grown for this purpose. The two grand oaks each supported a flat topped branch that met in the middle of the air, some forty feet above the ground. Such unobtrusive architecture enabled Aramil and his kin to live without disturbing the forest they inhabited. Deer congregated freely in the spaces between the trees and birds nested without fear in open windows.

    The air was rich with the smell of summer. The broad tipped leaves of these oaks fluttered lazily in the gentle gusts of breeze that passed through them and into the moon elf's dark, sinuous hair. He felt the air fill his open tunic like a balloon and he stopped just long enough to laugh at himself and fasten just a few more buttons than I had originally thought were necessary. He was being perhaps a little too carefree today, but this more serious thought did not dampen the smile on his face. He carried a single pale flower in his hands, an alvente', guarding it carefully against accidental loss. Its color was so hard for one to pin down with any sort of certainty that it was generally referred to as being between the colors blue and purple, though its appearance was mostly dependent on what light it was viewed in. As such, the meaning of its name, "flower of mysteries," was considered very appropriate.

    Aramil thought nothing of this as he came to the end of the bridge. His feet came to a rounded platform with a slender railing wrapped around the perimeter. Out of the center grew the trunk of the majestic tree itself. The tree was not the largest in the forest, but it did take a dozen elves standing finger tip to finger tip in a circle to equal its circumference. He stepped around a chair sitting on the platform and made his way to a door built into the trunk.

    From the ground the door was largely concealed by not only its angle of view and the foliage of the adjacent trees, but its manner of construction as well. It was ovular and tall, carved from the wood in this very part of the tree. This had the effect of creating a seamless edge in the texture of the tree bark. So complete was its seal that had the edges of the door not been treated sufficiently, the door would have grown back into the space it was cut from in a month.

    The cheery elf turned a concealed latch and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. This was his own house after all. As it swung inward on its hinges, a quintessentially elven home greeted him. No home could have been more unobtrusive to nature than to be grown inside the very tree its wood came from. This was the case for the majority of the house, though three branches higher up supported platforms similar to the one on this level that held up rooms of their own. Even so, none of them had enough area for a balcony that could be walked upon outside the house except the level he was on at present.

    At the center of the home, a staircase wound its way up and down to the other levels, and Aramil made straight for it. Ascending to the highest point, he strolled to the end of a short hall way and stopped at the door that ended it. It was the nature of elves to be independent. This was not to say that elves never sought the assistance of others, but that the need for personal space was considered equally as important as companionship and social interaction. Heedless of etiquette, Aramil threw open the door and stepped inside.

    Opening this door did not result in him being greeted by the space within, but instead he was assaulted with the stern and almost virulent gaze of its occupant. He had fully expected this and seeing that his presumptions were correct, he grinned ear to ear.

    "Are you done making a show of yourself, Aramil?" came the occupant's elven response.

    "Such sour words from sweet lips. I am aghast with shock." His grin had not lessened in the slightest.

    Luael sat behind a desk that faced the door Aramil was so casually leaning on the frame of. She had lifted her gaze from the papers on the surface only just enough that she could look at him from the edge of her vision. The quill in her hand hovered just above the line she had last written so as not to create an inky dot on the page. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

    "Please, I need a measure of concentration to scribe these spell incantations. You know as well as I that it is tedious work."

    He watched her sit up fully. Her snowy hair was braided rather harshly, the lot of it clasped closely to the top of her head. It was an entirely practical thing. Stray locks did not fare well after encountering black ink. The seriousness of her appearance made the moon elf all the more happy he had barged in on her. He always thought her to be irresistible looking like this, especially as it gave him the opportunity to catch her off guard and charm her into lightening up. It was a source of constant pleasure for him.

    "I have a truly delightful gift for you, my dear," he said. "I can scarcely wait another moment without giving it to you."

    This was so very obvious in his face that Luael was stuck curious as to what whatever it could be. She could not help but let the sharpness of her expression fade a little. She had a hard enough time as it was keeping a straight face when Aramil was present in the first place. To her great surprise, his walk across the room ended with a nimble leap onto the top of her desk. Instantly she feared that one of his pale complected toes had smudged the wet ink on her pages, but without a hint of stumble he had landed with each foot in unoccupied space.

    "Aramil! You nearly--" She trailed off as he crouched down, bringing his grin closer to eye level. She wanted to reprimand him for being so reckless. She wanted to let him know how important the work she was doing was for her study. She could not really make herself do that. Her ire melted quickly at his eternally easy going demeanor. It always did.

    As close as she had been sitting to the desk, he did not have to lean far to kiss her. After such an act, no measure of hardened seriousness could hold a candle up to his demeanor. She sighed softly, the corners of her mouth betraying the hint of a smile. He may have been interrupting, but she was having considerable difficulty being angry with him. That was nothing new.

    "Is that what you came in here to give me?" she asked. It had certainly been a pleasant gift.

    "No," he said, "but I had a feeling you might appreciate it all the same."

    "Then tell me what you are interrupting my work for, you silly elf." Luael reached upwards and brushed his bangs behind his ears. They had fallen into his eyes when he had jumped on her desk and she was accustomed to seeing the greenness of them without obstruction.

    Aramil saw the softening change in her expression as a sign of his success and his grin returned. She had always told him that he looked like he was still a little boy when he did that, and his usual response was that her usually dour expression was going to make her face wrinkle up like a fig. As soon as saying this caused her to frown, he would kiss her and watch as she almost instantly became the affectionate and loving person he knew her to be behind that facade of intellectualism and seriousness. He had to admit, learning that trick had been no small feat, but this time she had not remarked on his grinning and he took the initiative.

    "I have something that, dare I say, is equally as good," he said. He lowered his hands to her and separated one from its place on top of the other, revealing the treasure he had been protecting between them.

    "Alvente'?" she asked, suspicion growing in her voice.

    It was by annual tradition that the elf men of age in the community were paired with a woman. Perhaps it was his sister, a cousin, or his wife, but each pairing was made in good humor. In some clandestine fashion, known only to the men, they would draw stems, and the chooser of alvente' would present his prize to his paired half, who would then be declared Laire'arwen, the Lady of Summer. Such a person was the key figure in the village's yearly festival of dancing, drinking, and celebration of the founding of their home at the end of the Retreat. There were few honors bestowed in the community in greater anticipation, and no recipient could have been less happy to receive it.

    "You jest," she said, but Aramil was already moving to slide the stem in place behind her ear.

    "You will thank me later. Of that I am certain," he responded.

    "It is such a frivolous event and I have so much work that needs doing. I hardly attend. How am I to participate if I have not any notion of what is involved?"

    "The matter is a simple one," he said, stepping off the top of the desk and to Luael's side. She seemed more crestfallen than he had anticipated. Any other elf would have been ecstatic at this news.

    "Put your books away." He turned to the desk and closed the two that had been sitting there, then turned back to his wife. "And put that busyness of yours to work on something that does not involve potion vials. You need only make that simple decision and I am confident that your eternally racing mind will find a way to make it work. You always do."

    Luael made a pathetic sound that Aramil knew she would allow herself to make only in his presence. She had never been one for enjoying festivals and merrymaking of this scale. She was ever practical, ever focused, and never careless. He moved to put an arm around her.

    "Must I really do this thing?" she pleaded.

    "It is tradition. Give it half a chance and something tells me you will find it more enjoyable than you anticipated it would be."

    "They have never had a dark--"

    "Elf," he interrupted, taking her hand with his free one and squeezing it. "What are you talking about? They have always had elves doing this. I suppose we could find a treant, but we would have to leave the community to do that and I am not certain it would be appropriate if the Laire'arwen was not from the village."

    His attempt to change the direction of her train of thought had not worked as well as he had hoped.

    "I was saying they have never had a dark--"

    "Elf," he interrupted again. "You are just an elf. I am saddened to tell you otherwise, my dear, but you are only an elf. Perhaps you look like you have have been in much too much sunlight, but the last I checked your ears were as pointed as everyone else's. Still, as little as you come outside, I can scarcely imagine how you darkened so much."

    She watched him grin again and could not help but falter and smile at his efforts to save her mood with humor.

    "There, now. That is the elf I know. You should not keep her hidden away so much," he said.

    "If I do this, you are going to do it with me," she said.

    "It just so happens that tradition requires I be your host and chaperon. It is funny how that works, do not you agree?"

    "Not that I would have given you a choice in the matter had tradition not been so convenient," she responded. Aramil was thankful to hear the the playfulness in her banter again.

    "Perish the thought of me ever thinking otherwise," he said and bent forward to kiss her again.

    ***

    Luael stood bare footed in the short grasses at the base of the trees, her back pressed to one of them. A trio of children dashed past her in a flutter of breeze, and she watched them go. A boy, perhaps a few years older than the rest, ran with a thin blue banner trailing from a pole in his hands. Some ten feet behind, a pair of younger boys made desperate attempts to catch the wisp of cloth. The elder boy used the length of his stride to great advantage, allowing the two smaller ones a moment to catch up, then hurried ahead of them when they neared.

    The dark elf smiled at the game, watching with a strange fascination as they weaved through the throng of elves gathered in the clearing ahead of her. Children were something new to this place. The elves of this community had not lived here long and only in recent decades had children appeared. A very small group of children were present at the founding of the village, but they, like her, were now grown. It was pleasant to see new life here, life that was both born and raised here.

    In the boughs above, long and slender blue banners, much like the one so determinedly chased by the boy elves, hung within arm's reach. In the center of the clearing, a platform had been erected and its surface was beautifully adorned with flowers whose color lay somewhere between blue and purple. Around the throng of dancing and socializing elves, a circle of poles in the ground supported colored lights, whose effect created a rainbow of pastel hues on the flesh of all present within the circle.

    A full moon had very recently risen above the tree line, but the lights and activities of the clearing were so fervent that the space around it all was cast in a deep but soft shadow. It was here, away from the crowd that Luael had found respite against a tree. She smiled faintly at the joyous activity in the circle of lights. It was a dreamy existence. The throng collectively swayed and twirled to the tinkling notes of minstrels, but Luael was content to watch, not participate.

    With as much social grace she could muster, she had worked her way to the edge of the crowd over the last hour. To compliments she parried with smiles. To embraces she dodged with promises of dancing. To offers of wine she responded with heaps of thought provoking, but ultimately frivolous banter. At present she was happy for a moment to herself, a moment away from the title bestowed upon her for the evening.

    She closed her eyes a moment, but a warmth found its way around her waist. She recognized it long before she opened her eyes.

    "Aramil," she said. "What are you doing here?"

    "I would be within my rights to ask you the same, Laire'arwen." He was right of course.

    "The glint of your eyes tells me I was right," he said, his arm reaffirming its position around her waist.

    "I admit nothing," was her defiant response.

    Aramil could not help but grin at her. "You hide your feelings so well, but I am not fooled. I saw you having fun and, dare I say, you even laughed once or thrice."

    "More likely once than thrice, love."

    Even though they both knew he had been right, he knew nothing good would come from making her admit to it openly. He was satisfied knowing his wretched demand a week ago that she attend this ghastly function had brought her happiness. In the shadows around the clearing they stood, arms around each other, not bothering to speak for a long while as they watched the merrymaking going on in the light.

    A simple white gown descended from Luael's collar to her ankles, her hands left bare and her feet unshod. A wreath of alvente', whose color was somewhere between blue and purple, adorned the white tresses so carefully tied up around her head. Even in the shadow, he could see the darkness of her skin shimmer with reflections in contrast to the plain paleness of her garments. To Aramil she was beautiful, but he knew he was not the only one to think so this night. She may have been a dark elf, but an elf was an elf and under Sehanine's moon, none stood more blessed than the other.

    Someone in the throng spoke up, his voice ringing clear above the music. It was time for the final ceremony and the Laire'arwen to be prevented for all to see. Luael gripped her husband's elbow as if she would fall into a precipice if she let go. If there was one thing he knew she disliked more than large social gatherings, it was being the center of attention. In all the commotion, they had been lost to the crowd and it would be by their own initiative that the pair could be found for the grand finale.

    Luael started to pull Aramil to the left, readying herself to run away. He stood fast, but took hold of her hand with his free one just in case. She stopped pulling, though her body did not relax. There was no avoiding this, he had told her. After giving her a moment to steel herself, he guided her into the circle of light and into the awareness of the gathered elves.