Though much darkness had descended across the Woodland Realm, merriness was something that did not go awry within the Kingdom. It would seem, that no matter how much devastation Mirkwood faced, the feasts never ceased, and the mead never went untouched. It was different, with each realm, for matters affected them in various ways, and they each celebrated at different times, unless there was an annual feast that occurred. Mirkwood and the kin that brought life to the hallways was joyous in their own way, and many who visited, found that to be rather surprising.
Differed did the Elves and their homelands. Those who were found in Rivendell, possessed much grace and elegance, never would they succumb to violence unless necessary. However, those that roamed Mirkwood were considered to be far more deadly for they are the ruthless, as well as the elegant in movement. But, do not let that fool you; their company would differ not from the other Elvish kin and their manners.
Entertainment was something that Elves thrived on, especially when the entertainment was that of song. On the night that the stars are the brightest, feasts are held within the great hall, and all are welcome, as long as they prove not to be dangerous in mind and body. Those who intended to join the feast, were greeted with open arms, as were those who had the will to sing; they were known, as Minstrels.
Legolas stood, shoulders broad and stance relaxed, in the far corner, where he observed all that occurred within the hall. He was addressed many times, by those who knew his status, and from time to time, he would engage in the common tongue. But once the entertainment had arrived, all went quiet, and nothing, but the harmonious voice could be heard.
Lyra, that was her name, and beautiful was her voice, haunting, like the midnight cape that clad her.
She was surprised by how intently they listened, how tranquil the hall was at the face of music. For when Lyra gazed upon the feasting elves, she did not fathom that folks so merry and warm would appreciate her artistic endeavours to such a degree. That only drove Lyra to refine her voice even more beautifully.
Many a place she had visited, but none was the same. There were some that she desire to leave by the second she got there, and some that she desire to stay at forever. But Lyra’s heart was of a drifter’s, forever wandering around, and there was never a place to call home.
Middle-earth was her home.
When her song that came to an end, Lyra curtsied and bowed, murmuring phrases of gratitude in Elvish. She produced a wooden box - an intricate little thing. While it seemed shallow and small, the box was actually quite deep. One box full of coins could sustain Lyra for one month. It was customary.
She left the box on the stage as she descended it, while calls from the back invited her to join the feast in common tongue. She would collect it at the end of the feast, and she would see how it filled up. Lyra made her way to the farther end of the room where there were still a few seats. She knew none of these elves by name except a few guards, but she was still more than glad to break meat and mead with them.
