Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Building Ithilien (#4263)
Author: RaiderK
Chapters: 54

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Legolas faces love and danger on his road to building a new elven realm in Ithilien. Post RotK. *Note: This is a LONG story. Sure, it's got action, orcs, battles, swordfights, and disasters--but it's really all about the characters and their relationships. And yeah, a certain prince falls in love along the way...
Published: 24 Jul 2010
Updated: 09 Oct 2011
Warnings:
Type: Romance
Characters: Legolas


Chapter 1 - Prologue

Author's note:

I was largely inspired to write this fanfic after reading many great stories off of FF. I have always loved and admired Tolkien's work. I first read The Hobbit when I was eight and have been enchanted by Middle Earth ever since. I read all the books that I could get my little hands on! From that point on, I make it a point to read LOTR once a year.

Honestly, I felt a little daunted to try and write something LOTR related, but I endeavored to write a story with some action anyway, perhaps a little romance!

My main wish and aim is to remain true to Tolkien's original characters and devices. This story largely centers on Legolas and his efforts toward the realization of his own elven realm in Ithilien.

Welcome to my Middle Earth…



Prologue:

Legolas knew darkness. He had faced down evil deep in the bowels of Moria and had proven himself at the Black Gate of Mordor. He was a known hero of the War of the Ring…

But those victories had been achieved with the company of the Fellowship.

Tonight, he was utterly alone. And the darkness drowned him. This night, foul with a pitch so black—it fought to consume him, and if it did not, then his enemy would. He knew not who or what he faced, but he had seen firsthand its grim trail.

His ears pricked to the low rumble of someone, some creature breathing, followed by a sharp crack, like wood being snapped. He dared not move from his position. He checked his peripheral vision. All seemed still, save his heart pounding in his chest. Panic and fear chased through his veins, raking his body with self-doubt and loathing. 'Fool! You should not have come alone!'

Crack! An enormous pine slapped the earth. The ground shook as if lightning had struck down from the sky. Crack! Another tree whipped down, this time grazing Legolas' side. The trees and the night thrummed in the rhythm of torture. The breathing grew louder, and the elf could hear the beast drawing each distinct thunderous breath.

Legolas tightened his fingers on his bow, steady he told himself, and briefly rolled his shoulders back, a habit he used to calm his nerves before battle. He lightly released his fingers and squeezed the bow again. Calm returned, and the archer was ready.

He swung out from behind the tree, fitting an arrow to his bow and firing toward the breathing. Legolas pulled himself against another tree, edging his way closer to the smell and the rustling sounds. In the inky night, he could see no more than his hand and bow in front of him. The ground pulsed beneath his feet. The horses whinnied, followed by the pounding of many hooves. They had stampeded. Legolas heard a muffled thump from the trees, and then silence. The rank odor had vanished, and only the hot scent of fresh blood lingered. He felt his body sag involuntarily and then checked himself. He could not be sure the threat was gone until he had swept the area.

Legolas stepped into the clearing, weapon still in hand. All of the horses were gone, hopefully of their own volition. He could not blame them. He knelt to the ground and then stood. It was too dark to check for any tracks of predators. That would have to wait until morning light. He moved steadily back to the tree line and the river where he had first heard the breathing. Legolas was sure of one thing; the creature he encountered tonight was no ordinary wolf, bear, troll, orc, or anything thinkable.

The elf kept his guard up and stole back toward the river and trees. His eyes busily scanned the close-knit woods for any sign of movement. Scarcely looking at the ground before him, he stumbled over a fallen log. Legolas scrambled toward his feet in disbelief that he had not seen it before. He looked toward the base and ran his fingers along the scratchy bark until he reached the breaking point of the tree. Almost as if someone had snapped the tree like a twig, the trunk broke off in jagged ends two feet above the ground. At that moment, he noticed four other trees, fallen in the same manner. Deep gouges marked the trunks. Legolas bent down to study them and then swallowed hard. The choking smell had returned.

His arms darted out to grab his bow when a hard jerk toward his chest sent him reeling toward the river. As he tumbled over the bank and fell, he drew his long, white knife, frantically slicing the open space before him. He struck something hard. It was too dark to tell what. Before he hit the river below, Legolas found himself wondering if it was such a good idea to fall blindly into a ravine with a blade in one's hand…

Plunging into the Anduin, Legolas lost all sense of direction and flailed in the murky water. He had fallen into the river from great height, and his right shoulder had slammed into a boulder, knocking his knife from his hand. The swift current of the Anduin rushed over him as he frantically searched for his weapon. The clouds still blotted out the moon. With his bow still on the riverbank above and his knife somewhere in the river, the elf was unarmed and alone.

A breeze gathered, parting the clouds, and a thin strip of moonlight reflected off the river. His knife! Legolas grabbed for it, only an arm's length away. The handle felt warm and sticky. He held it up in the moonlight only to see that the blade dripped in gore.

When the clouds lifted completely from the moon, Legolas saw red everywhere. Blood streaked his chest, torso, and his hands. He felt the back of his throat burn and knew he was going to be sick. His chest still throbbed from the hit he had taken, and his shoulder felt on fire. He tumbled toward the edge of the river, fighting the push of the current.

Suddenly as before, a thick acrid odor assailed his nostrils. His enemy had returned. The prince pushed himself against a large outcropping of stones in the riverbed. He longed for his bow but praised the Valar that he had found his knife in time. The smell and the sound of the creature's breathing grew stronger.

From behind the rock, Legolas heard a guttural snarl, followed by ripping, flesh being torn from the bone. The water thrashed and swelled against his hiding place. Flecks of bone and flesh floated past him. The splashing stopped. Legolas waited. He knew the fell beast still lingered. He could hear and smell its breath. He wondered if this was how it would all end for him. He rolled his shoulders back and gripped his knife.

How did it come to this?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember...


Chapter 2 - Arrival at Lothlorien

BUILDING ITHILIEN

Chapter 1: Arrival at Lothlorien

In the dim of the evening, two shadowed figures approached one another on the edge of a great forest, fair and feared. The canopies were green and golden; the trees, mighty and deep. This was Lothlorien, home of the Galadhrim.

A guard moved silently from the cover of the woods and addressed the visitor, with a voice both fair and lilting: "Hail, son of Thranduil. You have long kept your distance from our borders."

For this young guard recognized the incoming guest. It was Legolas Greenleaf, one of the Nine Walkers, a member of the Fellowship. He had passed through the Golden Wood once before, during the War of the Ring, and now he returned. Only for what purpose, the guard standing watch could not fathom.

Legolas answered his call sure and merrily. His heart was light from travel and the sight of these great trees stirred his spirit. And the young guard's obvious excitement at having been the one to greet him was contagious.

"I have been much occupied in Eryn Lasgalen, but now my duties necessitate my travel to your fair land," Legolas answered him and gave him a solemn elven salute that secretly thrilled the guard to no end.

"Will you be long with us?"

"I am not at liberty to say," Legolas guessed. "The Lady has beckoned me, and I cannot help but to answer her call."

Of course, the guard instantly knew of whom Legolas spoke. Lady Galadriel ruled Lothlorien from Caras Galadhon. She was ancient and wise, and above all things, a good and kindly ruler. Many of the elves speculated that she would be soon to leave these shores now that Sauron the Great Deceiver had been thrown down.

Legolas had traveled to Lothlorien to answer a summons from the Lady of the Wood, Galadriel. As he walked through the forest, his eyes drifted among the mallorns, enjoying their beauty and quiet dignity once again. His quiet thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the guard who had met him at the forest's edge.

"I have heard the captain of the guards speak of you. He said that you were one of the Nine Walkers and very skilled with the bow," the guard said and eyed Legolas with a look bordering on near reverence. He chattered on, "I should very much like to see your skills, if Haldir spoke so well of you. For he is one of the greatest among the Galadhrim in that field."

"Yes," Legolas smiled, "Haldir is not one to be overly generous with praise. That is a rare compliment from him."

The young guard nodded his head. "I would know about that more than you think," he added, "for I am Farothin, and Haldir is my uncle." He paused for a moment and glanced at Legolas as they walked toward the center of the forest. "I know this is bold of me to say, but I would dearly love to see you and my uncle compete in a contest of archery."

Legolas laughed out loud. "I? Compete against Haldir in a contest of arrows? Mark me, Farothin, when I say that I am honored, but I do not crave embarrassment, nor would I seek it.

"My lord," Farothin protested, "I meant no jest. It would surely be a diversion welcome among the Galadhrim."

"Perhaps, Farothin, if my duty to the Lady does not interfere, we will have our little game of arrows. Haldir's profession makes him an expert and a worthy opponent in any game. I should dearly love to pummel him." Legolas said, winking at Farothin.

As the two elves neared Caras Galadhon, they came upon Cerin Amroth, the heart of the ancient realm. Legolas paused to pick a cluster of niphredil, the pale blossom that grew in clusters around the ring of mallorns. He felt young again among such aged trees, and his heart remembered the last time he had been there, with the fellowship. Such sorrow they had suffered. He thought of Frodo and his burden, hoping that the young hobbit had found peace again in the Shire. His thoughts drifted to Aragorn and Arwen, recalling that Cerin Amroth was home to their confessions of love.

"It is a magical place, is it not, Farothin? Full of memories…" Legolas stated, not really asking for a reply. He place the nephredil in his pocket, and said, "Come, the Lady awaits."

Legolas ascended to the talan and the great chamber of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. The platform hung among the mallorn trees like the deck of a vast and powerful ship, open to the air and the hush and whispers of the trees.

Here, Galadriel and Celeborn reigned supreme. They were as ancient as the trees themselves, and their eyes held the wisdom and sorrow of many ages.

"Welcome, son of Thranduil. Too long has it been since we saw you last at the courts of Gondor," said Celeborn, warmly beckoning Legolas to his chair.

Legolas approached the Lord and Lady, bowing before them.

"I am here at your command, my lady." He glanced around the chamber. Many elves had gathered in the hall, which shone with the brightness of their raiment and complexion. Legolas felt slightly unnerved at their interest and wished to discover for himself the purpose of his visit.

He looked into the Lady Galadriel's eyes, and she held his gaze.

"You wish to leave Mirkwood, son of Thranduil?"

"Yes," Legolas nodded solemnly. "With my father's blessing, I would travel to Ithilien and create a new kingdom of elves in its fair forest." Legolas broke his eyes away from Galadriel to look at Celeborn. "My father has given his consent in this matter."

Galadriel turned her eyes on Legolas once more. "We know, for he sent word of this matter himself. Legolas, you are still young yet and have much love for Middle-Earth and its peoples. It is not wholly wrong for you to want to stay, but many of the firstborn are leaving these shores."

Legolas nodded. He had seen many depart from his own land, seeking the light of Valinor on western seas.

"My own time has come for me to depart. Soon I will make way to Imladris to meet Elrond and ride on to the Havens. The power of Nenya is failing, and then Lorien will be a ghost of what it once was."

Legolas could see twilight in her eyes. "My lady, what would you have of me?" he asked softly.

"If you are willing, the Lord Celeborn and I would have you lead some of our people with you. We have many young elves among the Galadhrim. They are not yet weary of this world, as I am. They would be a credit to you."

"I am honored by your words." Legolas could not hold back his smile, or his excitement. "I would welcome any of the Galadhrim in Ithilien. May the Valar bless this new chapter in the history of our peoples." He bowed before the two, barely able to stop grinning before Celeborn motioned for him to rise and present himself before the rest of the court.

The lady and lord arose from their seats, and Celeborn spoke to the court, saying "We give our blessing to Prince Legolas, son of Thranduil, to lead some of our brave, young hearts to a new realm where they may find their own courage and place in Middle Earth under his guidance."

Many of the elves, young and old, looked at the young prince with expressions of disbelief, murmuring amongst themselves. Legolas could only hear snatches of words, "he is too young… what does a Mirkwood elf know of the Galadhrim? Who will go with him? Wasn't he one of the Fellowship? How exciting…where is he going?"

Legolas felt the scrutiny of their eyes and the heat of their gaze. His heart was wild in his chest for approval from these elves who might be his future subjects. As his eyes scanned the hall, he saw Farothin who nodded at him. Legolas almost started to smile in spite of his nerves until he saw the grim look on the face of the elf maiden next to Farothin.

She met his gaze and did not look away; her eyes were full of contempt, and Legolas began to feel a tinge of self-doubt. Instead of looking away, he smiled at her and lifted his chin. She arched an eyebrow, turned, and left the hall, leaving a bevy of golden curls chasing behind her.

Legolas was musing to himself that his dimples usually got much better reception from elf maidens when Lord Celeborn interrupted his thoughts.

"Come, son of Thranduil. We have prepared a banquet in honor of your visit. You will have many questions to answer, I am sure."

Legolas followed, his heart full with just as many questions. He had been brought up for this, trained for this moment all his life. Leadership. Responsibility. And honestly?

The thought of it all made him absolutely sick to his stomach.


Chapter 3 - The Nights are Brighter

Chapter Two: The Nights are Brighter

The banquet hall of Caras Galadhon was high above the city overlooking the palace grounds. Dozens of hanging lanterns glimmered in the silver-tinged branches of the great mallorns. Legolas felt like he had ascended into the heavens. He had seen the great banquet hall before, of course, but that was during the War of the Ring. The city had been shadowed by sorrow and grief. Now, the Lorien elves were pushing themselves to soak up these final moments in Middle Earth, their hands ready to seize what joy was left. The talans in the trees lit up the night sky. All through the trees, clear-chorused songs of elven voices lilted, caught on wings of the evening breeze and made the stars shine even closer. They were singing of Earandil sailing, of the sweet west calling, and for some, of their new kingdom-come, Ithilien.

As Legolas entered the great banquet hall, a more spindly elf, whose lines on his face and the occasional glimmer of silver in his hair gave him away as being very aged, commented, "I know that I shall remember this place, for surely even Valinor itself could not prove quite so gracious." Legolas could not have agreed more. The banquet table was a feast for the eyes, long enough to accommodate a hundred elves. The top was strewn with fern fronds, silver bowls of blushing fruit, bottles of wine, steaming platters of venison, milky lit candles, and slender goblets. The table filled quickly with members of the highest orders of elven folk.

Legolas found himself seated near a myriad, well, of quite boring individuals. Most of them were Celeborn's advisors and council members, who surely had a long list of dull questions to ask. He looked far down to the left of the table where he saw many of the younger elves, toasting and laughing about the day's joke, or bragging to one another about various contests of skill and daring. On the other side of the long table, he could see the captains of the guard, discussing battles and defense systems. Haldir and Farothin were there, and apparently Farothin was receiving some sort of a tongue-lashing, for he stared down at his plate and pushed his meat around with his knife. I would still trade places with him, thought Legolas, and he braced himself for a new onslaught of very tedious questions from Gilgafier, an elf who always looked like his robes were too tight.

"And how is your family in Eryn Lasgalen, Legolas, my boy? It's been a very long time since we have had the pleasure of your father or elder brother's company," he asked.

"They are well enough. My father, King Thranduil, has been spending most of his time helping my older brother prepare for the throne. After Oromer's marriage, father has been more anxious to retire from duty. And, of course, my two sisters are as lovely and charming as ever."

"I must admit, Legolas," added Gilfier, Gilgafier's son, "I was a bit surprised that you did not bring your sisters with you to Lothlorien. The royal court would have been overjoyed with their presence. I have heard that they are everything gorgeous and good."

"They are lovely," Legolas agreed, "but I could not rob my kingdom of their laughter and the joy they bring to my people." 'Or the headaches they bring to my father,' Legolas added silently. They had begged him to tag along, but he had been like the walls of Moria in this matter. Then they had tried wheedling with his father, but strangely he had taken Legolas' side and had been a rock as well. Legolas could not imagine what it would have been like to bring the twins here. 'I would have spent all my time making sure they behaved themselves, and Ithilien would become a side issue,' he thought to himself and remembered the time they had taken all of his best arrows and used them to make a wall hanging; not to mention the fact that they had chased away Lierwen, the first elf maiden he had shown any interest in since he returned home from the war. "She just was not right for you, brother," the twins had insisted, "and she was too short, and she snorted when she laughed, and her hair…" Legolas groaned to himself. He would never have a chance to find a lover with those two around. His train of thought was interrupted by Gilgafier.

"My prince, are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh, me? I am fine. I assure you." Legolas replied, trying to look interested in their conversation about rune engravings…on second thought, maybe not. "You know what, I think the air might be a little close, please excuse me." Legolas pulled away from the table and walked down toward the lower talans.

This was much better. Legolas planned on staying away from the table just long enough for everyone to finish dinner, and then he would return. He leaned up against the balcony rail and looked down into the forest. It was amazing how different forests could be. Mirkwood was beautiful too, but in a different sort of way. Ithilien would be beautiful; he and his people would make it an elven paradise in the world of men. He sighed and said "Will you not join me?" For he had no idea who behind him, knowing only that someone had just approached.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I only assumed that you wished for solitude." It was the voice of a maiden. Legolas turned around to find that standing before him was the hazel-eyed maiden who had given him such a snotty look during his welcoming.

"No, please join me. It's a soft night that begs for companionship." Legolas said sweetly, hoping that she would warm up to him. He was not really sure why he cared, but it was a pretty night, and any company would be an improvement over Gilgafier's rambling. Besides, he had felt sorely disenfranchised since he parted ways with Lierwen, his former lover, and with the night like it was, it seemed the perfect moment to work some Greenleaf magic.

"It seems to me, my lord, "she said crisply, as she walked to the balcony rail, "that you had an abundance of companions at the banquet hall. Were they not to your liking?"

"Of course they were, but I noticed that you were not there." Legolas pointedly looked at her. "You left the assembly early as well."

"I have no taste for gatherings such as those-all of the royal court, showing off for each other. The Lord and Lady mean well, and it is my utmost respect for them that I attended tonight. I was at the dinner, by the way. I saw you. You looked completely engrossed by the conversation. Rune engravings, was it?"

"I swear I would have noticed if you had been there," Legolas insisted and added, "I purposefully looked around for you."

"I?" she looked surprised. "What could I have done to gain the prince's attention?" She spit out the word, prince, as if it were distasteful.

Legolas placed his hand on top of hers, resting on the rail. "It was because you looked at me so sweetly during the assembly. I wanted to thank you for making me feel so welcome, by just looking at me the way you did." She did seem like one of the Valar in the moonlight. Her hazel eyes were like the forest, green with flecks of brown, with dark curly lashes. Her skin was luminous and fair. Her hair was not pale blonde like many of the Lorien elves, but a deep, rich gold color, with soft curls tumbling all the way down her back. Legolas smiled at her.

She snatched her hand away, and her eyes darkened. "You are the most presumptious elf, I have ever met!" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You think you can show up to Caras Galadhon and make claim for whatever you would have? You plan on tearing part of the city away, on some Valar-forsaken trek to a forest that nobody cares about on the borders of Mordor? Mordor! Well, let me tell you, I am not impressed, and I certainly will not be one of them."

Legolas took a step forward, bringing his face even with hers. "Do not speak of that which you do not know, and if I am presumptious, then let it be known that the Lord and Lady summoned me here. I am only here at their invitation. You make a most ungracious showing of your people, for they are not all of your opinion."

"But many of them are, Prince Legolas." She evened out her voice and straightened up, smoothing the lines of fabric in her gown. "Do not be so blind to think that none will oppose you. Come, the dinner is finished. Lord Celeborn will be looking for you. Pray, do not keep my people waiting." With that said, she turned and began the stairs back up to the banquet talan, leaving Legolas to his thoughts.

'One of the Valar?! Ha! More like an orc... So much for the Greenleaf magic. I didn't even get her name. No wonder Lierwen left me.' Legolas shrugged and followed the stairs back to the banquet hall. Surely there would be dancing and singing tonight. No better time existed to woo lovely maidens. He would just have to find some more willing!


Chapter 4 - Stealing their Hearts

Before I start Chapter Three, I wanted to share my perspective on how I see Tolkien's elves. The movies make the elves seem like really serious creatures, and as well they should be, for the War of the Ring was a serious time in their history. Yet in the books, Tolkien's elves have a lighter, merry side to them:

So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so. They were elves of course, (The Hobbit, 46).

The elves had brought bright lanterns to the shore, and they sang a merry song as the party went across… "Mind Bilbo doesn't eat all the cakes!" they called. "He is too fat to get through key-holes yet!"

"You speak for me Gimli," laughed Legolas. "Though I would sooner learn how they came by the wine," (LOTR, 544)

With this said, elves definitely know how to have a good time!

Chapter Three: Stealing Their Hearts

The great table had been pushed to the back wall. On one side of the room, chairs had been gathered, and the rest of the space was to be used for a large dance floor. The Lady Galadriel shimmered in the gathering of chairs, smiling and conversing with some of her younger, female subjects. 'Perfect,' thought Legolas, 'after all, Ithilien will need fair maidens to grace its halls,' and he moved to join them. As we walked across the room, he took delight in seeing elves tune their instruments: lyres, harps, flutes, and yuvitars with long strings and round heavy bottoms.

Just as Legolas neared Galadriel, hoping for introductions, Celeborn intercepted him.

"Legolas, I had no idea that you were interested in the different methods of rune engravings. Tell me, have you ever studied the scrolls of Belthuin, in the house of Elrond?"

"Well, I..." Legolas started.

"They are really something. They compare the Tengwar of Rumil to that of Feanor and feature a whole section about moon letters. You must come to my study and look at them with Gilgafier and me. We could spend hours comparing the variations in the alphabet of Daeron and how they affect Sindarin etymology."

"I can not claim the knowledge that you and your minister must possess. I fear I could only be a hindrance," stated Legolas flatly.

"Well, of course, you have much more to look toward now that you are planning for the future of Ithilien. Which is exactly why I came over to meet you! Not to ramble on about runes and dialects. I wanted to introduce you to someone who I think will be a great asset to you and your plans for Ithilien." Celeborn steered Legolas to a young group of elves. "Prince Legolas, please allow me the honor of introducing to you one of the finest young hearts of Lorien..."

"Eledhel!" Legolas exclaimed and immediately shook his hand, and clapped him on the back.

"Well, it seems you know each other already," Celeborn said, smiling at the reunion. "Eledhel has been one of the biggest supporters of your project, ever since he first heard mention of it."

"We met during the Fellowship's stop-over during the War. He was one of the first elves I met during our stay and showed great hospitality toward me and Gimli." Legolas added.

"Well as no further introductions are needed, I believe I will join the Lady." Celeborn bowed and left.

"Well, prince, things have been awfully dull since the siege of Dol Guldur. You have met Farothin and Haldir here, but this is Belegil and Sulindal, two brothers who would take the journey with us. They both fought bravely in the battles of our realm."

Legolas bowed to them for he could see that they were elven warriors with hearts forged on the battlefield. "It would be a blessing to have you both." He then turned to Farothin and Haldir. "What of you two, would you take the journey over river, hill, and plains to a new land, both free and wild?"

Farothin nodded. "I would, my prince, if only to guard the fair forests of this new land," he said, enthusiasm ringing in his voice.

"What of you, Haldir? Would you join us?" asked Legolas, anticipating his answer, for he knew that Haldir loved the Golden Wood too much.

"Would that I were a millennia younger and not so bound to the great Lord and Lady of Caras Galadhon," he said, his tone less wistful than his words. You undertake a great labor, prince, to forge a new realm in the heart of much darkness."

"Yet it is a challenge I would eagerly suffer," claimed Eledhel. "Now what is this I hear about a challenge of skills between two great archers?"

"Yes, I have spoken to Farothin about that during dinner. Let me assure you, my Lord, that you will hear no more of such silliness from him," Haldir retorted and gave Farothin a pointed look.

"It would only seem like silliness, Haldir, if one of the competitors was not worthy of the challenge." Legolas said smoothly and raised an eyebrow at Eledhel.

"Yes, I am with Legolas on this matter," agreed Eledhel. "It has been too long since the Galadhrim have had the pleasure of seeing sport among champions. I would join this venture."

"As would my brother and I," declared Sulindal. "All of the best archers would agree, unless…" and he slyly looked at Haldir, "they did not feel themselves capable."

"Are you implying that I am unworthy to compete with the prince, or Eledhel, or any of you for that matter?" Haldir bristled. "I did not come to be Captain of the Guard on the basis of looks."

"No, brother, that would never have come to pass!" laughed Eledhel and then stopped himself. "So are you willing to join us in a battle of skill?"

"Yes, if only to teach younger elves that they would be better served keeping their mouths shut." Haldir replied grimly, leaving to seek more suitable company than his nephew and his friends.

"Now, did I not tell you that we could get Haldir to join our little scheme?" said Eledhel.

"That was sheer brilliance," chimed Farothin. "You were right. He would not back down if his skills were in doubt."

"I can not believe that I have let myself become part of this scheme." Legolas said, feeling pressure to do well, wanting to impress his new subjects.

"We will ask Lord Celeborn if he will allow us to have this tournament next week." Eledhel planned out loud, "When did you want to leave for Ithilien, Legolas?"

"Although I do not yet have Celeborn's agreement on this, I was hoping to make way toward Eryn Lasgalen in three weeks, pick up more of my people, and from there turn toward Gondor and the Minas Tirith." Legolas replied.

"Oh enough of this serious business," interrupted Belegil, "can you not see that we are talking of arrows and tournaments, when there are so many lovely elves begging for our company on the dance floor?"

"Yes, and Legolas, it is your duty as prince, to convince them of the wonders of Ithilien, for if our party is bereft of young maidens, it will lack my presence as well!" laughed Eledhel. "Come, I can make many introductions. I know that last time you were here, your heart was too weary of the Fellowship's burdens to think of romance, but now all is right in Middle Earth. Many the elf maiden was grieved that you were so reticent.

"They will not find me that way now," promised Legolas. "I will do my best to claim the brightest flowers of Lorien to join us on our endeavor."

As Eledhel and Legolas crossed the dance floor, the latter spotted the elf maiden who he had met earlier. She was standing near an open window chatting with Gilgafier's son, letting the cool night air tease her curls.

"Eledhel, who is that maiden?" asked Legolas, curious to know the name of the one who looked at him with such disdain.

"Who, her?" Eledhel tilted his head toward the window. "Why, do you think her worthy of conquest?" He winked at Legolas and teased, "love at first sight?"

"Varda, no!" insisted Legolas. "She may have the face of an angel, but she has the tongue of a devil."

"Oh, so you have spoken to her. This keeps getting richer. Tell me, you did not find her absolutely charming?"

"She is as beautiful as any, but did not seem too interested in my wares." Legolas admitted. "Why, is she taken? Is she your own special love?"

"I can not help but love her," roared Eledhel, "for she is my sister, Miredhel!" He laughed and slapped Legolas on the back. "And she would not pay you the slightest bit of courtesy? Well, good for her!"

'This evening keeps getting better and better,' Legolas thought. First he was bored to grief by Gilgafier, then shunned by Miredhel, conned into competing in a tournament, and now he would suffer teasing for the rest of the evening from Eledhel.

"Please, Eledhel. Direct my attention to a more gracious recipient than your fair sister, Miredhel," asked Legolas. "Surely you know some eligible young ladies who are tired enough of your antics that they might be interested in mine?"

"Of course, my friend," replied Eledhel, yet he was still laughing. The two elves made their way toward Galadriel and her audience of young maidens, stopping to bow before her.

"My Lady, may I introduce the Prince Legolas to these fair ladies, for I fear their vengeance if they were to discover that I kept him

talking all evening of tournaments."

"Oh, Eledhel, will there be a tournament of champions? I heard Farothin talking of it earlier this evening," asked one of the elf maidens known as Tinarien.

"Yes, but only if the Lady of the Wood deemed the tournament worthy enough to grace it with her loveliness."

"We have seen much sorrow and toil in the years of late, Eledhel son of Bragoglin. It would be a welcome sight to see our youngest compete in the spirit of competition and skill, rather than on the battlefield in the face of death." Galadriel smiled at Eledhel and Legolas; like two children, they were before her. "Make it so, son of Bragoglin, and I will see that the champion of such a tournament receives a prize worthy of his skill."

Soon Legolas found himself introduced to all of the young maidens in the circle, and before he knew it he was crossing the dance floor with Tinarien, the elf maiden who had first spoken to Eledhel. She was fair of face and form with the light hair and eyes that came standard to most of the Galadhrim, and Legolas could not help but think that perhaps the evening would turn out well after all.

"You have heard, Lady Tinarien, that I would lead some of your people to a new elven kingdom in Ithilien?" he asked, trying to make conversation, but also wanting to hear her opinion of his quest.

"Yes, my lord, it seems that everyone in elvendom is speaking of naught, but Ithilien." She replied and then hesitantly added, "Every worthy young elf desires to follow you into adventure."

"Would you be one of those willing?" Legolas asked, hoping for an affirmative answer. He led her in the promenade with the rest of the elf couples, keeping time to the merry beat of the music.

"It is more difficult for a lady to decide in such things. We would have to leave our homes, the fruits of our labor and the comfort of our souls, to risk everything in an untamed land." Tinarien paused.

"Yes, but we would build a beautiful new kingdom; everything and more that you deserve or could wish for could be yours in Ithilien."

"I will consent to join the journey, but not for adventure or the new life promised, Legolas Prince. You are stealing the hearts of our young elves, turning their minds from thoughts of settling down to that of adventure. I merely wish to not be left behind." Tinarien said and bowed low. "Thank you for this dance." She turned and joined her friends.

"So Tinarien was resilient to your charms as well, my friend?" It was Eledhel.

"I would not say that she was resilient, but that our efforts on the dance floor tired her." Legolas claimed. "By the end of the night, you will be begging me to make the introductions."

"We shall see!"

So Legolas found another partner, and then later another, wheeling turns on the dance floor. The dancing couples mirrored the spinning of the stars as they slid across the sky into the depths of the night. The music and singing wove solid into the early hours, and the torches burned into ash.

As Legolas finally retired, he took account of the many things that had come to pass, fully knowing that much more would follow in the morning light. He had heard many promises of elves willing to follow him to build a new life. If he could only steal the hearts of the ladies as well, then his dreams for Ithilien would begin to take shape.


Chapter 5 - Of Bows and Arrows

Chapter four: Of Bows and Arrows

The next morning came with the freshness of an early rain. Lothlorien shone in the eastern sun. Legolas abandoned the quarters given him and strolled along the forest floor admiring the fauna. He eventually approached the archery range.

"Hmm," he thought out loud, "this must be where Eledhel plans on having the archery contest." He surveyed the area. There were more than 20 targets, some set low in carts that could be moved and repositioned. "A little practice could never hurt," he said to himself and picked up a spare bow and some arrows that a careless elf had left sitting on a stone table near the range. Any advantage in the tournament would be welcome. Legolas fitted an arrow to the bow, which was a little smaller than he preferred, and let the arrow fly. Thwack! The arrow hit the target, not as perfectly in the bulls' eye as Legolas would have liked.

'I should really go back and pick up my own bow,' thought Legolas. It was the very bow that the Lady Galadriel had given him less than a year and a half ago. Since then, Legolas' bow had become judge and executioner in battle, felling beast and orc alike. As he picked up another arrow and sent it flying through the trees to a distant target, Legolas thought how much had changed. Here he practiced his marksmanship in the Golden Wood while only months ago he had lived on an edge as sharp as the twin blades of his long white knives. Memories of the War brought him both pleasure and pain.

His eyes clouded over as he thought of the grim moments where they had stood before the Black Gate, Morannon, with Gandalf when it seemed that all hope had failed them and the little ones had been lost to Sauron's cruelty. Legolas tightened his fingers over the little bow and took a deep breath. Frodo and Sam were in the Shire now, he told himself, out of harm's way. Yet they would never be the hobbits that they had been before the war. None of the Fellowship could truly reclaim their old lives. They had all been changed irrevocably. He notched another arrow, focused his eyes on the farthest target, and pulled the string taut. Whoosh! The arrow found its home in the center of the target. Legolas smiled to himself. He would make a good enough showing in this tournament. Mirkwood need not be ashamed of its Prince.

He set off in the direction of the targets to collect his arrows, singing blithely of Orome, the Great Hunter. Upon his return, two more elves had arrived at the range, Eledhel and his sister. Legolas stopped singing. He could only think of the unpleasantries from the night before. 'If she is Eledhel's sister, then I will at least try to be pleasant for his sake,' he thought.

"Good morning to you both," he greeted them. "My lady, I fear we have not been properly introduced. It was much remiss of me, and I beg your pardon." He bowed before her. "I am Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood."

Her eyes darted over to Eledhel for an instant and then back to Legolas. "Miredhel, my lord," she said primly and curtsied.

"What brings you here so early, Eledhel? Thinking of practicing? You'll need to hone those skills before you step in line with me and Haldir." Legolas teased.

"No, friend, we were here earlier this morning. My sister and I were enjoying a little sibling rivalry. Anyways, she left her bow." Eledhel frowned at her. "A good warrior never leaves his weapons laying around."

"Then it is a good thing, brother, that I am no warrior," she replied and looked around. "I do not see it, Eledhel. Where could it have gone?" A hint of panic rose in her voice.

"Oh, do not worry, sister. One of the wardens must have picked it up. We shall check in the field house."

"I believe this must be yours, Lady Mireldhel," Legolas brought the bow from behind his back and studied it closely. "A bow of cunning worksmanship, my Lady; yet it is not of the Lorien style."

"It has been passed down the family from mother to daughter for many years," she admitted. "Story has it that this bow was made by Gondolin elves for the Lady Idril Celebrindal herself."

Legolas laughed and handed it to her. "Then guard it well, my lady."

"I have always thought that story an old wives' tale," Eledhel commented. "What do you think, Legolas?"

"Yes," agreed Miredhel, "Let us hear the prince's opinion." Both brother and sister folded their arms across their chests and looked at him. Legolas grimaced. He agreed more with Eledhel, but had no desire to slip back into Miredhel's bad graces.

"Well?" they said together.

Legolas stalled, trying to find a way to please them both. "You know, two friends of mine have Gondolin blades. They found them in an old cache of spoils plundered by trolls. One of the blades would glow blue whenever orcs were near. Deep elvish spells must have been worked upon it." He paused and looked carefully at Miredhel. "I wonder, my lady. Does your bow emit a soft light in the company of orcs?"

She looked astonished. "I do not know. I have never used it in battle…"

"Because she has never been in a battle!" Eledhel interrupted. "Sis has never even seen an orc."

"Then I count you among the blessed, my lady. I wish I could claim the same, but alas I cannot. Anyways, it is entirely possible that this bow could be of Gondolin make. The craftsmanship of such weapons make their years of use long, to endure many a battle." Legolas said, hoping this answer would suffice.

"Very diplomatic answer, Legolas," commented Miredhel, and she smiled at him. She continued, "Ithilien will need such a ruler, if there are to be subjects like my brother and his friends."

Eledhel put his arm around his sister. "Miredhel, I tell you what," he said and winked, "Legolas and I will take you out, beyond the edge of the Golden Wood, stir up some orcs, and then you can see if you bow is charmed by Gondolin magic or not!"

Miredhel's eyes widened. She blinked. She looked at Eledhel, and then Legolas, and then back at Eledhel. Her cheeks tinged pink. "This is not to be endured," she said softly and then raised her voice. "I would expect this from him," she jerked her head in Eledhel's direction, "but not from you, my lord. I suppose that whole story about your two friends and the swords was made up as well?"

"Madame, you misunderstand…" Legolas started, but Miredhel cut him off.

"Do not flatter yourself to think that you can claim familiarity with me, just because my fool of a brother so willingly bestows it. I know you not." She glared at them both and then turned to leave.

"Always had a nasty temper that one," chuckled Eledhel.

"Shh! You know she heard you! Do not make things worse." Legolas advised.

Miredhel whipped around to face them. "Oh both of you can laugh now, but I'll be the one doing all the teasing when I beat you both in the tournament."

"Please, Miredhel!" You have already made a scene and embarrassed yourself in front of the prince. Do not add all of the elves of the Golden Wood to the score by competing in the contest!"

Both brother and sister stared at one another, each daring the other to back down. Green eyes bored into hazel for what seemed like an eternity too long. Legolas could only puzzle at how he had become involved in such an awkward scene. Despite his efforts, Miredhel seemed determined to despise him. So much for diplomacy!

"Oh! I cannot wait for both of you to leave all ready and go to Ithilien!" With that said, Miredhel turned and walked briskly down the wooded path.

"Do you think she has a chance to win?" asked Legolas.

"She has about the same chance of winning as the probability of an orc taking a bath," replied Eledhel drily. "She just said that to make me angry, Legolas. Miredhel has been none too pleased with me since I told her that I was leaving Lothlorien." Eledhel motioned for Legolas to follow him, and they began to walk.

"She does not want to go," murmured Legolas.

"I am the last of her family in this wood. She thinks I am deserting her." Eledhel looked at the shadowy form of his sister retreating into the woods and sighed.

"Aren't you?"

"You're not taking her side, are you, Legolas?"

"I merely mean that you should not leave her here, Eledhel. Convince her to take the road with us."

"It's not for lack of trying," Eledhel said. "She is stubborn."

"Well, we must find a way to convince her," insisted Legolas.

"Oh you have done enough, my friend! She may never forgive you for making up that yarn about the glowing sword."

Legolas stopped walking and placed his hand on Eledhel's shoulder. "Eledhel, that was true what I said back there." Legolas knit his brows and said quietly, "It was Frodo, the Ringbearer, that I spoke of and his famous blade, Sting."

"I did not know. I am sorry, prince, to doubt your word in such a manner," he apologized. "Your story just sounded so incredible."

"I would not lie to a lady or my brother in arms," Legolas said seriously.

"Do not feel too badly, for she is just my sister," said Eledhel, trying to make light of the situation.

"No, Eledhel, she deserves respect all the more, because she is your sister. I must make her understand the truth of the matter." Legolas' eyes flashed, and Eledhel knew to be serious.

"My Prince, I suppose you could find her in the Lady Galadriel's gardens in the center of the city."

Legolas started in that direction immediately, leaving Eledhel still standing behind him.

"But I would wait a bit," he called after the prince, "for you will fare better is she has time to cool down!"

Legolas heard him not. His mind had turned to the matter before him and what he must do to make it right.


Chapter 6 - In the Garden

Author's note: Legolas goes to one of Galadriel's gardens to meet Miredhel. This garden, however, does not contain Galadriel's mirror. That particular garden was on the southern side of the hill.

Chapter Five: In the Garden

A quiet ring of mallorns held the promise of Galadriel's garden. For countless generations of men, this garden had kept faith with the Golden Wood while the saplings grew solid and reached towards the firmament. An arch of latticework woven of many vines chased the edges of the trees, promising solitude. Many a skilled hand had labored there, nurturing the green and living. Many a love's promise had been murmured on the marvelous benches of carved white stone gleamed among beds of ivy and fragrant blossoms. The garden bathed in light streaming through the branches of the trees during the day, and in the evening the stars hung as jeweled beacons, burning above the sweeping forest.

Legolas thought the garden beautiful. He had been there before with Gimli. Dwarves care little for petals and leaves, preferring cold stone and metal, and Legolas had little time to explore the garden's subtleties. Once again, Legolas found that he could not enjoy the garden at his leisure. He must make amends with this unhappy maiden.

The garden was so quiet to his elf ears, for elves have a most uncanny sense of hearing, that he mistakenly thought the garden empty. The Lady Miredhel in her long white gown was caught between the fading dim and the sun's rays tossed to the garden by sweeping mallorn branches caught up in the forest breeze. She reclined on one of the benches, and her breath caught in her throat as the Prince entered the garden.

His sudden appearance vexed her. Legolas paused in the archway, tall and reserved, though his eyes spoke of concern as they inventoried the garden. She reminded herself that eyes could lie, and he had given her little reason to trust him.

Finally she broke the calm. "My lord, what brings you here?"

Her eyes pained him. As dark as the leaves of Mirkwood they were. He met her gaze for a moment, silently apologetic until she looked away.

"Did my brother send you here?"

"No, I came on my own errand," Legolas approached her. She straightened her posture and rested her slender hands in her lap, occasionally twisting a ring on her right hand.

"Do you come to mock me further?" She asked evenly, her face expressionless. She twisted the ring again.

Legolas now stood directly beside the bench. "May I?" He gestured toward the seat. She nodded and slid down to the opposite end.

"I came here seeking solitude, my lord. I desire to be alone with my own thoughts." She stared into the garden, wishing he would leave.

"I understand completely. I do not wish to intrude," Legolas said, but instead of leaving, he placed his hands behind his head, letting his eyes scan the treetops. "I have something of great importance of which I must speak to you." He stood up and moved to a different bench.

An hour passed, and now the sun had pushed the clouds toward the edges of the woods. Miredhel continued to sit on her bench, almost statue-like until an occasional movement of her hands betrayed her. Legolas was perfectly still. At first, he had blissfully surveyed the garden, admiring its many beauties, but now his eyes had an unfocused, far away look, as if he were reliving old memories and dreams.

Miredhel stole a glance at him. He seemed plenty relaxed. His hair strove with the sun for radiance, and his face was beyond fair. She envied him his serenity. Silently, she stood up. She would leave now while he slept. She crept past him, picking up the hem of her gown as to not rustle any leaves. She was almost to the archway when Legolas spoke.

"My lady, you are not leaving so soon?" His eyes were clear and bright.

"I thought you were asleep," she stammered. He had been awake the whole time. Miredhel felt like such the fool. "I did not wish to disturb you, but you are not, well, sleeping. Pray tell me of what you wished to speak." She crossed the garden again and returned to her seat.

"I came to apologize for any shame I might have felt by my words. I meant no dishonor, and I am sorry for any liberties I might have taken in our conversation. I did not mean to give offense." His voice and eyes seemed sincere.

Miredhel was not to be fooled. "My lord, what else could you have intended by serving such a falsehood in the guise of truth?"

"You are mistaken, madame. I have never lied to you or any lady for that matter." Legolas was adamant. "The story in all of its particulars is true. The blade does glow when enemies are near."

"Who was this friend that possessed such a weapon?"

"One of the fellowship," said Legolas softly and closed his eyes. He ran his hand across his forehead and through his hair.

"Does it pain you to speak of your friends?" asked Miredhel curiously. She had read grief in his eyes before he closed them.

"Only when I recall the great sacrifices that were made," Legolas replied and opened his eyes. The moment had passed. "Do you believe me, Lady Miredhel, when I said that I had never spoken an untruth to you?" He looked her fully in the eyes.

She felt petty and insignificant in his gaze. "Yes, I believe you, but I must equally beg forgiveness. I fear I misjudged you."

"All is forgotten," he said and smiled. He rose from the bench with the grace given his kind and made way to leave the garden. He stopped at the archway in afterthought. "Lady Miredhel, do you really intend to compete in the tournament?"

"Alas, I must. I already said so to Eledhel," she said and added, "I am not so ill at archery as my brother would make me out to be."

"Would you care to make it interesting, my lady?"

"Such a suggestion is hardly fair when practically everyone believes that you will take first."

"Well…" Legolas thought a bit and then suggested, "If I manage to take first, then I win the wager. If you manage to place in front of Eledhel, then you win."

"What if both events occur—you place first, and I beat Eledhel?"

"Then we tie, our bets against each other are null, and we shall split Lady Galadriel's prize evenly."

"What are our terms?" she asked.

"What do you want?" he replied, his eyes twinkling.

She bit her lip and hesitated. "If I win the wager, you must not allow my brother passage to Ithilien."

"We could not make such an agreement behind his back," countered Legolas. "It is unfair to him. Let it be something that is mine to give."

"What if he joined the wager and agreed to the condition?"

"Then I could not argue," agreed Legolas.

"Well, what would you have of me?" she asked demurely.

Legolas looked thoughtful. "A kiss from the fair maiden Miredhel."

She blushed and moved to join him under the archway. "Agreed," she said and they shook hands. "Let this garden be our witness."

So they walked out of the garden together, each believing he or she had gotten the better end of the bargain.


Chapter 7 - Different Paths You Might Take

Chapter Six: Different Paths You Might Take

Legolas soon took his leave of the Lady Miredhel. The day was still early, and he had promised to meet Celeborn and some of the other elves for council. Nearing Celeborn's chamber, he could already see a great many elves gathered through the open doors. Some he recognized; many he did not. Celeborn called the meeting to order, and Legolas let his eyes roam. Gilgafier and Gilfier sat next to Celeborn near the center of the room under a trio of arched windows. Lady Galadriel illuminated Celeborn's left side. Even in the warm afternoon sun, she seemed to emit light completely unto herself. Legolas could not help but get lost in her eyes, a darker blue than his own, deepened by the tonnage of years. Haldir stood protectively off to the left, behind the Lord and Lady. Farothin was there as well as the brothers Belegil and Sulindal. Legolas spied Eledhel who lifted his hand from his lap in a subtle 'what happened?' gesture.

'We'll talk later,' Legolas mouthed silently but smiled to assure him everything was all right.

Celeborn began the meeting and stood before the elves. "We have gathered you here to discuss the fate of our people. No longer does our fair wood have the protection of the Lady's ring. Its ability to protect and sustain our city diminishes since the destruction of the One Ring." Many of his people exchanged worried glances or murmured softly with their neighbors. Celeborn wearily sat back down and reached for Galadriel's hand.

"Fear not, my children," she said, "for even this moment in our history has been appointed by the Valar." Her voice, low and resonant, soothed the council, dispelling insecurities. "You have a choice before you now," she continued. "There lies before you three paths you might choose. The first is to take passage to the Havens and sail to Valinor. This is the road of my choosing." She turned toward her husband.

"I have chosen to stay here," said Celeborn. "If your heart is not yet weary of Middle Earth, then you may elect to stay in the Golden Wood with me; alas, that its beauty should lessen in our absence."

"There is one more path open to all," said the Lady. "Beware, it is not for the weary or timid. Much peril lies in store for those who would travel the roads to Ithilien. I have foreseen it." She looked in Legolas' direction and bade him to stand.

"Members of the council," Legolas addressed the crowd, "I have traveled these roads to Ithilien. Even though Sauron has been destroyed, the threat of his minions still darkens fair lands. I cannot guarantee your safety in good faith, nor I do know what dangers we might encounter. I can only call upon you now, the strongest and bravest of hearts, to join me in forging a new beginning."

"We will not advise any to go or to stay. I will only say to trust in your heart's desire as you meet your fates." Galadriel said and rose from her seat. "All are here as representatives of their houses and loved ones. Go to them, and lay open the knowledge of this council so they might choose as well."

The council meeting broke up. Many elves lingered in discussions, debating which fate awaited them. Legolas sought counsel from Celeborn. He easily discerned his silvery head in the throng.

"Lord Celeborn, could I have a moment with you?" Legolas asked.

"Of course, Legolas," he replied. "You showed much insight in your address to my people. I thought it well that you advised them of the eminent dangers." Celeborn's eyes were full of wisdom. He had seen the rise and fall of many great houses of elves in Middle Earth, holding witness to tragedy, destruction, love, and hope. He smiled wistfully. "I see much of myself in you, young Prince—a love for Middle Earth and ambition enough to want to make it better. Only I had the great love and faith of a beautiful elf to give me strength." Celeborn's eyes rested upon Galadriel and dimmed. "There will never be anyone like her again."

Celeborn and Legolas left the large chamber and walked together to Celeborn's study. It was a small, cluttered but pleasant room full of parchments, scrolls neatly stacked, sketches of fauna, and the occasional mounted weapon graced the walls. "I would not presume to guess that this is about the scrolls of Belthuin," commented Celeborn as he and the prince sat down.

"My lord, I was finalizing my plans for travel and wished to consult you. Originally, I had hoped to return to Mirkwood, gather my people in the halls of my father, and then make way to Ithilien."

"Yes, go on," prompted Celeborn.

"But now I feel that the added mileage through the forest would put the journey into additional risks. Instead, I would ask your permission to send messengers to the green wood, letting my people know that we will meet them on the southern edge of Eryn Lasgalen."

"I think it a good plan. The Lady will be departing for Rivendell soon. She and Elrond wished to reach the Havens in the last days of autumn. I am loathe to see so many leave at once, but perhaps it will be best that way. Legolas, you would do well to be on your journey before the first frost."

"I agree," said Legolas. He noticed a collection of sketches on a cluttered table. Some of the drawings featured magnificent mallorns, intricate studies of plants, and vignettes of Caras Galadhon. "Oh," said Legolas, as he recognized something familiar, "is this the garden in the center of the city?"

Celeborn peered at the drawing. "Ah, yes. The people call it 'lovers' ring.' I enjoy the botany there immensely, although most of the Galadhrim find it endearing for other reasons…" He smiled, perhaps savoring old memories.

Legolas, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable. 'Lovers' Ring!' he thought, quite miserably. What if someone had seen him there with Miredhel? The last thing he wanted was to stir up gossip. He could feel his ears burning and looked suspiciously at Celeborn. Did he know anything of his meeting there with her? 'Of course not,' Legolas told himself, 'don't be foolish. Nothing happened anyways.' Now was the time to leave.

"Well, my lord, thank you for your advice. It is most appreciated. I hope to see you at the archery contest tomorrow?" Legolas said and walked to the doorway.

With a gleam in his eye, Celeborn scrutinized the young elf. "Of course, Prince Legolas. We look forward to it." The prince relaxed and started to leave. "Just a moment now…" Celeborn said, and Legolas stopped, his shoulders tensing. "Before you take leave, young sire, I really must know—what is her name?"

"Whose name?" Legolas innocently said, wincing.

"The young lady you must have gone to see in that garden. The same one you thought of and blushed as I called it 'the lovers' ring.' Who is she?" Celeborn tried to look serious, but his eyes had a rare, unreserved light.

"Keeping secrets from the Lady OR you seems an impossible task," Legolas observed. "I knew not of the garden's romantic history. Besides, she is only a friend. Not even a friend really, an acquaintance."

"I see," Celeborn said, "but you still have not told me her name. Do not feel embarrassed, Legolas. I am merely interested in seeing which of our young ladies so captured your attention."

Legolas walked back inside the study, for he did not wish his or Celeborn's words to be overheard. He lowered his voice. "In truth, Lord Celeborn, I feel that perhaps I should not become involved with anyone right now. My heart is ready, but my mind is not. I should not neglect my present duty to Ithilien. I do not desire to lose focus."

"You are dedicated, Legolas, and a fine ruler you shall be. Do not lose sight of your needs as well. Love will make you stronger, not weaker, if that is what your mindset is."

"Again, I thank you, Lord Celeborn…for all of your kindness." Legolas bowed and left.

He walked down the corridor, tracing the steps and hanging corridors that moved from one giant mallorn to the next. He searched for Eledhel to let him know what had transpired in his meeting with Miredhel. He had just began to climb another spiraling set of stairs when he heard a call from down below.

"My lord! Prince Legolas!" It was Belegil and Sulindal. They waved their arms, hoping to attract his notice. Legolas waved back, motioning that he would join them.

"What did you think of the council," he asked.

"I was surprised to hear that the Lady was planning on leaving so soon," Belegil said. "Truly, I did not believe that she would depart for several more years."

"Aye, brother," Sulindal joined in. "She made your trip seem fairly bleak, my lord. Lady Galadriel has the ability of sight you know."

Legolas nodded. "I know it well, Sulindal, but I do not think that she would encourage a mission that she has foreseen to be disastrous."

"Yes, but it will be dangerous. There is no denying it," said Belegil and continued, "The roads are open for adventure, Prince, and we will meet danger together."

"More have joined our party, my lord. I have spoken with some warriors who have promised themselves as well as some ladies."

"That is good," Belegil said, his eyes smiling. "The more ladies, the better."

"Speaking of ladies," Sulindal added, "we heard that you and the Lady Miredhel seen in 'lovers' ring.'"

Legolas groaned and brought his hand to his face. "Don't two accomplished elven warriors have more important things to worry about? Where did you hear of this?"

Belegil and Sulindal exchanged looks. "It must be true then, brother."

"He did not deny it."

"Of course, she is a fiery one."

"Yes, what a temper she has."

"Her temper is worse than Eledhel's.

"Ah, but he is not half so lovely as she!"

The brothers would have kept on, if Legolas had not thrown up his hands. "Quiet!" he hissed. "I do not wish all of the Golden Wood to know. I did meet her there, but it was only to apologize for some hasty words. Oh, I was right to fear this as fodder for gossips. Now, where did you hear of this?"

"Fear not, Prince. We heard it from Eledhel himself! He is looking for you, by the way."

Legolas looked stunned. His face, which had been rather red, drained to an unpleasant mottled complexion. "You really had me going, did you not?" He looked at the brothers. They avoided eye contact and feared that they might have taken their joke too far with the prince. An uneasy silence passed between the elves. Yet, Legolas could not help but laugh and put his hand on Belegil's shoulder. "Do not fear, my brothers! From now on, you must not call me 'sir' or 'my lord,' but only Legolas, for I know that we will become the closest of friends."

Both Belegil and Sulindal were visibly relieved. Sulindal spoke first, saying, "Then let us escort you, Legolas, to lunch with us. Eledhel will meet us there. He has been finalizing the plans for the tournament tomorrow."

The three met Eledhel in the warriors' mess hall. The mess hall served a myriad of elves all the way from the youngest undergoing training to the most battle-hardened veterans. Legolas delighted in seeing elflings with their practice tunics and wrist guards, their feet dangling off the low benches, and their novice weapons—little training swords, bows, and quivers. Some of the elflings stopped from their meals to look up at him, mouths agape. They had heard of this Prince among elves that had stood for their kindred in the Fellowship. Legolas had never really enjoyed being singled out when he was younger for his nobility or deeds accomplished, and this sentiment had continued into adulthood. Despite these feelings, Legolas stooped down to eye-level with the children.

"Who are these great warriors?" he asked the elflings.

"We…we are not warriors, my lord. This only my first year of training in the sword," stammered a curly-topped elfling boy.

"I am learning the bow," another little elfling girl said and shyly added, "and I hope to be as good as you…some day."

"Well then, you must work very hard and listen to your masters. In a few years' time, you will be winning all of the tournaments." Legolas stood and ruffled the little elflings curls.

"Some of those elflings will more than likely be joining our party to Ithilien." Sulindal said. "Eledhel will know of which ones for sure. He has a memory like a dwarf's coffer. There he is now. Let us join him."

Eledhel sat at one of the long tables in the back of the hall. He had already finished with his lunch and was busy looking at a scroll, hardly bothering to look up until his friends were nearly upon him. "So you found him, eh? Good!" Eledhel looked back down at the parchment, so Legolas, Belegil, and Sulindal sat down and began eating. The meal was in keeping with standard Mirkwood rations, Legolas noted—side of meat, bread, greens, a little cheese, wine.

"So, Eledhel," Legolas said between mouthfuls, "are you not interested in what happened with your sister?"

"Oh." Eledhel looked up. "I am sorry, Legolas. I meant to ask you about it, but I just wanted to check this list to make sure I had not forgotten any names." He scanned the list again and then set it aside. "Actually, my sister told me everything that happened. I saw her after the council meeting. She was quite herself again." Eledhel lifted his glass in Legolas' direction. "I must say—you impress me."

"Did she tell you about our wager?" Legolas asked.

"Yes, and I made a counter-bet with her. If I place first, then she must go with us to Ithilien." He looked at his friends thoughtfully. "You must let me win tomorrow."

"Throw the tournament?" Belegil whispered. "I know she is your sister and everything, but do you think that everyone is going to let you win?"

"Haldir certainly will not," advised Sulindal. "I heard that he has been at the range for most of the morning, honing his skills."

"Eledhel, you are more than capable of winning this tournament. Relax, my friend." Legolas coated a roll with butter while he spoke. "Extra advantage will be unnecessary, if you really want to win."

"Easy for you to say, Legolas! Every elf favors you to place first. What wager did you make with my sister, anyway? She would not say."

Legolas arched his eyebrows. "Then it is not for me to reveal." Belegil elbowed Sulindal in the ribs, and the brothers exchanged knowing looks. "Besides, when I win the tournament tomorrow, then the matter shall be common knowledge. Until then," Legolas rose from the table, "I suggest you join Haldir at the range."

Leaving the table, Legolas smiled to himself. Could he really throw the game for Eledhel? He hated to lose. Of course, he did not want to be the reason for a family's separation… but perhaps it would be better if Miredhel stayed in Lothlorien. She openly admitted that she possessed no desire to live in Ithilien. She possessed no skills that recommended her as a vital member of the party. Legolas was at a loss to decide. Only if he and Eledhel were close for first would he think about missing a shot on purpose. He would let tomorrow's tournament tell the tale.


Chapter 8 - The Games Begin

[i]
Characters:
Legolas Greenleaf: prince of Eryn Lasgalen. Plans on building new kingdom of elves in Ithilien

Haldir: captain of the guard in Lothlorien

Eledhel: friend to Legolas, son of Bragoglin,

Miredhel: sister to Eledhel, daughter of Bragoglin

Belegil and Sulindal: twin brothers, warriors, and friends of Eledhel.

Galadriel and Celeborn: ancient and wise rulers of Lothlorien

Tinarien: elf maiden and lady-in-waiting to Galadriel

Gilgafier: advisor to Celeborn, likes runes

Thranduil: king of Greenwood (Eryn Lasgalen) and father of Legolas

Places:

Caras Galadhon: Elvish city in Lothlorien

Lothlorien: the Golden Wood, realm of Galadriel and Celeborn

Eryn Lasgalen: aka Mirkwood, Greenwood the Great, home of Legolas

Ithilien: Forest between Gondor and Mordor. Legolas plans on setting up a new elvish colony there. [\i]



Chapter Seven: The Games Begin

Preparations for the archery tournament followed the sun's slow creep over the hills. Busy hands set up seating, hung targets. Across Caras Galadhon, elves crept from flets to see the stars and moon dim in early morning rays. First one voice, then two, then numerous uncountable called to each other in ever-changing song, both joyous and as old as Cuivienen. They sang of rivers running and forests deep. A myriad of voices strong and clear, sweet and sad, blessed the dawn and the contest to come.

Legolas alone in his room lifted his voice as checked his bow and gathered his arrows into his quiver. He had already dressed before dawn, choosing to represent his royal house by wearing green and brown. He had also decided to rebraid his hair into the traditional Greenleaf braids. Legolas had never cared too much for pomp, but his intuition told him that his father would have been pleased by this gesture. Thranduil would have been piqued to discover that his son had been omitting his prince's crown from his standard attire as of late. The crown was not balky, gaudy, heavy, or any of those things; it was merely a simple circlet of silver carved with leaves. Legolas peered at the crown among his possessions. With a sigh, he picked it up and put it on. He tilted his head. The crown slid over his ear. 'This will never do,' he thought, not for a tournament at least.

Legolas carefully placed the crown back into his pack, picked up his weapons and proceeded to the stables on his way to the archery fields. In the stables, Legolas cheerfully greeted his horse, Arod, who whinnied and stamped in return.

"Easy, my friend. I do not come empty-handed," replied Legolas. He produced an apple and offered it to Arod. While the horse munched greedily, Legolas ran his fingers through the mane. He had owned and loved many horses in his years, but he thought Arod one of the finest. They had become fast friends on the fields of Rohan, seeing many battles and traveling many more roads. Always, Arod had been faithful.

"You will not fail me today, will you?" Legolas asked. "You must be fleet-footed if we want to win the race in the archery contest." In the way that all elves had with beasts, Legolas could sense that Arod understood him.

As Legolas led Arod out of the stable, Miredhel entered to secure her horse for the race portion of the tournament.

"My lord," she exclaimed, "I would have expected you to have been at the field nearly an hour ago!"

"The morning was too lovely to rush, Lady Miredhel," replied Legolas as he studied her. Dark green leggings hugged her shapely legs, and she wore a light, silvery green tunic. She had tied her golden curls back, making her face seem even more heart-shaped.

"You have not won our wager yet, Prince Legolas," she coyly said, eyeing his sly observation of her.

"Why did you not tell Eledhel or Belegil of my condition on the wager, that you should kiss me if I win?"

"Why should I have?" Miredhel indignantly answered. "Our business is our own. Besides I fully intend to win the wager." She mounted her horse in one seamless movement. She looked down at Legolas, "I suppose you informed them of the terms?"

"And if I did?"

"I care not," she said and tossed her head.

"You blush, my lady." Legolas observed.

"Only when I consider the embarrassment you will feel at losing face in front of your friends…when I win."

"And what if Eledhel wins?"

"Then I will leave the Golden Wood and only know misery as a companion." She started to ride from the stable, but Legolas stepped in her way.

"Please move." Miredhel attempted to edge past him, but Legolas caught up her hand and held fast.

"I look forward to the outcome, my lady," Legolas said and brought her hand to his lips.

She jerked her hand away. Her eyes narrowed. "You have not won yet."

"No, but my father taught me to believe in myself," he countered.

"You are an arrogant one."

"Do not forget to whom you speak, my Lady." Legolas warned her.

"Kissing you will be the last thing I do, Prince Legolas." Eyes flashing, she straightened her posture and lifted her chin in the air. "Now, if you will excuse me? I have a tournament to win."

"As you wish," said Legolas and stepped out of the way. She sailed past him, not looking back.

"Me, arrogant?" Legolas fumed to Arod. "She is the very picture of it." He thought for a moment. "And why did I make such a foolish wager? She obviously finds me repulsive in every aspect. Of course, no one forced her to accept the conditions… Well, we shall see…" Legolas' voice trailed off. "Let us go, Arod. We have a tournament to win." With a determined look in his eye, he quickly mounted and was hardly out the door when stopped by Eledhel.

"Well met, Legolas and Arod," he called. "You are in a hurry to win. Wait a moment, and I will most happily join you on the way over." He neatly side-stepped Arod and led his horse Firmith from the stall. Legolas felt agitated at the prospect of company but did not wish to dismiss Eledhel, who had been such a good friend and support. He shifted uncomfortably atop Arod.

"Legolas, you do not look at all well," Eledhel observed quietly. "Nervous?"

"Not at all," he replied and attempted to put Miredhel's words behind him.

Eledhel mounted Firmith and rode to Arod's side. "I am not so easily fooled. What troubles you?"

"I did see your sister not long before you entered the stable, "he reluctantly confessed.

"Enough said." Eledhel shook his head. "I have never seen her more shaken than this morning. Usually so calm, she is. I almost told her to consider our wager cancelled, but she never would have agreed to that."

"She seemed far from nervous to me." Legolas said. He replayed his conversation with Miredhel in his mind from a new perspective. She was nervous?

Eledhel nodded. "Only because you do not know her as well as I. She is as constant as the northern star, just as brilliant, and just as distant to try and reach. Through a lifetime of study, I have learned to love her, but not understand her."

"Yet I have only known her a few days and would try for the same," Legolas admitted.

"You can no more rush the rise of the sun…" said Eledhel, his voice trailing off.

Both elves rode silently together toward the archery field. As they reached the tree line, Eledhel spoke first.

"Best wishes and true aim, my friend."

"About the wager," Legolas started, but Eledhel interrupted.

"Do not speak of it, Legolas. Let us both prove our mettle today, regardless of bets made."

The two friends dismounted and shook hands. They led their horses to the archery field for the contest was about to start.

The warriors, both male and female, of Caras Galadhon lined up along the field. They wore the colors of their different houses and bore weapons grim and sleek. Legolas took his place among them next to Farothin, and Eledhel stood out in front to address the spectators. The elves had quickly erected a collection of raised platforms along the green. In the middle of them all sat Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. With a nod from her ladyship, Eledhel began.

"My lords and ladies, the warriors before you will compete in a series of challenges. The first is marksmanship. Points will be awarded on the basis of skill and accuracy on the circular targets before the green. The second contest challenges speed, accuracy, and decision-making against moving targets. Finally, the top five competitors from the previous rounds will compete against each other in an obstacle course."

The platforms were full of elves, young and ageless. They applauded and cheered for their favorites. Many laughed and traded opinions, guessing who the champion would be.

"It will be Haldir. He has been the captain of the guard for countless years!" argued one elf.

"Haldir may be the best shot, but he is not so quick on horseback as Sulindal," countered Gilgafier, Celeborn's advisor.

"No, no. Eledhel is bound to win, for he organized the whole contest!" said Gilfier, Gilgafier's son.

"Yes, but can he outshoot the Prince from Mirkwood?" asked another elf.

Even the Galadriel debated with her lady-in-waiting, Tinarien, on the outcome. "Even the wisest cannot see all ends, but the Lady Miredhel may surprise many young elves with her skill," she said knowingly.

Celeborn rose from his seat and said, "May our tournament begin."



[i]
Please read and review!

I value your comments, suggestions, and criticism. [\i]


Chapter 9 - The Field Narrows

Chapter Eight: The Field Narrows

Across the field stood a collection of targets, each marked with concentric circles in blue, green, yellow, and red for the bull's eye.

"Ready?" called an elf who was to judge the contest. The warriors lined up, bows drawn, strings taut.

"Aim…" Legolas steadied his bow, eyes focusing on the target afar.

"Fire!" A fleet of arrows chased the field. Not had so many arrows been loosed since the siege of Dol Guldur.

The spectators leaned forward in the stands, straining to see which elves had struck the bulls' eyes.

"For the first round," the announcer called, and the crowd hushed, "perfect marks for Captain Haldir, Lady Helifeth, Celefier, First Marshal Eledhel, Belegil, Sulindal, Farothin, …" the announcer paused, "Prince Legolas, Lady Limaer, and Lady Miredhel."

Farothin nudged Legolas with his elbow. "They announced you with the ladies, Legolas. That should tell you something."

The prince elbowed him back and replied, "Yes, it tells me that they announced us in the order of our line-up."

Farothin looked down the line. "Sure…you can think that if it makes you feel better," he retorted.

Legolas glimpsed Miredhel on the other side of Lady Limaer. She had been smiling at the results of the first round, but when she noticed his gaze, she quickly frowned and began inspecting the shaft of her blue-feathered arrow.

"Round two, elves take aim!" Miredhel glanced at Legolas. His eyes gleamed with a determination and fierceness. She brushed a loose curl from in front of her eyes and readied her arrow.

"Fire!" Legolas watched the flight of his arrow until it struck red on the target. Perfect mark, again. He turned his head toward where Eledhel and Haldir stood together. They were both looking fairly smug as well.

"Round two, perfect marks for Captain Haldir, Lady Helifeth, Celefier, Eledhel, Belegil, Sulindal, Farothin, Prince Legolas, and Lady Miredhel," called the announcer.

Legolas turned to Lady Limaer whose arrow had hit the yellow ring, barely outside the bull's eye. "My lady," he addressed her, "your arrow seemed to find a mind of its own."

Lady Limaer flushed. She had not been able to believe her good fortune when the prince had taken his place next to her. He had danced with her once during the first night of his arrival. So charming, handsome, and princely, and now he was speaking to her. "If my arrow missed," she batted her long curly lashes over deep blue eyes, "it was only because it wanted to be closer to yours."

Legolas smiled at her. Behind Lady Limaer, he could see Miredhel roll her eyes in disgust. "Let us hope you do not miss this time, my lady. I would loathe for you to be eliminated," he said, loudly enough for Miredhel to hear.

"Final round, contestants. Ready?" The targets had been pushed to the very back of the field.

The bows curved with the pull of the arrows against strings. Every arm was poised to fire. Deadly pointed arrows glinted in the sun. The moment seemed made for silence. Even the Lord Celeborn found himself holding in his breath.

"Fire!" Arrows arced across the sky in a flash of many colored feathers, like a rare flock of birds racing in the wind.

"Can you see your target, Farothin?"

"No, Legolas. The judges are blocking it."

"They block mine as well." He shaded his eyes. "I can see Eledhel and Haldir's. Both hit dead center."

"Let us hope ours are the same."

The judges made their way back to the spectators' platforms. "For the first stage of the tournament, contestants with three perfect marks for all three rounds are: Captain Haldir, Lady Helifeth, Celefier, Eledhel, Belegil, Farothin, Prince Legolas, and Lady Miredhel!"

The spectators stood to applaud. Many young elves waved the colors of their houses in support of their champions. The warriors on the field busily congratulated one another on their success. Lady Limaer, however, had formed a visible pout. She missed twice and was now eliminated. Legolas stopped laughing and joking with Eledhel when he saw her disappointment.

"Best wishes, Prince Legolas. Since I am eliminated, may I be so bold to ask you to wear my favor for the rest of the tournament." The lady looked at him earnestly.

Legolas blinked. He did not know what to say. He had worn favors in other contests, but only out of love for the lady in question. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Miredhel observing the scene. "Of course, my lady. It would be my honor," he said graciously.

Lady Limaer took a ruby ribbon from her hair. "May I?" she asked. Legolas nodded. She tied it, not too tight, in a finorian knot on his left arm. Legolas instantly regretted his decision. "My goodness," she exclaimed, feeling his arm, "how strong you are, my lord."

"Thank you, my lady." Legolas could see Eledhel and Belegil laughing and pointing in his direction. "Now if you will excuse me, I must prepare for the next stage of the tournament." He quickly took leave of her and joined his friends. "Just what is so humorous?"

"Nice ribbon, my lord," smirked Eledhel.

"It matched your face when she tied it!" Belegil said, chuckling.

"Do not be envious," Legolas said. "Perhaps by the end of the next round, I can collect favors enough for us all." Eledhel and Belegil stopped laughing.

"Well…" started Eledhel.

"Did you see? Sulindal barely missed the last bull's eye." Belegil changed the subject.

"He was so mad that I thought he was going to snap his bow in half," said Eledhel. "This next part of the tournament will be more of a challenge," he continued, "because we have rigged moving targets on ropes to pull across the field. All of them will move at different speeds. The closest targets are worth less points."

"I see. And the farthest targets are worth the most," guessed Farothin.

Legolas listened thoughtfully. This challenge would require skill and strategy. He watched the field as the elves ran the ropes across the field at different levels of height. It would prove difficult to decide which targets to try and hit. He thought to himself that he would just have to hit them all. Only the five archers with the highest score would advance to the final contest. A vague look of satisfaction played across his face. He would be one of them.

"Your friend looks entirely too smug, my brother." Miredhel's voice diverted Legolas' attention from the field.

"Yes, sister, perhaps he thinks of winning his wager with you." Eledhel countered.

She colored at his suggestion. "Are you surprised I have joined you in the second round?" She did not want to discuss her bet with the prince.

"Not I, my lady. For I knew your aim to be as true as your heart," said Belegil.

"Lord Belegil, you will never change! The most accomplished rake in the Golden Wood!" she said and laughed as he brought her hand to his lips.

"Perhaps if you would reform me?" he asked. His voice was low and serious, but his eyes twinkled.

"All right, that is enough!" Eledhel interrupted. "Belegil, you will have to work your charms on a lady other than my dear sister. You know she is immune to them by now, anyways."

"Perhaps you should try Lady Limaer," suggested Miredhel. "She seems willing to bestow her affections blindly on any elf."

"I take your meaning, my lady." Legolas spoke up. He was going to continue, but the judges called for the archers to step in line for the next challenge.

Haldir was the first to go. One of the judges waved a flag, and the targets began to move. Haldir quickly fired and hit four of the closest targets. The targets in the back flew by. Haldir paused. Timing was everything. He took aim, fired an arrow and then another and another. He did not miss. His right arm did not rest on the bow, but pulled and reloaded, pulled and reloaded in one fluid motion like the movement of birds' wings in flight. The last target left the field. Haldir visibly relaxed and turned to face the spectators and his beloved Lord and Lady.

"Captain Haldir," the judges announced, "has hit nine of the fifteen green (easy-distance) targets, seven of the ten blue (medium) targets, and five of the five red (farthest and fastest) targets. He scores 48 out of 60 points." The crowd cheered for their captain and long-time protector. He bowed before Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and proudly stepped to the side.

Lady Helifeth faced the targets next. Legolas did not know very much about her, only that she had gained fame during the Last Alliance and was thought to be fairly fell-handed. She was strikingly beautiful, but married and probably his father's age. Her strategy seemed to focus on the red targets since they were worth the most points. A torrent of arrows flew from her lithe bow, and Legolas could not help but be impressed.

"Lady Helifeth scores 44 points." Murmurs of admiration went through the line of warriors.

"Does it surprise you that a Lady could do so well, Prince Legolas?" Miredhel asked.

He had forgotten that she stood behind him. He turned to face her. "No," he replied curtly and then turned his back to her. His fingers tightened on his bow. Why was she so determined to find fault with him? He turned back around. "The Lady Helifeth bought her reputation on the battlefield. Her hands are probably darker than mine with the blood of orcs. I give her the respect that is due a warrior and equal." He waited for her retort. There was none.

Legolas had said everything there was to say, thought Miredhel. Even the things he did not say were clearly laid out—Lady Helifeth had fought bravely in battle. Miredhel had never even seen an orc. She felt foolish under the prince's frosty glare and even more so when he turned his back to her again.

Celefier had finished his turn and scored 40 points. So far Haldir led the group, but Eledhel was next to go. His youngest weaponry students held up a banner they had made with his colors on it. He smiled at them and waved before taking his stance. His division of forest guards cheered him on, yelling "Eledhel, Eledhel, give 'em hell!"

Eledhel turned and waved again. Legolas smiled at the crowd's response to his friend. Eledhel was much loved by the folk who knew him. The loyalty of his guards proved that as a leader, Eledhel owned their trust and admiration. Yes, he was well loved. The signal flag dropped and the targets began to move. Eledhel took aim with leonine grace. Without hesitation, he shot the targets from the back to the front as they zipped across the field. So far every arrow shot had found its home in a target.

"He does not miss," Miredhel observed.

"The only way to beat his score is to be faster and hit more targets," Legolas agreed.

The score for Eledhel, the First Marshal of the Forest Guard, is 52 points. He takes the lead!" the judges announced. Eledhel's young archers jumped up and waved their banner before the crowd.

"You are a difficult act to follow, Eledhel," commented Belegil as he took the field. Belegil was a quick fire, but with less finesse than Eledhel. His skill in archery lay in the strength of his arms to bend the bow. Belegil scored 46 points, and Farothin followed, making an impressive showing for his first tournament with 42 points.

"Well done, Farothin! You bring honor to the family," Haldir slapped his nephew on the back. "I trained him well, did I not?" he asked Legolas, but the prince did not hear. He had assumed his position on the field.

Legolas shook his arms and rolled his neck as he walked onto the field to loosen up his muscles. It would never do to be too tense. As the announcer called his name, he turned to salute the crowd. He could see Lady Limaer waving at him from the stands and calling his name.

"That is Prince Legolas from Mirkwood," she exclaimed to her friends. "He is wearing my ribbon! Prince Legolas! Prince Legolas!"

He groaned inwardly and gave her a small wave before turning to face the field. The judges raised the flag. Legolas bent his bow and fit his first arrow to string. The flag dropped, and the targets began to chase across the field. His plan was to take each target out as it crossed into play. So far he had hit two green and three blue. If he wanted to beat Eledhel, he knew that he could not miss any red targets. The first red sped onto the field. Legolas aimed and fired at it. The arrow whizzed by the target. He had missed!

Feeling frustrated, Legolas fitted another arrow and rapidly fired at the same red target. This time the arrow lodged itself in the red center. Legolas was running out of time. By now, almost all of the targets were on the field. His bow had not seen such action since Helm's Deep. His hand reached from quiver to string in one fluid motion quicker than elven eyes could see. The final red target rushed onto the field. Legolas had to make this shot to make a perfect score and take the lead. He reached into his quiver, only one arrow left! He swept it onto the elven string and let it fly, straining his eyes to trace its flight. The crowd hushed in anticipation. A direct hit!

"Prince Legolas of Eyrn Lasgalen has earned a perfect score, 60 points. Every target hit!" The elves jumped up from the platforms to applaud his skill.

"Nicely done, Prince Legolas!" Lady Limaer called.

"Did I not tell you he would win?" one elf said to another.

"Nice recovery, my friend! I thought you blew it, when I saw that first fault." Eledhel congratulated him.

"I know," admitted Legolas. "I thought so too, but I just kept going."

"Well done, Prince Legolas," Lady Miredhel said sincerely.

"Thank you, my lady, and I hope you shoot well," he said. Lady Miredhel took the field. Since she was the last to compete in this round, she knew that she had to score more than 44 points to be one of the five to qualify for the final race. If she could hit all of the red and blue targets, then that would be 45 points, just enough to qualify. She pulled out her first arrow and waited for the signal. She could hear her brother speaking to the prince.

"So do you think she will qualify?" asked Eledhel.

"I hope so…" said Legolas and their conversation faded out. The flag dropped. Her turn began.

All Miredhel could hear was the twang of her bow string and the constant whine of arrows toward the targets. With her left hand steady, her eyes searched the field for any trace of blue or red. The targets and green field seemed to run together. She felt her eyes swimming in her head. The clouds in the sky seemed to spin before her.

"Your sister swoons!" declared Legolas, and he started toward her.

"No, Legolas. Let her be. She is of tougher make than you might think. She will not faint," Eledhel assured him.

Miredhel blinked. All of the targets danced before her. She focused her eyes on her silvery bow and the elvish engravings upon it: Deadly beauty, silver grace. She could feel the sun on her cheek. Deadly beauty, silver grace. The targets seemed to slow before her eyes. She lifted an arrow from her quiver and fired. She fired again, and then again, repeating the elven phrase in her head. Her arrows leapt toward the targets. She knew nothing but the rhythm of her arm and the feel of her bow in hand. The last target quit the field but not before meeting her final arrow.

"And the final contestant, Lady Miredhel scores…48 points!" Most of the elves suffered a collective jaw drop. Haldir could not believe his ears. Eledhel's sister had tied with him?

Eledhel was all smiles, though his eyes spoke of disbelief. "Miredhel, you were amazing. We thought you about to faint, and then you began firing so quickly. Even Legolas could not trace your movement."

"Truly, my lady. A most outstanding accomplishment," Haldir added.

"It seems we will have the pleasure of your company in the final race." Legolas said. "Our wager is far from over."

Lady Miredhel smiled at him. "No, my lord. It seems to have just begun."


Chapter 10 - Our Race Begins

Chapter Nine: Our Race Begins

The racecourse followed a circular trail beginning at the southern gates of the city and wound about the Golden Wood. A great congregation of elves assembled with shouts and song to lead the five on horseback through many winding paths to the tall and strong gates of the city. The five competitors followed the throng, casually visiting amongst themselves, speaking of the race.

"What does this horse race have to do with archery, Eledhel?" grumbled Haldir.

"Everything!" replied Eledhel enthusiastically. "On this last part, you must use speed and agility, along with your bow, in order to win. Along the raceway, we have set up checkpoints. You must stop at each checkpoint and hit the targets there before continuing. If you miss a target, however, you must return to the previous checkpoint and start over."

"Sounds easy enough," commented Belegil.

"Did I mention that there are a few choice obstacles on the way to each checkpoint?" added Eledhel.

Miredhel began to doubt that she even belonged in this race. Obstacles? How would she keep up with warriors like Belegil, or even her own brother for that matter?

Legolas noticed the glum expression on her face and debated on whether or not to say anything to her. Even if it were a kind word, she would more than likely take offense than not. Prudence dictated that he stay silent.

"My lady, what troubles you?" Legolas asked. He cared naught for prudence.

"Excuse me, my lord?" Miredhel responded with after a pause. Was he talking to her?

"I just wanted to know if anything troubled you, my lady. You seemed rather withdrawn for a lady who just won the hearts of so many."

"Oh," she said and straightened up, "I was just focusing on the task at hand, the race that is." She paused. "I still mean to win our wager."

The ears of Belegil, Farothin, and Eledhel immediately perked up. What was the condition of her wager with Legolas, they wondered. They rode silently, hoping to listen to the prince and the lady.

"Do you fear change so very much, Lady Miredhel?" asked Legolas, referring to Eledhel's choice to leave Lothlorien.

"I fear nothing," she said and tossed her head.

"That I cannot believe," declared Legolas, "for I believe you are afraid that I will win my wager today." The other elves leaned forward.

"Ha!" She laughed scornfully, and then softened, "I do not fear change, neither do I wish it."

"Sometimes life changes for the better," Legolas suggested.

"Such as…" she prompted him.

"Such as making new friends," finished Legolas. "And winning races… and certain wagers," he added as an afterthought.

Lady Miredhel blushed. Prince Legolas, although horribly proud and conceited in her eyes, was not altogether unpleasant looking. She had agreed to his condition of the bet on a whim, for he had been so charming in the garden at the time. She met his gaze and assured him, "My lord, whatever the outcome may be, I will graciously accept the terms of our wager."

"And I as well," agreed Legolas, a bit too happily. Miredhel seemed to shrink at his enthusiasm.

"Only…" Miredhel paused and lowered her voice. Her brother and his friends leaned forward to catch her words. "If you win," she whispered, "I do not wish to…you know, in front of everyone."

Eledhel and his two friends exchanged curious looks. Meanwhile, Haldir who knew nothing of the wager was utterly confused.

"What are they talking about?" he asked loudly.

"Shh! Uncle, we are trying to figure that out!" answered Farothin. Despite the friends' fond hope of uncovering Miredhel's secret bet with the prince, it would be of no avail. The merry parade of elves had arrived at the city gates.

The five archers lined up at the entryway to the city. From the gates, Legolas could see the race path marked by flags. He whispered to Arod, telling him to be quick-footed. The signal flag dropped to the forest floor. The race had begun.

The horses leapt from the gate. Legolas delighted in the feel of the light forest breeze on his cheek and the way Arod's mane whipped across his hands. The other elves stayed in stride together, all within the distance of a nose. The first part of the course drove straight through the woods, tall mallorns gracing the outer flanks of the horses.

Eledhel shouted above the pounding hooves, "Ai! The first checkpoint draws near."

Feeling the urgency of his master, Arod pulled in front of the rest of the horses. Legolas leaned forward, his eyes drawn to the trail before him. He could see a fallen log blocking the path before him. Arod neatly bounded over it, and Legolas had to duck to keep from catching his head on some low-lying branches overhead. The other elves followed suit, chasing the prince. Eledhel cleared the log with ease, then Haldir, Belegil, and Farothin. Farothin forgot to stay low in his seat and nearly fell. As Farothin struggled to save his balance, Lady Miredhel sailed past him. Hearing the pursuit behind him, Legolas kept his lead and reached the first checkpoint. There he left Arod and hurried down the marked path towards the targets.

The serenity of the forest surprised Legolas. Birds skittered in the trees at his approach. With each long stride, he knew that Eledhel could not be far behind him. Legolas felt that he often shot best under pressure. With the targets insight, he swept out his bow and an arrow as he ran. In less than a moment's time, he took aim and struck the target. Three more remained, and three more met the deadly point of his arrow.

Eledhel met him as he turned. "Run hard, Legolas, or I will catch you!" he laughed. Legolas barely heard him, for he was already gone. He met the other three archers on the path. Exchanging no words between them, they merely gave each other determined looks. Miredhel, like her brother, was fleet of foot and now ran in stride along Belegil toward the targets. She felt no fatigue, only the light rhythm of her feet over ground.

Legolas rode on with eyes alert for any would-be troubles. He dared not look back, lest he be caught off guard for even a second. His intuition served him well. The raceway abruptly turned off the wider trail to follow a narrow path. Horse and elf turned at the marker, heading into a darker part of the wood. This new turn took the riders along a curvy path where the trail dipped down, only to briefly rise and then fall. Limbs and fallen trunks littered the path. This part of the forest had forgotten the sun, so closely were the trees and leaves knit together.

Legolas dodged an outstretched branch. Eledhel drew near. The prince, however, did not wish to hazard Arod's safety by riding too fast and taking unnecessary risk. The path constricted, passing Legolas would prove most difficult, and the prince made sure that his horse moved to block Eledhel's advances. Meanwhile, Haldir chased not too far behind the leaders, and Miredhel strove along side Belegil. She was light and her horse small and nimble, easily dodging each obstacle. Belegil and Farothin, however, had made the mistake of choosing their warhorses for the race. Though strong and doughty in battle, these horses possessed neither the quickness nor agility of Miredhel's fair mare.

The next checkpoint revealed itself along a thorny hedge of bright berried-bushes. Legolas and Eledhel dismounted and began sprinting in one simultaneous motion toward the targets. So smooth were their paces that human eyes might dismiss them for wild deer springing through the wood. Legolas knew Eledhel's reputation for speed among the Galadhrim. 'He must not pass me on foot,' Legolas vowed silently. A deep ravine appeared through the mallorns. Legolas could see the trail markers and targets on the other side. How was he supposed to get to the other side? Obviously the distance was too far to jump. Legolas paused to think, and Eledhel caught up with him. His eyes scanned down the side of the ravine. A slender coil of rope hung from the side of a tree. Eledhel had followed the track of his eyes and spotted the rope as well.

They both lunged for it at the same time. Eledhel caught one end, and Legolas grabbed the other end.

"Let go, Legolas! You know I grabbed it first!" exclaimed Eledhel.

"Look, if we fight over this rope for much longer, then the others will catch up to us," Legolas insisted, his hands still gripping the rope.

"Okay, so let go," Eledhel said and gave the rope a jerk.

"I was here first," Legolas tugged back.

Eledhel felt the rope tighten and tugged back. He faltered for a moment and then slipped off the side of the ravine. Luckily, he still held the rope.

"Now look what you have done," he shouted at Legolas.

Legolas felt annoyed. He could already hear the approach of the others. The scuffle over the rope completely wasted his lead. "Hold fast, Eledhel, and I will pull you up." In a matter of seconds, Eledhel had climbed out of the ravine with the prince's help, but it was too late. Haldir had already arrived, and he could see Belegil and Miredhel through the trees.

"My, my," smirked Haldir, "what has happened here?" He sharply bent his bow and fired at the first target.

"Why did we not think of that?" moaned Legolas. "You just had to go for that rope, Eledhel." He quickly grabbed his bow, and struck the first target with ease.

Eledhel had fired as soon as he saw Haldir hit the first mark. He made the next three with blinding efficiency. He turned and ran back down the trail, leaving Legolas behind him. Haldir and Legolas' motions seemed synchronized as they pulled and released. Since Haldir was one target ahead, he started down the trail before the prince as well. Now Legolas was in third place. He hit the last mark without fault, turned, and ran furiously back to his horse. He passed Belegil and Miredhel.

Belegil shouted to him, "What happened back there?"

"I should have just left him at the bottom of the ravine," Legolas muttered and kept on running.

Belegil beat Miredhel to the ravine. He spotted the rope and lassoed an overhanging tree limb. He swung over with ease and positioned himself to aim for the first target. He felt an arrow whine past his shoulder.

"Miredhel, are you trying to kill me?" he screeched.

She reloaded and fired again, hitting the second target. Now Belegil realized his mistake. She fired two more times and vanished back down the trail. Belegil took his shots and made his way back over the ravine. Farothin materialized just in time to see Belegil use the rope.

"Here, Farothin, I will just leave this here for you!" Belegil said and quickly left, so his friend would not see his laughter. Meanwhile, Miredhel gained on the prince. Soon she could see his form through the trees and hear the clatter of Arod's hooves. Legolas suspected someone followed closely. Yet when he finally glanced back, he could not contain his surprise to see Miredhel.

"Are you surprised, prince?" she called to him, marking his expression.

"No, just delighted to see you give into your true feelings and chase after me!" He gave her a wicked grin. Under his breath, he urged Arod to pick up speed. He would not let her pass him.

The narrow path opened up into a wide avenue among the trees. Miredhel had nearly reached Legolas' side when Arod broke into a full gallop. The prince could see the final checkpoint. Eledhel and Haldir had just arrived, dismounted, and were heading toward the last targets. As Legolas reached the checkpoint, jumped off Arod, and headed toward the targets, he could hear the gentle murmer of the Nimrodel. The path turned toward the river.

Before him, he could see Eledhel and Haldir crossing the river over a narrow log. Haldir tried to roll the log with the hopes of knocking Eledhel into the water. Eledhel was not about to lose his balance for the second time that day, and he skillfully kept his balance. As soon as the log slowed, Eledhel worked his feet to spin it in the opposite direction. Haldir, caught off guard, fell with a splash. Eledhel stopped mid-log and began to laugh. Haldir looked severely disgruntled. His hair plastered to his head and water dripped from his nose. Eledhel laughed so hard, his eyes began to water. Haldir reached for the log and gave it one clean twist, sending Eledhel over the side and into the river. By now, Legolas reached the log and darted across, scarcely looking at his two soggy friends. By a stroke of luck, he had retaken the lead.

He found the final targets and took aim as Lady Miredhel appeared at his side. "What happened back there?" she asked as she drew and fired.

"Haldir thought Eledhel dirty and in desperate need of a bath," guessed Legolas, chuckling. She laughed with him, and he could not help but see her as beautiful, the way she held her bow, smiling, and the way the her hair captured the sunlight. For once, she was at ease with him, leaving her pretention behind.

Legolas and then Miredhel hit the final target and ran back toward the river. Her speed surprised him, but his legs were longer, enabling him to outpace her. They crossed paths with her brother and Haldir, barely able to contain their merriment at the two dripping elves. With the last leg of the race before them, however, neither stopped to laugh. Legolas signaled to Arod to start running, and the prince caught and swung up on the horse in one fluid motion.

Legolas and Arod quickened their pace through the wide arc of trees. He could hear the crowd's near murmur and caught glimpses of the fair city through the forest. The path before him lay open, straight and clear, and he dared once more to glance back at his opponents. Eledhel gained on Miredhel who followed Arod closely, too close. Haldir was not far behind, and just appearing around the curve were Farothin and Belegil, charging forward as if at the siege of Dol Goldur again.

The prince rounded the final curve. The city gates loomed before him. Even now, his fellow archers drew near, threatening to strip him of his lead; yet Arod knew no weariness, and Legolas charged forward. So close to the end, Miredhel only hoped that her horse had strength enough to push past the prince and she would win her bet. Then she and her brother would stay in the Golden Wood, and Legolas would trouble her no more.

"Only a little more, Thorontal," she begged her steed, but fate would have a different plan. Her horse stumbled, given over to exhaustion, and Eledhel soared past her, kicking up a cloud of dust and leaves. As the dust cleared, Miredhel winced to see the prince pass the gates first, followed by her brother. She had lost the race, and more importantly, her bets with Eledhel and Legolas.

She took third place, and the elation of the elves on her behalf replaced her sorrow with joy. She cheered with the rest of them to see Haldir, followed by Belegil and Farothin, cross the gates. The elves escorted their archers toward the center of the city, wherein Lady Galadriel could present the champion with a prize.

Legolas caught Lady Miredhel's eye in the midst of busy celebration. His countenance seemed odd to her. Could it be that the prince was embarrassed at the attention given him? Their eyes met, and she looked away. He could see her blush and raise her fingers to her mouth, only to linger there. Legolas' ears burned, and he hoped nobody noticed. Both elves felt strange discomfort, together wishing for and fearing the realization of their wager.


Chapter 11 - If A Body Kiss A Body

A host of elves led the champions back toward the oval great chamber of the Galadhrim. There the five archers bowed before the Lord and Lady in the green and silver hall. Haldir and Eledhel found themselves wishing that they would not leave wet marks on the floor.

"We praise you, lords and lady," Lord Celeborn greeted them, "and commend you before all on your skill shown today. Let the names of Prince Legolas, First Marshal Eledhel, Lady Miredhel, Captain Haldir, Belegil, and Farothin be remembered even unto our last days." Many elves had joined the presentation and lightly applauded. The great hall seemed to have a calming effect over everybody, and the jubilance that had marked the contest faded into reverence.

As soon as Lady Miredhel had joined the others, she felt small amidst the grandeur of the great chamber and the ethereal Lord and Lady. She glanced at her companions. They were true warriors. Today, she had performed with the finest accuracy in all her years, but she felt unworthy to be here, in this place, with them. On many occasions she had seen Eledhel or his friends receive praise in front of the court. They had fought hard against the foes of the Galadhrim and deserved the attention of the Lord and Lady, but not her, not now. She stole a fleeting look at the prince. He looked so regal. She had thought him proud, arrogant even. Now she saw him as he was, the son of Thranduil king, the elven hope of the Nine Companions. If he was proud, did he not have every right to be? She tore her eyes away and faced Lady Galadriel. The Lady seemed to know her mind, and Miredhel allowed herself to take comfort in the sympathy of her eyes.

"Lords and ladies, we have gathered here to honor our tournament champion, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen. With his aim and skill on the field, he has won your hearts. Now let him claim a different sort of prize, one worthy of such an archer," Lady Galadriel said with a smile. "Prince Legolas, step forward."

Legolas approached the royal seats. He kneeled, saying "It is an honor, my lady."

"I believe you already have a long bow," she said, her eyes merry, "but I have long awaited an archer fine enough to claim this quiver and arrows. These are not to be used lightly," she warned, "for they have been enchanted long ago during the days of Gondolin to break through the strongest of armor and bring down even the most grim of enemies."

Legolas bowed and took his gift with awe. Silvery engravings and runes graced the quiver and decorated even the shaft and arrowheads. As he looked to thank her, the prince heard her speak inside his head, "Use them well! Your days of peril are not yet over." The prince felt confused. Surely the lady had seen some premonition. He would leave Lothlorien and its safe borders soon. Danger still persisted in this world, and he would have to keep his guard up if he meant to protect his new followers. He turned to face the rest of the hall and met with salutes and cheers.

"Noble elves of Galadhon," called Celeborn, "join us tonight to celebrate our champions in a feast worthy of these final days." With that said, the crowd and champions departed. Eledhel and Haldir could not leave soon enough to go and change into drier clothing. Legolas sought Lady Limaer so he could return her ribbon, and Miredhel found herself standing alone.

She watched the prince from afar and the way that Limaer colored at his appearance, flipping her hair and batting her eyelashes. The prince did not seem to have to many objections to her advances and even went so far as to offer his arm to escort her from the room. "They are perfect for each other—so completely self-absorbed, one will never know if the other is missing," she muttered under her breath, although she really felt slightly annoyed at the fact that Limaer would try and throw herself in the way of Prince Legolas. 'He is completely beyond her,' she thought. Miredhel, so busy with her thoughts, did not notice that the Lady Galadriel had joined her side.

"Miredhel, you did very well today," she said. Miredhel snapped to, surprised by the Lady's sudden attention. She felt more than a little grimy in Galadriel's presence.

"Thank you, my lady. I surprised myself."

"But you did not surprise me, for I have heard of your skill with the bow and wondered why you would not join your friends in the Forest Guard."

Miredhel sighed. "It was never from lack of want, but rather the desire to please my brother."

"And now it seems your destiny to follow him to Ithilien?" Galadriel asked.

Miredhel nodded miserably. How did the Lady know these things?

"Fear not, daughter of Bragoglin. You will find your courage and much more on the roads to Ithilien." The Lady's eyes deepened. "Your bow will have other chances to sing. May I see it?" Miredhel gently handed it to Lady Galadriel. "This is no ordinary bow," the Lady continued, "but I think you know that, Miredhel."

"Can you tell me anything of its past?" Miredhel asked.

"I remember seeing this weapon in the hands of another, long ago." She closed her eyes. "Its past does not matter as much as its future, in your hands."

"I would still like to know," Miredhel insisted.

"This bow is from Gondolin long ago," Galadriel said slowly, and the lights in her eyes became distant. "It was made for the daughter of the king, Idril Celebrindal to protect her during the last days of her people."

Miredhel stared at the bow in wonder, as if she were seeing it for the first time. "How did this come to my house?"

"I do not know all the answers, ellyth," she said gently. "Use it well to protect the ones you love. Its arrows are not likely to go astray." Lady Galadriel handed the bow back to Miredhel and then turned to meet her Lord Celeborn. Miredhel felt elated. She could not wait to tell her brother of the news. He need not scoff at the old story anymore! She hurried towards home, eager to speak with him.

Meanwhile, Legolas vainly attempted to detach himself from Lady Limaer. At first, he enjoyed her attention. He was male after all. Now she had followed him all the way back to his suite, talking in a non-stop rattle of this and that, and he sorely wished for peace. She was lovely enough and could have proved an interesting enough conquest, if only she would pause for a breath now and then.

Normally, Legolas would have found other means of quieting her, but the journey ahead and Ithilien occupied his mind. He had felt decidedly discomforted at Lady Galadriel's words.

"Lady Limaer," he interrupted, "thank you for your kindness. I must go now…to prepare for this evening. I trust you will be there?" She nodded enthusiastically and opened her mouth to speak, but Legolas cut her off. "Until then, fair one," he said, bowed and quickly left for his room. Before the War of the Ring, he probably would have swept her into his room without a second thought, but everything had changed. 'Or maybe I have changed,' he thought miserably to himself. Legolas fleetingly wished for Gimli, or perhaps his sisters. They could always ease his worries or at least make him laugh. He would see them again soon enough. He silently promised himself to forget his worries long enough to enjoy the dinner tonight. Besides, he still had to claim his bet with the Lady Miredhel. Legolas smiled to himself. Tonight's dinner would prove most interesting. He was not really sure what to make of Miredhel, unlike Lady Limaer who was an open book. She was obviously interested. Miredhel, on the other hand, proved a greater challenge. She intrigued the prince. Most of the time, she obviously despised him, but perhaps he could persuade her to feel differently… Legolas had to remind himself that she was Eledhel's sister, and whatever he might want to do, honor must rule his actions.

The hour of the banquet dinner approached, and the prince found his way toward the hall. He thought of his first night in the city, when he had to sit with Lord Gilgafier and talk of runes all night long. He had quit the table in search of fresh air and had spoken with Miredhel for the first time. Then they had ended up arguing. If… no, when he got her alone on the balcony tonight, he would engage her in more pleasant conversation. He would give her no reason to find fault, and then he would make good on his bet. Legolas grinned wolfishly and entered the banquet hall.

"Good evening, my lord," Eledhel greeted him.

"This evening finds you much repaired from this afternoon's troubles, Eledhel," Legolas said and shook his hand.

"You know I could have won, if I had not fallen in the Nimrodel," Eledhel predicted.

"Perhaps," Legolas agreed. "When we reach Ithilien, we will have a rematch that will be the talk of the forest and Gondor combined."

"Well, at least we won the bet against my sister. I felt like the champion myself. My joy was so complete in the knowledge that she would join us," said Eledhel.

"Where is she?" Legolas asked innocently.

"Fussing with her hair or dress, I am sure," Eledhel said and looked curiously at Legolas. "You know usually she cares not about such things, but tonight…" he stopped himself. "Why do you want to know? And what is this secret bet you made with her?" he asked.

"She is the one who did not wish to tell you of the condition," Legolas pointed out.

"I demand you tell me," he said and frowned. "As her brother and guardian, I have the right to know. What are your intentions?"

"Only the most honorable," Legolas assured him.

Eledhel's eyes darkened as he warned the prince, "Upon our friendship, tread lightly where my sister is concerned." He took a deep breath, and his eyes lightened. "At least I have not heard too many lurid stories about your bedroom pursuits! Belegil, on the other hand..."

"Do not be jealous, Eledhel," Belegil joked, hoping to lighten the mood. "Perhaps, the Mirkwood maidens will be more gracious to you."

The bantering would have continued indefinitely if not for two reasons: the first being that dinner was served, and the latter having to do with the sudden appearance of Miredhel. The elven company assembled at the table, and Legolas was pleased to find himself in the presence of more companionable dinner-mates than the very dull Lord Gilgafier. The events of the archery contest dominated the dinner conversation, and all present possessed fine theories about why he or she had not won the competition. Legolas ate quietly. He could hardly join the discussion since he had, after all, actually won the tournament. Instead, he trained his eyes on Lady Miredhel who sat across the table next to her brother. She carefully avoided making eye contact with him, he noticed. She was a vision, lovely and ephemeral. 'If only she did not loathe the sight of me,' Legolas bitterly thought.

Eledhel took note of his friend's silent consternation. "Why so silent, Prince?"

"Really, Eledhel," said Legolas, looking up from his plate, "please dispense with the title."

"I will try, but I feel intimidated by your ornament there," he baited the prince, pointing to the silver circlet that the prince now wore. Miredhel turned her attention toward the prince, waiting for his reaction.

Legolas really did not appreciate Eledhel's drawing attention to his crown. "It is both an honor and a burden, a constant reminder of my duty and the people I must serve," he said carefully and removed the crown from his head, rolling it in his hands. "So small a thing, and yet it weighs so heavily in my hands and in my mind." He handed the crown to Miredhel. She took it reluctantly.

"It feels so light, Prince Legolas," she said and quickly passed it to Eledhel.

"So it does, to all who do not have to wear it," said Legolas. Eledhel placed the crown in his hands. He had made his point.

"You have friends who would help you, Legolas," Eledhel pledged.

"And so you shall!" Legolas' eyes brightened, "I would not expect anything less from you, my friend." He turned his attention to Miredhel. "Your performance in the tournament today was impressive, my lady."

"Not nearly impressive enough, my lord. I was not able to beat you."

"I hear more people speaking of you, than of the actual winner of the race," Legolas ventured.

"Does that bother you?" she asked archly.

"Of course not!" Legolas laughed. "I seriously considered throwing the race, just to avoid the attention."

She looked at him curiously. Surely this statement was not in keeping with her sketch of his character. "Why did you not just let me win then?"

He looked at her with a sly gleam in his eyes. "You know why…"

Miredhel had little to say to that, and instead she fought desperately not to blush under his gaze, unnerving creature. She wished the whole ordeal over. Rising from her seat, she begged her friends to excuse her. If he wanted to make good on his claim, then let him come and find her. She left the banquet hall and descended down the stairs to the forest floor.

The evening air felt cool, and the stars hung low and bright above the trees. Would Ithilien be even half as fair? She turned down the city path, flooded by the memories, both sweet and bitter, that each sight afforded her. This was her home, the land her father had spilt his blood protecting. She would have done the same if needed. Every moment's joy was bound up in these woods. How could she find happiness anywhere else? Tears swam in her eyes, and she stumbled toward her favorite garden. Only there could she find solace.

Legolas had excused himself not long after Lady Miredhel's departure. He suspected that she would rather roam the woodland paths than return home. His elven intuition rarely failed him, and he hoped that she might be waiting for him in the garden. The soft moonlight illuminated the statuary, and garden walls with its dewy white star-flowers seemed knitted from the heavens.

Lady Miredhel heard the prince approach, and before he entered the garden, she hastily wiped any trace of tears from her eyes.

"What troubles you, Lady Miredhel?" he asked gently, crossing the garden to be near her. "If this is about our wager, consider it cancelled."

"No, prince," she steadied her voice, "I promised you that I would meet any outcome of our wager graciously." She stood up and held her hand out to him.

He clasped her hand in both of his, feeling the lady tremble at his touch. This would never do. "You are not well," he observed, "and obviously desire my absence. I will leave you now." Legolas wistfully let go of her hand. Here he was in a romantic garden and on an evening such as this, and he could not even win a promised kiss from this maiden. What was wrong with him? Nothing, he decided. It was just this particular elf maiden, Miredhel. Unfortunately, as he studied her, he realized that she was the one he wanted. He turned to leave.

Miredhel felt foolish. She would not have this elf thinking her incapable of carrying through on her own silly bet. As he turned, she caught up his hand and pulled him close to her. She wrapped her other arm around the back of his head, strangely captured by the soft warmth of his hair against her skin. Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could talk herself out of it, she closed her eyes and kissed him. His arms met her waist and back, and she knew he had her. She might as well let him enjoy his prize. Legolas kissed her back, tasting her breath and reveling in the way her lips felt against his. Reluctantly, he pulled away, lightly bringing one hand to cradle her face.

Her eyes fluttered open. How long had it been that any elf had kissed her like that? Too long, she thought. Part of her hoped that he would kiss her again, and the more sensible other half told her to leave him now and preserve her dignity. She looked into his eyes, bright and blue, only inches from her own, for he still held her close.

Legolas pulled her in for another kiss. At first she blissfully submitted, tasting his lips and thrilling in his embrace, but at length, she resisted and pulled away from him.

"I must go," she said, wishing the garden would stop spinning.

"Miredhel, if I gave you offense…" Legolas started.

"No, but our wager was, after all, for only one kiss," she reminded him.

"So this was only about our wager? " Legolas asked slowly. He should have known better.

"You won. I lost," she said, shrugging. Her voice, devoid of any emotion or longing, made him feel foolish.

"Was it so horrible that I won, that we kissed? Am I so disgusting to you?" Legolas tried to keep his voice down.

"No, my lord, but do not deceive yourself to believe that I kissed you for any other reason than to settle our wager," Miredhel said, eyes flashing.

"I see," said Legolas, "but you cannot deny that you did not enjoy it."

"I most certainly…" Miredhel began, but the prince pulled her to him again. His lips seared her own, and for a moment he could feel her heart beating wildly against his. Miredhel wrenched herself free and raised her hand to slap him, but Legolas caught her wrist in mid air. Both elves stared at one another, steely blue meeting the darkest green.

"Let go of me," she hissed. Legolas released her wrist, and she backed away from him.

"Fear not, madam," he said. "The fault is entirely my own, for I mistakenly thought—no, hoped, that you returned my affection. I assure you that the sentiments that proved so vile to you will not be offered again." He bowed low to her and then left the garden as quickly as he had entered.

Miredhel felt lost, confused. He had done exactly as she had wished, which was for him to leave. Then why of all things did she feel so badly? "I probably made him very angry," she murmured and then raised her voice, "but even so, he expects every maiden to fall in a dead faint at his feet, and that I will never do!" She watched him retreating down the path, and his shoulders tensed at her words. She knew that he had heard her. Let him hear; perhaps the prince was long overdue on a lesson concerning the female heart.

The whole situation was abominable, really. Miredhel could only hope that her brother or his friends would never hear of the affair. She was strongly inclined to believe that she could depend on Prince Legolas to keep silent. Her actions injured his reputation as much as hers. Soon they would be on their way to Ithilien, and the whole mess could be forgotten. At least, she hoped so.


Chapter 12 - Calm Before the Storm

A week passed since the day of the race and tournament. The Galadhrim busied themselves before parting their separate ways. The prince gloried in the work to be done, grateful for any task to divert his mind from the events that had transpired in the garden. He sat sprawled in a desk chair near the window of his room, sifting through lists of supplies, stock, weaponry, and names of elves journeying with him to Ithilien.

His mind hardly met the job at hand; instead he dreamed of the open road before him, the new challenges ahead, and the bittersweet reality of leaving his family behind in Mirkwood. His father had not wished him to go, yet Thranduil recognized the same independent streak in Legolas as his own. He remembered in vivid detail the heated discussions he had endured with the king on the point of Ithilien.

"You are my son," Thranduil had raged, "and it is your position, no—duty, to stay and serve Mirkwood."

Legolas knew to be adamant. "My brother has already taken over most of your duties, Ada. I am not needed in court, as my absence has well proved. Mirkwood still stands, does it not?"

"I do not understand why you would openly embrace leadership in Gondor when such things are so tiresome to you here," Thranduil argued.

Legolas could tell his father grew angry. He lowered his voice. "I do not wish do dwell in Oromer's shadow, Ada."

"Nor have you since the War, my son. You have won great fame for yourself among men and the Eldar," Thranduil said proudly.

"I do not wish to settle for second place, my father. I cannot. I will not," Legolas said firmly.

"So this is my beloved Legolas' future? To live among men?" Thranduil mused sadly, "and leave his family behind?"

Legolas silently begged, 'Please do not make me feel guilty, Ada,' and then spoke up, "Please understand, my father. I beg leave, not because of less love for my family, but I desire to build a new life…"

Thranduil interrupted, "Was your old one so horrible to you, son?"

"No…but I had grown too complacent in these woods, easy in my position, letting Middle Earth roll by…" Legolas paused and remembered the day he had left Rivendell with the Fellowship. "When Lord Elrond chose me for the Fellowship, I felt needed, depended on—and not just for my title. I saw more of the world than I ever had before… I will not stay in Mirkwood and be an object for the people here, doing nothing, changing nothing, helping no one—I want so much more." Legolas took a deep breath. Never had he been so candid or persistent with his father.

"You have changed, my son. You stand before me, and I see myself in your eyes. I rejoice in your strength and will, even though this joy will be dearly bought." Thranduil rose from his throne to embrace his son. "When you are lord over Ithilien, kindly remember that your old Ada loves you very much."

Legolas stood there, stunned by the words and deeds of his father. He would make his Ada proud once more.

So much come to pass since that fateful day. Legolas peered thoughtfully through his window to the golden mallorn leaves fluttering in the breeze. In a few days' time he would see his king, his father, once more. They were to meet on the edge of Mirkwood before his departed with both his Mirkwood and Lothlorien parties for Ithilien. Saying goodbye would not prove easy, especially with his younger sisters, Celeril and Idrian. He had cherished them since the day of their births, especially Celeril.

When she was an elfling, she had looked to her older brother to make everything right. She confided in him, and he, in her. If Thranduil had been too strict, Oromer too bossy, or she had fought with Idrian, she knew Legolas would understand. When she had her first kiss, he was the first she told, and when dark dreams plagued his nights after his return, she alone knew and brought him comfort. He would miss her dearly, but perhaps it was for the best. She was still very young. His time with the Fellowship had forced him to face reality, and he knew that he could no longer join her in silly pranks or wild escapades. Still, saying goodbye would not come easy.

Legolas traced the fading shadows on his desk as the sun met the treetops. There would be no elaborate dinners tonight, only quiet thoughtful meals with family, supping on simple fares and the promise of farewell. He had no family here and had graciously refused several invitations from families, including the Lord and Lady as well as Eledhel. He would have enjoyed mulling things over with his friend, but did not relish the thought of making pleasantries with Miredhel, each pretending as if nothing had happened. He abhorred falseness of any kind. He had gently refused, making no excuses to his friend.

Legolas arose from his desk, and stretching his long legs, left his flet in direction of the kitchens, fully knowing that he could have had a servant bring him something. He preferred to get out for a while and enjoy the fading sun's last light. Legolas reached the kitchens and secured a loaf and a skin of wine. He stuffed them both into his pack and made his way through the city paths.

Somehow inexplicably, or perhaps fate intervened, Legolas found himself near the 'Lovers' Ring' garden. He swore no particular allegiance to this place and only felt embarrassment when he looked upon it. The garden was one of the loveliest in the Golden Wood, and the prince had yet to enjoy it on his own. He peered around the gate and upon seeing that it was in fact empty, he entered the garden, deliberately choosing not to sit on Miredhel's favorite bench. Legolas pulled out his supper and feeling very hungry, devoured it. He desperately wished for another loaf and perhaps some cheese as well and then chided himself for picking up hobbit-like habits.

In the fading light, Legolas could not help but think of the night of the race…and her. He was still not sure what went wrong. Certainly she could not find fault with his end of the kiss. He had done exactly so many times and without complaint, usually quite the contrary. It was not her refusal, but the uncertainty of her reasons, that bothered him the most. She offered no explanation for her actions, and then denied that she had felt anything at all, when he was so sure she had… In times like this, Legolas wished for a confidante—Aragorn, Gimli, or Celeril. Many times had he depended on her insight and frankness to set him straight. Perhaps he could speak with her when they reached Mirkwood. It would be the last time, he thought glumly. His father insisted that the twins stay in Mirkwood.

Legolas nearly lost himself in his thoughts when he felt someone draw near. He snapped his head toward the gate, only to see a retreating figure. It was her, Miredhel. He inwardly groaned.

Feeling very foolish, he called after her. "You do not have to go, Lady Miredhel. I would not rob you of visiting your garden one last time in such a witching hour as this."

She stopped and turned.

"I was only just leaving," he declared.

"You were here first, Prince Legolas. I only wished to look upon it one last time."

"Please do so," he said and made ready to leave, picking up his things.

She crossed the garden before him, diverting her eyes to the trees, the sky, anything but his eyes. A breeze picked up through the forest, and the flowers nodded on their stems toward the two very uncomfortable elves. Legolas sensed a change in the air.

"It is going to rain," he announced blandly.

"When?" Miredhel turned her head to him and then the sky, checking for tell-tale signs. "How can you be so sure? I see no evidence."

"The air grows heavier, and the wind has picked up. I am positive a storm rolls in."

"Caras Galadhon rarely has storms. Her ladyship's magic protects this wood," Miredhel pointed out.

"Miredhel, do you not understand?" Legolas pointed at the sky. "That power fades even as we speak. Lady Galadriel can no longer bind the woods in her protection. Look now to the sky." Dark clouds began to blanket the treetops, choking thin the last vestiges of sunset.

Miredhel scowled at him as if this had been his doing somehow. Fat raindrops began to streak down from the sky.

"Come, we must make for shelter, " Legolas said, tilting his head toward the garden gate.

"I will just head home, sir," said Miredhel, and she walked briskly toward the gate.

"Please allow me to escort you." Legolas silently cursed his gallantry. All he had wanted was to avoid her, and now he offered to walk her home.

"If it pleases you, your highness," she agreed.

Together they hurried toward Miredhel and Eledhel's flet. The rain began to fall in sheets.

"We might do better to wait out the storm," Legolas shouted to her. When she refused to stop, he grabbed her arm and pulled her under a sheltered outcropping of tree roots, barely large enough to keep one elf dry.

"Unhand me, you…you…elf!" she protested and wriggled free from his grip, and lunged in the direction of her path.

"Do not be foolish." Legolas pulled her back into the shelter. "It is beginning to hail. Do you wish to harm yourself?"

"No, of course not," she bristled. "I suppose this is the best we could manage?" she asked in reference to the pitifully small shelter. His nose was less than an inch from her forehead, and his lips were practically all she could see.

"Believe me when I say I would rather be anywhere but here, Lady Miredhel." Legolas said sardonically. Here he was toe to toe cramped against a wet, gorgeous elf, and all he could wish for was to get away. 'How times have changed,' he thought miserably and shook his head in disgust.

"Ugh, you are getting me wet," said Miredhel, and she wiped off the beads of water fallen from his hair and face.

"More wet than you already are?" Legolas laughed and then shook his hair some more.

"Stop it!" She held up her arm to deflect the water and smacked him in the nose.

"Ai!" said Legolas, rubbing his nose. "I would have stopped. Violence was a little unnecessary."

"I am sorry. I did not mean it." Miredhel decided to change the subject. "What were you shaking your head for in the first place?"

"I was thinking about how awkward of a situation this could be, the two of us here, stranded in the rain," Legolas said truthfully.

"I suppose in such situations, one must make small talk about the pleasantries of the day," Miredhel observed.

"Such as the weather we are having," agreed Legolas.

"Which is exceedingly bad," Miredhel finished.

"I hate being right," said Legolas.

"But you were," agreed Miredhel. "Such an occurrence has not been seen here in a hundred lives of men. Why can we not simply free ourselves from the worries of Middle Earth?" She sighed and looked at him expectantly.

"Even the Lady Galadriel did not have power enough for such a feat. Many times in my own land had I wished for seclusion from the darkness of this world…" Legolas' voice trailed off in the midst of a large thunderclap.

"Like goblins or dragons?"

"Or the spiders that haunted my realm," Legolas shuddered.

"Spiders?" Miredhel asked.

"Big ones, I hated them… fat furry bodies and round globular eyes…" Legolas added and glanced at the storm. Miredhel did the same. Rain and hail poured steadily from the lightning cracked sky.

"Looks like we will be here for a while," she said.

"Perhaps the rain will lighten up," Legolas said hopefully, "and then we could at least get you home. Eledhel might be worried."

"He might be…" Miredhel looked concerned, "but then again, he was very busy making sure everything was ready to go for tomorrow." Miredhel looked out into the inky shadows of the woods. She had run out of anything to say to Prince Legolas. She would dearly love to ask him about his adventures in the war, but since the garden catastrophe, she did not want to give the appearance of being overly interested or encouraging his affection. Besides, she often felt intimidated in his presence, despite her brother's close friendship with him. He was everything she was not—a warrior, a hero, a leader. He made her feel inadequate, and she hated the feeling.

The storm raged on, and both elves stood stiffly beneath the giant mallorn root, careful not to touch one another, make eye contact, or show any sign of discomfort. Finally, Miredhel broke the silence.

"My brother thinks very highly of you, you know."

"Eledhel's friendship is of great worth. He is the best sort of friend to have in one's possession," Legolas said.

"How so?"

"In two words—honesty and loyalty. Both are traits I value and expect from my friends." Legolas thought about saying more, but checked himself. He would not allow himself to be too open with this maiden.

Miredhel, however, noticed his reserve and wished he would be candid with her. He lifted his head toward the sky, tracking the movement of the storm clouds. She took this opportunity to study him openly—his posture, the strong line of his jaw, and high cheekbones. Even sopping wet, he struck her as noble, and she could not help but admire him. His eyes reflected grace and quiet strength…and sorrow. There was no hint of improper pride about him. He did not seem so arrogant to her now. She colored at the thought of her behavior toward him and the hasty words she had spoken in anger. 'He must despise me for them,' she thought to herself with shame.

"Once our journey begins I may not have an opportunity to say this," Miredhel said and twisted the ring on her finger.

"Yes?" Legolas prompted her, tearing his eyes away from the storm and focusing them on Miredhel's. She looked away and twisted the ring on her finger again, pulled the ring off, and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger before placing it back on her hand.

"Right," she said, "you will have all of the worries of the journey to occupy you, and I wanted you to know…" Miredhel said and stopped. She began twisting the ring again. This time, Legolas reached out and took her hands in his.

The warmth of his touch startled and comforted her. She looked down at their hands and then into his eyes.

When her eyes wide met his, he released her hands. "My apologies, lady," Legolas said. "You merely seemed upset, that is all…I meant no harm by it. The other night, in the garden, I gave you my word that I would not renew any advances toward you. You have nothing to fear from me." Legolas finished and folded his arms behind his back. He peered out. Only rain fell now, softly. "I believe we can take you home now," he said and stepped out from the shelter of the mallorn.

"Wait," Miredhel said, and reached for his arm to stop him. "I never said what I wanted to tell you…"

He looked at her quizzically. What else could possibly be said?

"I wanted to apologize." At last, she had said it!

"For what, my lady?" Legolas was intrigued.

"For what happened in the garden after the race. It was all wrong. I never wanted things to happen the way they did."

"What do you mean? What things?" Legolas' hopes soared.

"Specifically? My actions, my words to you were beyond reproach. I did not mean to lead you on. It was never my intent…" She looked at him and bit her lip, "…to tease."

"Of course not." Legolas shrugged. He was not sure what to make of this new development. He was at a loss for words. Did she expect him to apologize to her as well? He blinked.

"Please spare yourself from any form of worry on my account," Legolas carefully said. "I am made of sterner stuff than you might think. One blighted kiss will not ruin me forever."

"I am sure it will not, but I do not want you to have formed the wrong impression of my character."

"You would be so bold as to tell me what my opinions should be?" The prince within Legolas took offense at her words.

"That is not what I meant!" Miredhel exclaimed.

"Is it not?" Miredhel was indignant, and Legolas was beginning to look very haughty.

"No, it is not. I would not have you thinking that I am some degree of a tease, or flirt, or tart, that I should regularly make habit of kissing elves for bets in moonlit gardens, for that matter," she hissed.

He looked impassive. Her words had splintered against stone. He was proud, she decided, and certainly none too interested in anything she might say. Such elves hear only what they want to hear. She could read nothing but disdain in his eyes as he looked down upon her.

In truth, Legolas felt pained by her words. As he looked at her, she seemed completely foreign from the maiden who was usually so capable of infuriating him. This Miredhel was different—she looked small and vulnerable. At length, Legolas spoke. "I do not believe you to be any of those things," he said gently. "The evening grows late, come." He motioned toward the path.

She warily eyed the prince and then took her place at his side, cutting through the trees.

"Something still bothers you," Legolas observed. What did she want him to do? He did not know shat else to say. Legolas desperately wished that they would reach Eledhel's flet soon.

"You, my lord." Miredhel said bluntly.

"I?" Legolas asked, amused. He did not expect her to say that. "What have I done now?" He wanted to know. Legolas' brows furrowed. This line of conversation could only lead to trouble.

Her eyes were defiant. The old Miredhel had returned. "Exactly," she said.

"Exactly what? I have said nothing that could possibly offend you!"

"I know you said nothing," she retorted. "I offered you my sincerest apologies, and you stood there staring at me. At least I endeavored to make things right between us."

"What? What would you have me say?" Legolas demanded. "Tell me so I can say it already."

Miredhel glared at him. "I would not presume to tell you anything, your highness," she said, bitterly emphasizing 'highness.'

Legolas threw up his hands in frustration. "What about my rank offends you so?"

"I never…" Miredhel began, but Legolas cut her off.

"No, from the very first hour upon our meeting, I could tell that my position rankled you." Legolas' eyes flashed. "Admit it!"

"I will admit nothing to you, prince or no," Miredhel said coolly. "Almost everything I ever believed of you is true. You are proud and arrogant, expecting everyone to meet your every whim."

"Only almost everything?" Legolas said sarcastically, taking a step toward her.

"I admired you. I thought you noble, a lord among elves, a hero. I had hoped we might be friends…" Miredhel stopped and turned away from him. She brought her hands to her face for the briefest moment and then pulled them back to her side, turning round to face him once more. "I was wrong. Goodnight, Prince Legolas."

Her face and eyes were colder than the winter's dawn. Legolas, despite his elven nature, shivered under the dark canopy of trees as he watched her walk away from him.


Chapter 13 - The Breaking

The elves rose before the light of morning to make their final farewells, ready their horses, and gather their belongings. The Golden Wood fell silent and the only sign of its breaking was the whispered murmurs of namarie, farewell in the elven tongue.

Legolas looked upon the Lady of the Wood for the final time in Middle Earth. She sat upon a white palfry, clasping her husband's hand in this moment of their parting. The promise of unshed tears deepened her eyes to the color of twilight.

Legolas saw Farothin and Haldir saying their goodbyes, and glimpsed Miredhel sitting soundlessly upon her horse, her eyes fixated on the beloved trees of her homeland. He had sent Eledhel to check over the young saplings they had prepared to take to Gondor as a present for the King Elessar.

Celeborn's voice rang out above the trees as the sun's first light began to illuminate the horizon. "Go now with many blessings to the havens, Ithilien, or wherever the Valar may lead you."

With Legolas' signal, the host of elves turned west to make for the southern rim of Eryn Lasgalen, but Lady Galadriel's party headed east for Imladris to meet up with Lord Elrond before taking to the havens. Legolas rode in the front, flanked by Eledhel, Sulindal, and Belegil. To Farothin, he had given the task of scouting the road ahead, and the young elf had more than eagerly agreed to such a responsibility.

As the procession passed the city gate, Legolas' ears pricked to distinguish a single voice, low and lilting, singing of farewell and the fall of leaves like gold in the wind. His gaze darted to Belegil. Did he hear it? Legolas shook his head. He must have dreamt it. None of his companions showed any sign of hearing such a song. He glanced toward Eledhel to see a solitary tear clinging to his lashes. Eledhel had heard. Now Belegil and his brother turned their heads to look back toward the long line of elves. They now heard the silken strains too, some of the old words replaced by new:

Ai! Laurie lantar lassi surinen,

Yeni unotime ve ramar aldaron!

Yeni ve linte yuldar avanier

Mi ormardi lise-miruvoreva,

Namarie, Lorien, Namarie!

The silvery notes dressed the air like fat dew drops hanging from pine needles. Her lament rose in the clear morning chasing the sun's slow creep over the horizon. Now all heard. Another voice joined her, a baritone, lending a peaceful balance that was not there before. Legolas craned his neck to discover that the duet was brother and sister, Eledhel and Miredhel. He caught Eledhel's eye only to read the pain that lingered there.

"We will take this road together, my friend," he said softly and then joined in the song. His tenor voice rang sweetly with that of his friends'. Soon more of the host united in song, finding comfort in the refrain of their elven voices. The passage of the elves seemed but a flash and shimmer through the Golden Wood, their chorus, only a haunting spectre of an age forgotten.

They reached the edge of the wood by midday. Middle Earth lay open before them. Legolas knew these paths well. The way was easy but not necessarily safe. Even with the defeat of Sauron, the enemy still lurked at large. Legolas worried for the safety of his convoy. With such a large number, they could not slip past unnoticed. He hoped that the size of his party would deter most rogue bands of orcs. Still, the elves would have to keep up their guard, which is exactly why he sent Farothin ahead to scout.

Farothin had been waiting for them as per Legolas' instructions. He wanted to know if the young hunter had seen any signs of trouble.

"What news, scout?" asked Legolas, and he gave a signal for the company to halt.

"There was some evidence that trouble may be afoot, my lord," Farothin reported.

"Orcs?" questioned Legolas.

"More than likely. I saw some prints back at…" Farothin began.

"…the old guards' flets?" guessed Legolas.

"Yes, I saw those as well," agreed Eledhel. "Haldir would be none to happy if he knew of it!"

"Well, if you two were going to see everything anyways, I do not know why you bother to send me ahead to scout." Farothin looked pained.

"Nonsense, Farothin," Legolas said. "Those were old prints anyways. If you saw something really important, you would ride back and tell us."

"Our whole company's safety rides with you," Eledhel said solemnly.

"I will not fail this trust." Farothin saluted and remounted his horse. "I will meet up with you again at the great river. Namarie!" He called and rode away toward the open sky.

"Farothin is a little over zealous, is he not?" Belegil remarked to his brother.

"Aye, but that is exactly why Legolas chose him for the job," Sulindal replied.

"I cannot imagine any elf taking the task more seriously than he," Legolas added with a smile.

"Let us ride onward then to the river, else Farothin leave us behind!" Eledhel suggested and Legolas gave the signal. The company surged forward toward the open plain. As they began moving, a long elven banner streamed forth, caught high in the breeze.

"What is that?" Eledhel asked Belegil, jerking his head toward the flag. Legolas overheard and turned to look as well. His eyes widened in surprise. He stared at it for a moment, speechless. For here was clearly a banner made-up for Ithilien, yet he had given no elf any such orders to do so.

"Lady Limaer carries it." Shall I go and suggest that she roll it up for now?" Belegil asked.

"No, Belegil. I will handle this," Legolas and he whispered to Arod to turn around. He hastened down the side of the procession, passing Miredhel along the way. Their eyes briefly met, and he gave her a formal nod. Curious, she slowed her mount's pace, falling back in the ranks so she might discover the object of the prince's sudden interest.

When the prince finally reached Limaer, the young elven lady frantically smoothed her curls and manufactured a smile. "Your Lordship," she gushed, "I am so that we are finally on our way. What an exciting adventure this will be!"

"Lady Limaer, I hope our journey will actually prove to be quite uneventful, which is why I must ask you to roll up that flag and put it away for now." Legolas said evenly.

"I made it myself for Ithilien…for you, my lord." The banner figured approximately three arms in length, tapering to a point at the end. She had worked a large leaf onto the fabric, emblazoned in green and gold.

"I am flattered, Lady Limaer, but I must ask you to bind it. We cannot risk drawing too much attention to our party." A visible pout formed on her lips. Legolas noticed that many of the other elves, including Miredhel, now watched the scene before them. "As soon as we reach safer territory, we will unfurl it to the admiration of all. I promise."

Lady Limaer considered his words and then reached for the banner, folding it up to stow in her baggage. She already considered different lines of conversation that she could discuss with the prince. If she were lucky, she could keep him by her side for the rest of the afternoon. Fortunately, Legolas' experience quickly allowed him to perceive the mindset of the young lady. He was in the middle of making his excuses to her when a shout rang out from the front of the line.

"My lord, make haste!"

"Come quickly!"

"Excuse me, ladies. I am needed." Legolas said, urging his horse to gallop ahead. Questions flooded his mind. Why had Belegil and Eledhel thought it so necessary to shout? Something must have happened. Farothin's sudden reappearance confirmed his suspicions.

"What has happened? What news do you bring, Farothin?" Legolas kept his voice calm, but Farothin's ashen face worried him.

"I found something that I think you must see…" Farothin said unsteadily. "I have seen nothing like it before."

"Well, that is not really saying too much," Sulindal pointed out. "You are still young."

Farothin shot him a withering look. "I doubt that even Prince Legolas has seen the likes of it, and he is more traveled than us all."

"We will see," said Legolas. "How far from the company is it?"

"Not even a quarter of a league, but I think we should go alone. I don't think the rest of the elves should see this…not the ladies…not the children."

"That bleak, huh?" said Eledhel, a little surprised. He was certain that Farothin's find was nothing more than some mangled road-kill.

"Farothin, you, Eledhel, and I shall go investigate. Belegil, I want you and Sulindal to stay here. Alert the other warriors to the possibility of immediate danger. I want you to flank both sides of the company, weapons ready," Legolas ordered. He wished once more that their journey could pass uneventfully. It was not the last time he wished that!

He and Eledhel followed Farothin at full gallop. Much to his chagrin, Legolas could smell the site before he could see it. Burnt flesh, loads of it, and from the stench, Legolas surmised that the carcasses were orc. Upon sight, he knew the truth of the matter. Heaping mounds of swollen, twisted black bodies littered the path before them. Even the ground was a rotted red. Some of the orcs' bodies still smoked, polluting the air with a yellow-gray haze.

"Farothin," Eledhel complained loudly, "have you not ever seen us burn the bodies of the ors we killed in the wood?"

"No, Eledhel. This is different," Legolas disagreed. He dismounted and walked to the nearest pile. The stench alone made him want to gag, but what he saw was worse. "Look at this," and he pointed to some of the limbs and heads, "these bodies did not die by the sword. This is not the work of elves or men or even dwarves…these bodies have been chewed on, eaten by someone or something…"

Eledhel and Farothin both blanched. Eledhel swung off his horse to survey the scene closer. He gingerly picked up a severed arm, still clenching onto a crude broad sword. He studied the ragged end, grey bone and ligaments.

"Ocs eat their own, do they not? Could they not have quarreled and then feasted on the remains of the victims?" Farothin guessed.

"No, I think not. Look at the splintering of the bone in this arm, as if it were snapped from the body by sheer force." Eledhel shuddered and dropped the arm in disgust. "And where is the rest of its body?" His eyes skirted the remains.

"This is a riddle. One I hope we may not have to solve," said Legolas as he knelt the clotted dust of the road, searching for clues. How he wished Aragorn were here with him! He could not make sense of the tracks. Some were clearly orcish, but the others—he had never before encountered.

"Perhaps we can count this as a blessing, Legolas. The tale of these orcs was at least fifty crouching in wait for an ambush, of presumably our party."

"Yes, but why are some of the bodies torched to a crisp, while others are not? What is the sense in it?" Farothin looked about in confusion. His sharp eyes caught something he had not before noticed. "Come, Legolas! Eledhel! Quickly…"

Some tall grassy weeds concealed a mortally wounded orc, still gasping and muttering curses in the Black Speech. His abdomen had been slashed, leaving his entrails to tangle in the roots and soil. Legolas took command of the situation.

"What has happened here? Tell us, and we will ease your passing."

"Elves…" The orc drew a ragged breath and spat at Legolas' feet. Farothin released his knife, ready to avenge the insult.

"Steady, Farothin," Eledhel warned, his hand reaching for the younger elf's shoulder.

Legolas stood untouched. He had seen much of death in his years of late. This scene would be one more of many to torment his dreams. "Tell us…." His eyes, steely blue, pressed the orc. The foul cry of a carrion bird broke the silence. The orc's eyes rolled back in his head.

"Ghǎsh, ghǎsh," he muttered, black bile choking his words.

"Slit his throat, Farothin," Legolas said without emotion and walked back to his horse. Eledhel followed.

"What did he say? What did it mean?"

"'Fire…Fire.'-- I do not know, Eledhel, and that is what worries me the most." Farothin joined them, wiping the last traces of black blood from his knife. "I fear for our company. Let us join them," Legolas said and paused, "Speak not of these horrors to any elf." He and the other two vaulted onto their steeds and raced toward the company. As they rode, Legolas issued a silent prayer to the Valar for safety and speed in their travels. The company could not reach Eryn Lasgalen quickly enough now to suit his desires. Perhaps his father would have intelligence on this new threat. He found now that Galadriel's warning held new meaning to him:

Your days of peril are not yet over …Beware, your road is not for the weary or timid. Much peril lies in store for those who would travel the roads to Ithilien. I have foreseen it.

Legolas vainly wished once more that their journey would pass uneventfully—Not for the last time!


Chapter 14 - Trouble on the Anduin

Upon his return, Legolas informed the other elven warriors of the findings. In the briefest of councils, the prince decided to leave the road and give the piles of dead orcs a wide berth. Disquiet spread among all the elves. Even those who were not privy to Legolas' words sensed it, the uneasy dread settling among them. Legolas tried to keep his eyes bright and cheerful. There was little need to worry the innocent.

The warriors now took position along side of the company, sandwiching the unarmed. The prince's return and his grim face, along with the sudden summons of his archers, heightened every elf's senses to the possibility of danger. Even the youngest elf babe stirred restlessly in his mother's arms. The company rode quickly now, eyes scanning every shadow and every movement, down to each swaying blade of grass in the fields. Their ears caught the drop of each hoof against the earth and the beat of every wing in the sky as their ever-increasing anxiety amplified nature. The air grew still and thick as they neared the Anduin.

Ever since the elves' return, Miredhel knew that something foul had happened. She read it on her brother's solemn expression and saw it in Legolas' eyes. Let them pretend as if nothing was wrong. She knew better. She wanted to go to them and ask of their troubles, but she knew she could not. She was merely an elf maiden, just the sort they thought necessary to protect. She wished for courage, to go and offer up her bow and service to Legolas, but she knew what her brother would say. She hid behind that excuse, and she despised herself for it. So she rode quietly onward, instead. The Anduin was near.

They reached the great river just as the sun fell into the shadows of the Misty Mountains. Through a ravine of slick rock, the river ran fast and deep, reflecting the last crimson rays of the sun. 'An ill omen,' Legolas thought, 'as if blood pours from the wounds of the earth.' Because they left the road, the elves did not meet the river at the bridge. They could not cross here. Legolas shaded his azure eyes with his long slender hands. The bridge was still a league further down the riverbanks. He knew he could easily summon the energy to meet the bridge before dusk and ride on into the night, but as he studied the careworn faces of his followers, he knew he should break camp for the evening. They were weary…and some were frightened.

Many had left the safety of the Lothlorien for the first time. The discovery of the orcs plagued his mind. He had seen death in many forms, but this, this was something new. The flesh had been shredded to ribbons. Swords, axes, and arrows left no such marks. He looked again at his followers. They depended on him, and him alone. For the first time, Legolas felt the full weight of the enormous responsibilities of leadership. He had no one to turn to for guidance, not his father, brother, or even Aragorn. How could he keep his people safe against an enemy that rips through and devours the slain? Legolas clenched his fists in frustration. He wondered what his father would have done, what he would do right now. He would have to trust his own judgement.

"Make ready to camp for the night," Legolas announced. "We will cross the river at dawn."

Upon his orders, the elves lit no large fires; instead, a few small lanterns cast a merry glow across a morose campsite. As the night darkened, fingers of cold mist crawled forth from the river. Hazy, white curls snaked toward the camp, winding and twisting around the elves, squeezing all sight from them.

"Ai, we are blind in this soupy fog," cried Eledhel, his eyes darting toward the camp perimeters.

"I know. I cannot even see our night watch, although I know they are there," Belegil contended.

"If someone or something attacks the camp, we are ready and more than capable of fending off any advances. Our ranks boast the best archers and swordsmen of Lothlorien," Legolas said, attempting to make his voice match the confidence of his words. These were his friends to be sure, but he was also their leader. He must reflect strength and confidence. Eledhel and Belegil left to join the night watch, leaving the prince to his thoughts.

The camp rested quietly at least, breaking their elvish waybread and drawing new strength from its substance. Legolas studied the camp as he ate. His eyes, so alert, noticed every detail—the children with their bright eyes and cherubic faces, the steady way the mothers sang low lullabies. Miredhel sat with them, cradling a child in her arms. Her hair had come undone and spilled down her back, across her cheek. She looked up, and their eyes met. A lesser elf might have looked away in embarrassment, but neither Legolas nor Miredhel were the kind to back down from any encounter. So they continued looking at one another, both feeling a little silly, but neither wanting to be the first to look away.

Miredhel stared back at the prince in sheer defiance. His eyes, as blue as ever, looked decidedly grim to the maiden. 'You do well to hide your emotions, but your eyes betray you, my lord,' she thought. The experience of many years, duty, and hardship, resided in the depth of his gaze.

At the same time, Legolas could see the same fierce flame of independence he had witnessed once before in the 'Lovers' Ring' garden. Her face never flinched under his scrutiny. Her eyes accused and mocked him, but he read there also great sorrow and pain. 'She walks in sorrow and loneliness,' mused Legolas. "We are not so different, you and I," he murmured to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by Sulindal's return.

"Hail, Legolas," he greeted him, and the prince finally averted his eyes to look at his friend.

"How goes the night watch?"

"Quietly, almost too quietly for my liking."

"What do you mean?"

"Listen…do you hear it? Nothing, no crickets' chirping, field mice, birds or frogs can be heard…"

"I see what you mean," Legolas said and tilted his head. "I wonder that I did not notice before."

"I believe it may have something to do with the Lady Miredhel," observed Sulindal. "I watched you watching her for a full five minutes before I finally greeted you." Unlike Belegil who was often brash and loud, Sulindal was soft-spoken, unless provoked, infinitely preferring quiet observation of the world and people around him.

"You did, did you?" Legolas finally responded, somewhat detached. He did not mind Sulindal knowing his regard for Miredhel, but he blamed himself for not paying more attention to the safety of his own camp. A fine leader he was turning out to be, distracted by a pretty face. Legolas had about decided to join his archers in the night watch- "that is where their leader ought to be anyway, not half-dreaming in the moonlight," he muttered to himself—when Sulindal's low voice broke through his thoughts again.

"What is she to you?" he simply asked. A simple question indeed, to one Legolas was not quite sure of the answer himself. An unsuccessful conquest? No, that did not seem right. A thwarted love affair? No, that seemed grotesque.

At length, Legolas sighed and responded, "She is…Eledhel's sister." He managed to say it convincingly, even managing to convince himself. He was not having this conversation. He did not want to think about her when the camp might be in danger and some horrid new threat might be at large in this abysmal fog. He needed to focus. He abruptly stood and picked up his quiver, signaling the end of the conversation.

Sulindal gave Legolas an exquisite look, a combination of 'You are fooling yourself if you think that,' and 'I know better.' Belegil and Sulindal looked nearly identical—same broad shoulders, determined chin, and flaxen hair, yet Sulindal's grey eyes missed little. They were his greatest defense and strongest weapon in times of battle…and conversation.

"I understand if you wish to keep it between the lady and yourself," Sulindal said slowly. "Your forbearance is admirable. Never did you utter a single word to any of us about kissing her in 'Lovers' Ring.'"

Legolas dropped his quiver and sat back down. He looked at Sulindal in pure astonishment. "How did you…did she tell you?"

"No, Miredhel has ever been private concerning such things. I decided to walk in the woods after the banquet to clear my thoughts. I heard your voices and then saw you past the gate." He smiled, eyes twinkling. "I believe you could have lit up all of Caras Galadhon with that kiss; however if you do not wish to speak of it, be assured you have my silence on the matter."

Legolas looked at Sulindal carefully. Sulindal would stay true to his word, if he had known of the kiss all this time and said nought of it, especially when his own brother was considered to be one of the nosiest gossips in the Golden Wood. Legolas had felt that Sulindal had been more difficult to get to know, for he was far more reserved than his brother. Perhaps, here was the confidante he had been longing for, at least in terms of his problems with the girl.

"The kiss was the agreed term for our bet. I would be her friend, perhaps more if she let me," Legolas confessed.

"…but she will not permit it?" guessed Sulindal.

"We only ever end up arguing," Legolas said bitterly. "It is futile to try, and now I find I have much more pressing matters to attend to, than one maiden's wayward heart."

"Legolas, I beseech you. Do not give up on her."

"Would you have me ignore the rest of the camp?" Legolas asked, a little irately.

"Of course not, but you have friends who would help you. The entire weight of the camp does not have to rest on your shoulders alone."

"I know, but I worry for our safety, friend, even with elven warriors such as your brother and yourself in our company." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I cannot shake the sights of the bodies on the road, the smell. I cannot place it. It lingers in my memory. Something about the smell…so acrid…more than just burnt orcs. What could lay waste to fifty orcs like that, as if they were tinder caught in a fire storm?"

"Other than a few elven warriors?" Sulindal jested, and Legolas permitted what looked like a small smile. "Perhaps, King Thranduil will have intelligence on this new foe, if it be an enemy at all. In the mean time, tend to your heart, young prince," Sulindal said.

"She does not seem to desire the companionship of anybody," Legolas pointed out.

"Aye, my lord. She still grieves…"

"Grieves, Sulindal?"

"Did you know that Belegil and I had a sister?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer. "She was our junior by many years, closer to your age, I imagine. Belegil and I spoiled her shamelessly. She had the sweetest soft grey eyes…" Sulindal looked lost in the memory, but continued, "She and Miredehel were friends, more like sisters really."

"What became of her?"

"She was head-strong and closer in disposition to Belegil than I would care to remember. When they got together…" he sighed and shook his head. "She sought training as a warrior with the bow and sword, which we happily granted. When she came of age, she joined Eledhel's division of archers. They were close, not just because we were all friends. Sometimes, I think they might have fallen in love if given the chance, if fate had been more kind."

"What happened?" Legolas asked, already suspecting the truth.

"The War of the Ring…the defense of the Golden Wood…Annariel, that was my sister's name, escaped unscathed. I think Miredhel desperately wanted to join Eledhel's division, but he would never allow it. He was always over protective with her…" Sulindal cleared his throat and continued, "When the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn gathered all the warriors, swordsmen and bowmen alike, to lay siege to Dol Goldur, Eledhel's was chosen as was mine and Belegil's. Miredhel was left behind.

"Orcs, wargs, everything foul, choked the woods. During the siege, a dark shape, a nameless cloud, some say the evil thrall spirits set loose from the dungeons, shrouded the moon. I lost sight of her. The shape wavered and was gone, but my sister had disappeared. Only later after Galadriel layed bare the pits, and we piled and burned the slain enemy, did we find her. Eledhel brought forth her body, trampled and ruined, in his arms. So young, so fair…" Sulindal looked up to the night sky, his eyes wet. No stars could be seen.

"I have visited the burial mounds there, Sulindal. Neither I, nor my people, will not forget the great sacrifices made."

"This war has required sacrifices of everyone. We are all bound in grief."

"And Miredhel?" asked Legolas.

"She suffered cruelly, blaming herself for not having been at Annariel's side, her brother and I for not saving her, and all of Mirkwood by association."

"Including myself, I see."

"I will not speak of how she nearly wasted away from heart ache, her fiery spirit spent from grief, or how Eledhel struggled with the decision of taking her to the Grey Havens. I will only say that for the first time in many months has her spirit returned."

Legolas glanced furtively at the object of their conversation. Eledhel had joined her, offering the comfort of his shoulder where she lightly rested her head. "She is lucky to have a friend such as you, Sulindal, and a brother like Eledhel, but I can make no promises." Legolas rose and stretched. "I must join the others now."

Legolas joined Farothin on the edge of camp near the river. He had spent many hours on nights such as this, watching and listening for unseen foes. He honed in on the steady pulse of the river, the whispering of the grasses, the way the wind moved through the trees. He listened for any change that might signal danger. He could hear the steady breathing and munching of the horses as they grazed. Everything seemed exactly as it should. Legolas relaxed and deeply inhaled. His breath stopped short in his throat. That distinctive fetid odor, the same that he had smelled at the road with the mangled orcs, tinged the chill air. He gripped his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

"What is it?" whispered Farothin.

"That smell…the dead orcs…do you smell it?" Legolas hissed, his bright eyes scanning the hazy dark.

Farothin nodded and whistled a low birdcall to alert the others to the danger. He, too, fitted an arrow to his bow. The horses began to twitter restlessly, neighing and stamping their hooves.

"The horses are nervous."

"Something draws near," Legolas added.

"I also feel it," said Eledhel. He had heard the whistle and joined them, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Someone should go calm the horses. They will give our position away or worse, scatter in the night," suggested Farothin.

"I will," whispered Legolas in a voice audible only to elven ears. "Farothin, you stay on the river-side of the camp. Eledhel, I want you to take the western side of the camp. Tell the camp to blow out the lanterns. We will use the mist and the cover of darkness to our advantage." Both Farothin and Eledhel brought their fists to their chests and saluted him in the elven style; Legolas nodded and left.

He stealthily crept along the steep riverbank toward the clearing where the horses grazed. Legolas kept his bow in his right hand, an arrow ever ready in his left. He could hear the horses pawing and snorting. Elvish steeds rarely spooked. The scent was stronger now. He reached a grey mare first, her eyes wild. "Shh, fear not," he comforted the beast and tousled her mane with his fingers. He saw from afar the last lantern light dim at the campsite. All was dark, save the spare light of the moon, which hid behind a wisp of clouds. He patted Arod's flank as he passed and moved in the direction of the scent.

Legolas slid between the columns of trees that blocked the vertical bank of the Anduin from view. He guessed from the sound of the current that the river was a good drop down, at least fifty feet. He paused behind a tree trunk, catching his breath. The putrid scent nearly over powered him now. The air grew thick around him, and Legolas smelled blood in the air.

The wisp of clouds now clothed the moon, and all light was lost. The night was pitch-black, and the prince was alone. His ears pricked to the low rumble of someone, some creature breathing, followed by a sharp crack, like wood being snapped. He dared not move from his position. He checked his peripheral vision. All seemed still, save his heart pounding in his chest. Panic and fear chased through his veins, raking his body with self-doubt and loathing. 'Fool! You should not have come alone!'

Crack! An enormous pine slapped the earth. The ground shook as if lightning had struck down from the sky. Crack! Another tree whipped down, this time grazing Legolas' side. The trees and the night thrummed in the rhythm of torture. The breathing grew louder, and the elf could hear the beast drawing each distinct thunderous breath.

Legolas tightened his fingers on his bow, steady he told himself, and briefly rolled his shoulders back, a habit he used to calm his nerves before battle. He lightly released his fingers and squeezed the bow again. Calm returned, and the archer was ready.

He swung out from behind the tree, fitting an arrow to his bow and firing toward the breathing. Legolas pulled himself against another tree, edging his way closer to the smell and the rustling sounds. In the inky night, he could see no more than his hand and bow in front of him. The ground pulsed beneath his feet. The horses whinnied, followed by the pounding of many hooves. They had stampeded. Legolas heard a muffled thump from the trees, and then silence. The rank odor had vanished, and only the hot scent of fresh blood lingered. He felt his body sag involuntarily and then checked himself. He could not be sure the threat was gone until he had swept the area.

Legolas stepped into the clearing, weapon still in hand. All of the horses were gone, hopefully of their own volition. He could not blame them. He knelt to the ground and then stood. It was too dark to check for any tracks of predators. That would have to wait until morning light. He moved steadily back to the tree line and the river where he had first heard the breathing. Legolas was sure of one thing; the creature he encountered tonight was no ordinary wolf, bear, troll, orc, or anything thinkable.

The elf kept his guard up and stole back toward the river and trees. His eyes busily scanned the close-knit woods for any sign of movement. Scarcely looking at the ground before him, he stumbled over a fallen log. Legolas scrambled toward his feet in disbelief that he had not seen it before. He looked toward the base and ran his fingers along the scratchy bark until he reached the breaking point of the tree. Almost as if someone had snapped the tree like a twig, the trunk broke off in jagged ends two feet above the ground. At that moment, he noticed four other trees, fallen in the same manner. Deep gouges marked the trunks. Legolas bent down to study them and then swallowed hard. The choking smell had returned.

His arms darted out to grab his bow when a hard jerk toward his chest sent him reeling toward the river. As he tumbled over the bank and fell, he drew his long, white knife, frantically slicing the open space before him. He struck something hard. It was too dark to tell what. Before he hit the river below, Legolas found himself wondering if it was such a good idea to fall blindly into a ravine with a blade in one's hand…


Chapter 15 - The River Ran Red

Chapter Fourteen: The River Ran Red

Legolas flailed in the murky water. He had fallen into the river from great height, and his right shoulder had slammed into a boulder, knocking his knife from his hand. The swift current of the Anduin rushed over him as he frantically searched for his weapon. The clouds still blotted out the moon. With his bow still on the riverbank above and his knife somewhere in the river, the elf was unarmed and alone.

A breeze gathered, parting the clouds, and a thin strip of moonlight reflected off the river. His knife! Legolas grabbed for it, only an arm's length away. The handle felt warm and sticky. He held it up in the moonlight only to see that the blade dripped in gore.

When the clouds lifted completely from the moon, Legolas saw red everywhere. Blood streaked his chest, torso, and his hands. He felt the back of his throat burn and knew he was going to be sick. His chest still throbbed from the hit he had taken, and his shoulder felt on fire. He tumbled toward the edge of the river, fighting the push of the current.

Suddenly as before, a thick acrid odor assailed his nostrils. His enemy had returned. The prince pushed himself against a large outcropping of stones in the riverbed. He longed for his bow but praised the Valar that he had found his knife in time. The smell and the sound of the creature's breathing grew stronger.

From behind the rock, Legolas heard a guttural snarl, followed by ripping, flesh being torn from the bone. The water thrashed and swelled against his hiding place. Flecks of bone and meat floated past him. The splashing stopped. Legolas waited. He knew the fell beast still lingered. He could hear and smell its breath. He wondered if this was how it would all end for him. He rolled his shoulders back and gripped his knife. He mouthed a silent prayer to the Valar for courage and began to edge around the side of the rock. A pair of great, golden slits for eyes watched his every move.

Thinking he would slay this devil if only he could see it, Legolas could hardly discern its form for all the steam rising from the river. The beast's lidless, serpentine gaze gave forth a yellow beam of light, which pierced through the thick vaporous curls of smoke and steam to glower at him. He returned its stare, anticipating any move the monster might make. He had only one knife and only one chance.

Finally, the elf spoke, "We seek nothing but peace. Leave us, and no harm will come to you."

The creature snorted, and twin columns of steam shot toward the sky. His narrow orbs brightened, and then he spoke, "Well met, son of Mirkwood."

His eyes bored into the elf's, never ceasing. Legolas stood rooted, finding he could neither look away nor move.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt dull and overstuffed. He could no longer feel the quiver on his back or his dagger in his hand. His shoulder ceased its throbbing as his entire body melted into numbness. The elf's mind wandered. He was neither awake nor asleep. The world vanished around him, save the golden eyes of the beast.

The creature taunted the prince, "Who would you sacrifice yourself for? Your ragged band of friends and woebegone maidens are no match for my strength. You are weak. I read it in your eyes. I know everything of your plans, prince of Mirkwood. I desire a much more formidable opponent. If you lead me to him, I will spare your life and most of your pitiful company." He licked his chops. "It has been so very long since I have savored the taste of elven kind, or should I say it had been so long, until tonight that is."

Legolas fell under his spell, and the beast's twisting words fettered his heart in self-loathing. The elf's eyes darkened beyond midnight, and his smooth features hardened with malice. All might have been lost had nature not intervened. It began to rain. Only slow, lazy drops met the river at first. Then lightning rent the heavens and a torrent of rain swept forth.

Legolas gasped at the fresh air ushered in by the night rain as it melted away the steam and mist on the river. He experienced a sensation, which could only compare to the way trees feel during springtime. His face tingled as the cool rain washed away the blood and grime. As the pain in his shoulder returned, Legolas could also feel the comforting weight of his knife in his hand. He remembered where he was and the peril he faced. His heart began to hammer in his chest. He gripped his knife tighter and waited for opportunity.

Lightning flashed again, and the creature blinked. Now was his chance. Legolas dove underwater and quickly swam toward his foe. He burst from the river, slashing wildly at dark, glistening scales. Faster than elven eyes could trace, the beast twisted out of the knife's path. Lightning blinded the sky once more, and Legolas saw his opponent clearly for the first time. His spirit quelled as sight confirmed his worst fears. Amidst the choppy water and pouring rain, he saw the grim silhouette of wicked wings and claws, a long snout and cruel fangs. Dragon. The word alone made the elf cringe.

The dragon snarled, "Fool! Your sad weapons cannot mar this armor!"

Legolas reached back and threw his knife with all his might toward the dragon's luminous eyes. In one swift movement, the dragon lifted his wings and shot up to meet the rain in the sky. Legolas' knife splashed back into the Anduin. He had missed. He reached into his quiver and pulled out an arrow. Of course, he did not have his bow, but even an arrow alone was better than facing a dragon with bare fists.

The dragon beat his wings furiously in the sky, shredding the clouds. Legolas peered up at him, marveling at the span of the beast's wings and waited for the worst. He did not have to wait very long, for the dragon pulled in his wings and swooped upon the Anduin. He roared and bright flames licked the river in a fiery blaze.

Legolas ducked underwater and clung to the rocks on the riverbed. Under the dragon's wrath, the water whistled shrilly in the elf's ears. Legolas wondered grimly if dragons preferred their elves boiled before they ate them. He peered upward and could see orange flame dancing above the river's surface. The dragon flapped his wings and rose to the height of the moon before plunging back toward the river, the fire of his breath torching the air before him. Squeezing his eyes shut, the elf arched his back in misery as the temperature rose to scalding. He pulled himself along the riverbed to deeper, cooler water. The surface appeared dark. Legolas waited. Elves can hold their breaths for a remarkable amount of time, but even this elf began to feel lightheaded. He stretched his arms and hands out in the murky water, groping for anything that he could grip to ease the pain. As his hands wandered, something sharp sliced his fingers, and Legolas could see a stream of red filter through the water. He carefully pulled it into sight and could scarcely believe his good fortune. Legolas had found his knife again. He pushed himself off the floor and swam for air. Chest heaving, the elf broke through the surface and brandished his knife.

The sky was dark and the air, clear. Legolas listened. All seemed still, and more importantly, the smell of dragon's breath had vanished. The dragon could have easily killed him. 'What made him leave now?' he wondered. His mind turned toward his camp, and the hackles on the back of his neck rose. The camp! His warrior's arrows and spears were no match for the dragon's resilient armor.

He trudged through the river toward the ravine wall. His worry for the camp gripped his soul, and he kept seeing the dead piles of orcs from the roadside in his mind. If such a thing happened to his people… He could not bear to think of the possibility. He wrung out his sopping hair and sheathed his knife while he studied the ravine wall before him. From his vast experience of climbing the tallest trees in Mirkwood during his youth, Legolas thought the climbing the ravine should prove quite simple. With a great sense of urgency, he picked a spot with ample hand and foot holds and began to hoist himself upward. He had reached the midway point when his left hand slipped from the softened earth and wet, slick rocks.

His right arm shot out and grabbed a bulky root protruding from the dirt. The elf stifled a groan. Pain raked his right side as if an invisible hand had reached in and twisted all the muscles in his hurt shoulder. He let go and slid back down to the base of the ravine. He muttered some dwarvish curses, courtesy of Gimli, and began to climb again, this time favoring his left shoulder entirely. Eventually his fingers met with soft grass on the top of the ledge, and he pulled himself out of the ravine. Not looking back, Legolas rushed toward the site of the fallen trees, hoping to find his bow untouched.

He dropped to his knees when he saw it. He feared that the dragon had trampled his prize weapon to pieces or ruined it with his breath. Legolas let out a sigh of relief and stood. His bow had escaped harm. Pulling it to his chest, he ran through the shadows and trees toward the elven camp.

Back at the camp, Miredhel saw the prince dashing through the trees at a frantic pace. His hair and clothes seemed to be wet, and blackish-red streaks covered his tunic and leggings. She feared he was injured, and forgetting all decorum, titles, and the fact that she despised him, she cried out in surprise, "Legolas!" She dropped the blanket she had been mending and ran to meet him. She ran toward him, stopping only when it seemed that they might collide.

"Legolas, what happened to you? Are you injured?" she asked. He appeared to be covered in blood, yet she could see no wounds. His ashen face and uneven, panting breaths frightened her. Legolas was not his usual, poised self. He reached out and gripped her by the arm and steadied himself.

"Lady, tell me, the camp…is it safe?" His eyes pleaded with her.

"Of course it is," she said and eyed him warily. "Except for the brief rain, it has been quiet all night, but you are not well. Come back to the camp with me and see a healer."

"There is no time, Miredhel. We must leave immediately and head for Mirkwood with great speed."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Yes, and as soon as possible. Return to the camp and help to ready the others."

"What happened?"

Legolas looked down and realized he still held onto her arm. He gently let go and looked up at her face. "I do not wish to alarm you, but we are in grave danger, and the sooner we can ride, the better."

She nodded and headed toward the camp where she and the other elves began to prepare for a quick departure. Legolas hurried toward the site where he had left his friends earlier. Farothin glanced at the prince's return and then snapped his head back. His eyes trailed down his disheveled figure, fully noting the dark stains and scorch marks on his wet clothing. "Sir, what…?

Legolas cut him off, "Farothin, I had a run-in with our mystery foe. He disappeared, but could return at any moment. I need you to round up all the horses. We must ride to night."

"They scattered everywhere, my lord. I doubt we will be able to find them all tonight."

"Then find as many as possible. Get the twins to help you."

"Eledhel and Belegil left the night watch to find you after the horses stampeded. You did not meet them on your way back?"

Legolas groaned. "Go ahead and start trying to recover our herd, Farothin. Get some of the other warriors to find them." He walked the perimeter of the night watch, asking if anyone had seen Eledhel or Belegil since they left. No one had. He looked back to the camp. Miredhel had succeeded in getting most of the shelters and supplies packed away. He saw Sulindal talking to his brother on the southern side. Good, Belegil had returned.

Legolas joined them. Before they could comment on his appearance, he said, "I know, I know. I look horrible, but that is the least of my concerns. Where is Eledhel?"

Belegil and Sulindal exchanged looks. "He did not find you, Legolas?" asked Belegil.
Legolas shook his head and cleared his throat. "Listen, I told Miredhel to start breaking camp."

"I noticed that," said Sulindal. "I can only guess that you mean to leave tonight."

"Right away," added Legolas. "I want you both to take a head count of the entire company. Make sure you account for everyone. Farothin gathers the horses even as we speak. As soon as he returns, we ride for the bridge." Despite his scraggly appearance, Legolas' voice rang with determination and the authority of kings, and his eyes took on a steely hue.

The brothers saluted and quickly went to work. It did not take very long for the brothers to complete their task, and Legolas noted their grim expressions as they returned to report.

"All are accounted for…save two—Eledhel and Valraen."

"Valraen, one of the younger warriors? Could he have left the night watch to help Farothin?"

"We do not believe so. I found strange tracks near the area where he was last seen."

"Strange tracks…" Legolas felt his eyes burn. He already guessed the truth.

"Yes, Valraen's tracks head toward the river, and then disappear," Sulindal said.

"And then I found his bow, cracked, and some arrows on the ground," Belegil added.

Legolas' head dropped. He had failed him, Valraen, so young. "If I could have given my life to save him, I would," he said weakly. Sulindal reached out to brace his shoulder.

"So would we all, Legolas, but there is little we can do for now," he said.

Farothin returned and brought his fist to his chest in salute. We have rounded up all of the horses save five."

"That is no matter. Some of us can ride double," Sulindal reasoned.

"I am sure Lady Limaer would give up her horse if it meant she could ride with the prince," Belegil joked, trying to cheer his friend.

Legolas grimaced. "Make sure everyone is ready to ride. We can brook no more delays." He collected his pack and was glad to see that Arod still enjoyed fine health. He wanted to stall a little longer, hoping that Eledhel would return. At least he could take the time to change tunics. Using Arod as a changing screen, he peeled off his bloodied shirt. The elf studied the back of his right shoulder, which already began to turn a nasty shade of mottled yellow and purple. He prodded it with his fingers. Yes, definitely sore. He thought it most unfortunate that he had no sweet maiden-love whom he could implore to rub some salve on it later. In spite of the dread settling in his soul, Legolas could not help but grin a little at the idea. He pulled his clean tunic over his head, settled his pack, and mounted his horse.

"A great evil has risen in the form of a dragon," he announced. Most of the company gasped, and their eyes widened in panic and disbelief. "You know the truth of this in your heart. You can sense the threat, as do I. I will not say 'do not fear,' for it is well that you should. Ride hard, stay together, and never look back." He looked at them encouragingly. "Take heart, for the Valar are with us this night."

The elves mounted their horses, and Miredhel rode to the prince's side. She looked at him pleadingly and said, "We can not leave. I implore you. My brother has not yet returned."

"I would not leave your brother behind for any amount of gold," he said softly to her.

"Then why do we still make ready to leave?" she asked, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

Legolas cupped her cheek with his hand and wiped away tear as it fell. "You are leaving. I am staying," he said and turned his head toward Belegil. "Lead the company on toward the bridge and then take the road to the southern wood. Be on your guard and watch the skies. I will find Eledhel and meet you on the road."

"Legolas, no," protested Sulindal, "allow me to stay here as well."

"No, Sulindal. The company will need your watchful eyes. Go with them, and I will be right behind you."

With his permission, Belegil gave the signal, and the elves and horses charged forward disappearing into the long shadows of the night. Legolas watched them go and sighed. He was on his own again. He had kept Eledhel's horse with him, still ever hopeful that he would be able to return him to the rightful owner. Legolas paused for a moment, wondering if it would perhaps be better to wait at the empty campsite or to go and actually look for him. He decided to wait a bit, and as he sat alone in the dark, his memories overcame him.

Legolas thought back to the days before the Battle of the Five Armies when he had born witness to the desolation of Smaug. The dragon had completely razed Lake-town and had killed many men. He tried to recall exactly how the Bard had managed to bring Smaug down. That information might prove very handy. He then replayed every tale his father had ever told him of brave elves and wicked dragons like Glaurung, Ancalagon, Scatha, and Sulthaur. He was in the middle of desperately trying to remember the name of the elf who smote the dragon that sacked Talath Nimlost when a breeze stirred behind him. Legolas straightened his back and stealthily pulled his bow to his side. Something approached. In one fluid motion, Legolas flipped around Arod to the ground, fitted an arrow to his bow, and took aim at the shadows.

"Legolas!" It was Eledhel. His face, which had been looking tight and grim, became a myriad of emotions, first relief and joy at seeing his friend still alive, and then bewilderment at the everyone else's disappearance. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Where have you been?" hissed Legolas, trading his worry for anger.

"I might say the same to you!" Eledhel shot back. "I found one of our horses back there, well, parts of the legs and head." Arod snorted and stamped his hooves. "Sorry, friend-horse," Eledhel apologized and added, "I feared your master here might have met the same fate."

"I almost did," acknowledged Legolas. He slapped his friend on the back. "Come, we must hurry. The company rides ahead." He and Eledhel mounted their steeds and pursued their friends. They followed the gleam of the Anduin and hastened toward the bridge. Legolas kept his eyes fixed on the night sky as he told Eledhel of his encounter with the dragon.

"You know," the prince concluded, "I remember as an elfling foolishly promising my father that 'one day I would slay a dragon, just like Earandil!' Reality has proved to be quite different than my dreams."

"It always does, Legolas!" Eledhel chuckled and urged his horse to quicken its pace. "Let us see if we can catch them before sunrise!" The two friends raced toward the dawn, trusting that the rising of the sun would bring with it new hope.


Chapter 16 - Never Look Back

Author's note: The settings and characters have been borrowed from Tolkien.

I also purposefully borrowed some fun, quotable lines from the LOTR and TTT movies in this chapter. It was just too fun not too. See if you can spot it!

Chapter Fifteen: Never Look Back
Miredhel pushed a curl behind her ear as she peered through the darkness behind her. Her heart clenched in her chest, holding tight to the hope that her brother might suddenly appear. Long hours had passed since she had last seen the prince as they left him, shrouded in a swirl of white mist, waiting. His face at their parting had been a study of concern and grief. Despite her mixed feelings for Legolas, Miredhel knew that he would do everything in his power to help Eledhel, or any of his people for that matter, including her. She simply did not understand him. One moment he could be so gentle and tender, and the next, completely self-absorbed and arrogant. 'He does have some redeeming qualities,' she admitted to herself with a smile, 'such as being the most skilled archer she had ever seen, and possessing an exceedingly fair face and body to look upon, and having a blessed ability to kiss.'

If only he were not so disagreeable. He had behaved abominably when she had attempted an apology during the rainstorm. Perhaps his kind did not believe in apologies or humility. He was a Mirkwood elf. Miredhel struggled to look past that very fact, and for him to be their prince was even worse. He embodied the whole of the dark forest. True, she had never been there, but even now she did not want to go, not to that place, where grim trees soaked their roots in the blood of the slain.

Miredhel shuddered. She felt the absence of her brother even more. She glanced back on more time. Still, nothing. Only this time Lady Limaer observed her actions. The lady elf rode to Miredhel's side.

"Lady Miredhel, friend, thrice have I seen you look back into the night," she said.

Miredhel kept her eyes forward, not wishing to look at Limaer. She was still very young and though prone to folly, had a sympathetic soul.

Limaer was not to be deterred by silence. She meant to help the distraught Miredhel, whose missing brother she considered very handsome and eligible. It would not hurt to gain the sister's good graces. "Do not worry for them. Your brother is a valiant lord and can protect himself against this evil. And Prince Legolas will find him, for he is also brave and strong…and handsome."

"I hardly think that his charming countenance will fend off any dragons in the night, Limaer," Miredhel said and rolled her eyes.

"No, I suppose not," she agreed and looked earnestly at Miredhel. "I saw the way he looked at you before we left, the way he watched you at the campsite."

Miredhel inwardly groaned and then whispered words to her horse, Thorontal, to push toward the front of the company. Perhaps she could get separated from Limaer in the rush of the crowd, and the conversation would just have to end. She and Thorontal moved to squeeze into an opening between two other elves, but Limaer was quite the handy rider and she managed to stay at Miredhel's side.

"I could not tell, so I thought I would ask…" Limaer began.

"Please do not," insisted Miredhel.

"Has Prince Legolas…ahem…made any declarations to you?"

"Declarations?" Miredhel sputtered. "Limaer, I thought you wished to console me for the absence of Eledhel, not inquire after the Prince's heart." She and Limaer were now in the thick of the riders. She was certain all listened. They could not help but overhear. Miredhel could not decide if she were on the verge of blushing or crying. Perhaps both.

"Are you interested though?" Limaer whispered.

"Please, leave me be! I refuse to broach the matter now, or any time."

Limaer sniffed and tossed her head. "I am sorry, Miredhel. I know you worry for your brother's return. I honestly do not know what came over me, even to wonder at the prince's interest in you like that. I know he is great friends with your brother. Forgive me," she said.

Miredhel nodded and then finally gained freedom from Limaer's side. She lifted her cheek as she rode toward the front, letting the cool night breeze soothe her burning cheeks. 'What did Limaer mean to imply,' she wondered, 'that I am beneath his notice?' She gave a derisive look in Limaer's direction. 'Ha! If she only knew half of what has passed between us. Not that I care…He is nothing to me…nothing.'

Atop Thorontal, she pushed her way to the front edge of elves, where Belegil and Sulindal kept a vigilant watch. Being near them brought comfort; after all they seemed like brothers to her, so long she had known them. With a nod of his head, Belegil gave her a wink and opened his mouth to speak, but Miredhel would not permit it.

"Please, do not speak of it," she begged hastily.

Belegil and Sulindal exchanged amused looks.

"Why not," Belegil entreated, "when everyone else speaks of it?"

"All the more reason for you to set a good example through your own silence," Miredhel instructed him, with a hopeful ring to her voice.

"Hmm," Belegil stroked his chin as if in heavy contemplation. "Our own little Miredhel and the great hero-prince of Mirkwood, one of the Nine Walkers, no less. What say you, brother?"

Sulindal merely shrugged, and Miredhel shot him a thankful look.

"Oh, come now, Sulindal. I know that you are withholding valuable insight. I can tell by the smug expression on your face." Belegil squinted at his brother. "Did Legolas tell you something?"

Now it was Miredhel's turn to look curiously at Sulindal. "What did he tell you, Sulindal? Was it about our wager for the tournament?"

Belegil hooted, and Miredhel realized she had said too much. She clapped her hand over her mouth and turned a brilliant shade of red, bright enough to light the trail.

Belegil was intrigued by her reaction. "Oh…very interesting. Worried about the wager are we, Miredhel?"

"Of course not. Do not be silly, Belegil. It was but a trifle," she insisted, but her fidgeting hands betrayed her.

Now Sulindal joined in the teasing. "Why do you twist that ring on your finger so, my friend, if the wager was just a trifle, and you do not mind us knowing of it? I know you only to do such a thing when nervous."

"Oh, I am so glad I rode up here to join you," Miredhel said. "It is really too enjoyable."

"Please, Miredhel. Sarcasm does not wear well with you…but honesty does. Now, why do you not just free your conscience and tell us about the prince?" Belegil persisted. He tilted his head and stuck out his lip in a pout. "Please?" He batted his eyelashes at her.

She laughed. "You old gossip!" she said. "You can look at me with those eyes as long as you want, but there is nothing to tell."

"I know that you and Sulindal keep something from me," he insisted irritably. "Everyone knows except me."

"Mark the day, Miredhel. A first in Elven history, for Belegil is kept in the dark." Sulindal said, fully enjoying the satisfaction of besting his brother

"For myself, I still want to know what Legolas told you, Sulindal," Miredhel said. She had really thought that Legolas would not say anything.

Sulindal regarded her with his sharp grey eyes. "Legolas told me nothing," he said and then added with a whisper, "nothing that you would not already be privy to anyways."

"Hmph," Belegil snorted, "if that is how you both want to be, I shall have to wait until Legolas returns." He paused with a wicked twinkle lighting up his eyes. "Legolas and Miredhel...Miredhel Greenleaf, Lady of Ithilien…" he teased.

She looked around nervously, hoping that no one heard, especially not that pesky Limaer. "Hush," Miredhel insisted. "We are hardly even friends. Yet, I know that it is folly to try and win an argument with the likes of you. In times like these, I am desperately in want of your sister for support."

Sulindal peered at her curiously. "You know," he began, his voice oddly strained, "Annariel confided to me once that she feared you would meet some dashing prince of an elf, those were her very words, who would utterly confound your heart and wed you away."

Belegil smirked. "My apologies, Miredhel. For once our dear sister sides with us, even from the Halls of Mandos."

"Let us say no more of this. We will gain nothing from such idle speculation," she said, hoping for an end to her torment. The two brothers fell silent and both thought of their sister as the moon waned above and the stars faded into the dim velvet sky.

The journey became silent, rushed. The light-hearted banter of the twins had served to ease Miredhel's heart, but she observed the way that Sulindal continually watched the darkness and the path before them with a white-knuckled hand on his bow. Belegil led the chase without reserve, charging into shadows, yet he would not release his grip on the hilt of his sword. All faded and was bleak. No birdsong greeted their footfalls, or comforting whispers from the aged trees they passed. The Anduin's low refrain called to the elves, "hurry, hurry." Both horses and riders wearied of their flight, yet still they pressed on, even till dawn. Eledhel and Legolas did not return, nor was there any sign of them doing so.

The sun pushed over an expansive horizon of dark trees to the east. Mirkwood, Miredhel thought and her heart lurched within. She had long felt its steady pull on her soul, beckoning her to an unknown fate. She did not want to see where her beloved friend had breathed her last. Already the elf had visited this place many times over in her dreams.

Morning's first light bathed her cheek and tresses. Hope stirred with the rising sun that her brother might soon return. The sun hung heavy and crimson, as it rose, burning away the night mist into shriveled tendrils, which clung to their horses' hooves.

"A red sun rises," observed Sulindal. "Blood has been spilled this night."

Miredhel looked aghast at him. She felt her lip tremble. He had managed to put into words the very thoughts plaguing her mind.

"Bah!" scoffed Belegil. "That sounds like some over-stuffed flight of whimsy that Legolas would say, were he here. The both of you make me laugh," he said and forced out a cackly laugh, carefully eyeing Miredhel's expression. "Do you not find it diverting, Miredhel?" he asked, comically rolling his eyes.

She managed to look at him stoically and bit her lip. She would not start crying. Perhaps blood had been spilt, but not her brother's. Eledhel was fine, and there was no need for tears, she reminded herself.

Belegil continued on, mimicking his brother in a high-pitch voice, "Oh dear, Legolas, a white moon rises! Milk has been spilled this night!" He looked back at Miredhel for her approval, and her lips curved into a faint smile.

"That is much better. Sulindal did not mean anything by it," he said, sharply looking at his brother.

Sulindal looked sheepish. "He is right, Miredhel. It is only an old saying, after all. Legolas and Eledhel will meet us soon. They shine too bright for darkness to claim."

Ahead, the red light made pink the marble of the ancient bridge, which vaulted high across the Anduin, curving above the river in a seamless arc of unmeasured artistry. Two carven elves stood in silent sentry, their arms stretched toward the sky and their hands clasped together a single star, forming a high arch over the entry way. Long ago, powerful kings of elves had ruled these lands, and many of the Ithilien party gasped at their legacy, their own fading power.

The company's path finally joined the old road that they had only abandoned yesterday in favor of detouring around the orcs.

"The southern wood should be a day's ride from here, if we do not tarry," Belegil announced.

"Let us hope then, that we have no more delays," agreed his brother.

They reached the bridge by mid-morning. Where it had seemed small on the horizon, the bridge now loomed before them as a colossus. The stone elven guards rose tall above their heads, blazing in a silent fury of white marble despite the cracks that blemished their frames.

"This is still safe to cross by?" Sulindal wondered out loud, noting the weathered masonry and the spider web of fissures scoring the bridge's surface.

"Legolas meant for us to cross here. I will take the first group and wait for you on the other side." Belegil gathered the first half of elves and began to cross. Both Miredhel and Sulindal spied a few chunks of marble crumble and fall into the Anduin as Belegil crossed over. She was not exactly fond of heights and elected to study the faces of the guard statues instead. They had long hair and traditional elven warrior braids. Even the tonnage of years could not mar their handsome faces. Miredhel had just decided that the one on the left strongly favored the prince when a dark shadow crossed before the sun. She shaded her eyes and peered at the dark speck, now moving quickly toward them.

"'Tis but a whiff of clouds," mused one elf.

"It's moving fast, and against the wind!" guessed another.

"The dragon returns!" shouted Sulindal. "Cross the bridge now! Go! Waste no time." All clambered across the bridge, save Miredhel.

"Miredhel, what are you waiting for? Go!" commanded Sulindal, but she heard him not. Her eyes were fixed on the road behind them where traveled two horses and riders.

"Eledhel and Legolas," she joyfully shouted as they came into view. "We cannot leave them now."

"We must!" Sulindal rode to the mouth of the bridge and beckoned her to follow. "Come!"

Miredhel shook her head. "No, I lost him once. I will not abandon him again," she called as she turned to ride toward her brother.

Sulindal made to follow her, but Belegil shouted across the bridge, "Let her go, brother! We can tarry no longer, for the beast is nearly upon us. They will protect her." So Sulindal gathered back and joined the others as they streaked toward the dark horizon of Eryn Lasgalen.

Miredhel knew she had sealed her fate as she galloped away from the bridge, but she did not care. She could see the dragon clearly now. Its wide webbed wings and long lashing tail cast a fearsome shadow on the ground behind her. She took one look back and leaned into her horse. "Quickly now, Thorontal. We must fly!" The dragon looped above the clouds. "Legolas, Eledhel!" she shouted above the thunder of his wings, "Turn and save yourselves!" She feared they would do no such thing. They would ride to her rescue and the ruin of them all.

The black beast flew directly above her now. Thorontal tensed and ran wildly across the dale. The dragon swooped in a fan of flame and molten breath. Miredhel's horse screamed and bucked, knocking her to the ground. She rolled out from under the pounding hooves, grabbing her ankle in pain; it was badly sprained, if not broken. She could not run, and she could not hide. The dragon circled and then lunged again, plummeting full speed toward Miredhel, years of greed and bloodlust written in his yellow eyes. She braced herself and grimly fit an arrow to her bow. She would not go quietly, not today. Not now.


Chapter 17 - Between Sky and Earth

Not since that fateful day on Amon Hen, had Legolas felt so helpless as he did now. He could only watch as the dragon vaulted up in the sky and then hurtled toward Miredhel. Her eyes blazed through unshed tears as she bit her lip in determination. Legolas stole a look at Eledhel as they rode toward her. They would not be able to make it in time, and both elves knew the truth of it. They were out of range and utterly incapable of lending assistance. All the color drained from Eledhel's face as he watched the scene unfold.

"Eledhel! Eledhel, listen to me!" Legolas commanded. "Ride for the bridge. Perhaps we can draw him away from her."

As Eledhel kicked in his heels to speed toward the bridge, the dragon at that very moment swept from the clouds toward the earth. Miredhel fired arrows in succession at its mouth and eyes, but most withered and were lost in the beast's fiery breath. The dragon stretched outs its claws to grab her where she lay, and Legolas cursed. She should not die, so young so fair. He had seen many less deserving than she face death and live. Neither he nor Eledhel had proved successful in attracting the dragon's attention. Still, he had to do something. Legolas was not one to sit by and idly watch anyone die, so he drew his long bow, pulled an arrow and fired. His shot did little but to alert the dragon to his and Eledhel's presence and perhaps anger the beast even more. With a swish of his powerful tail, the dragon roared and then triumphantly snatched his prize in his long claws.

Miredhel cried out as his cruel talons pierced her side, and she twisted vainly in his grip. Blood ran freely down from her upper arms and torso where the monster's claws gouged into her skin. She knew she had little time to act, for dragon's vengeance came swiftly. If only she could loosen her arm, then she could free the small dagger she kept in her belt.

The dragon flew low toward the bridge, and Legolas chased him, carefully aiming his arrows so not to strike Miredhel. The dragon fully intended to spoil and devour this elf maiden in plain view of her companions to torment them, so he rose into the sky and turned a loop to taunt the elf who rode behind him. Foolish elves, he would teach them what it meant to suffer.

The dragon released his grip on the maiden in order to squeeze her all the more tightly and make her scream as he passed over the elf on horseback. But as his claws relaxed, Miredhel freed her arm and pulled the dagger from her waist. Summoning all the strength within her, she drove her blade into the soft flesh under the dragon's foreclaw. He howled and released her. Furiously beating his wings, he shot into the sky and shook his claws to dislodge the knife. His prize temporarily forgotten, the dragon darted through the clouds and disappeared. Relieved to escape, Miredhel now pulled her arms to her sides in pain as she found herself falling between sky and earth. There was little she could do to save herself now.

Legolas gasped as he watched her fall and then spurred Arod forward. He would not allow this maiden to escape the dragon's claws, only to watch her plummet to her death. He jumped from his horse and then positioned himself to catch her. She fell into his arms with such force that his injured arm and shoulder gave out, and he stumbled backwards. Both elves rolled to the ground, and Legolas pulled her close to him and breathed a prayer of thanks to the Valar.

He opened his eyes and realized that he still held her tightly as she lay haphazardly across him. The elf managed a weak smile and choked out, "I think you knocked the wind out of me."

"That is hardly flattering," she said breathlessly. Her heart still raced in her chest, and she tried to keep herself from shaking. Legolas released her, and she sat up, only to clasp her sides with a grimace. Red blossomed from the torn sides of her riding dress, where a deep gash scored her midriff. Legolas noticed it too, but nothing could be done for her now, for their foe's return seemed imminent.

He stood and asked her if she could ride, and she nodded bravely. "Good," he replied. "We must, for the dragon will return, even more irritable than before, I can imagine."

"I can not fathom his sudden departure," she said, trying to make light of the danger and keep the fear from her voice at the same time.

"Whatever you did to him, it was more than I accomplished," admitted Legolas. He stretched out his hand to help her from the ground and placed her on his horse. He then mounted to ride in front of her. They took off in the direction of Eledhel who waited on the bridge.

"You cannot mean to outrun this creature," Miredhel protested.

"No. It is folly. Do you still have your bow?" he called back to her.

"I dropped it when I was attacked," she said and pointed. "It is on the field before us—there."

Legolas shifted his weight to lean on the side of Arod. As they neared her bow, he crooked his left arm around the horse's neck and then swung his upper body and free arm toward the earth to grab the bow and her pack, tossing both items back to Miredhel. He then whispered an elvish plea for quickness, and Arod shot forward. The sudden jolt caused Miredhel to nearly slide off the horse's back, and she found her arms instinctively wrapping around Legolas who sat in front of her. He tensed for a moment, surprised by her action, and then relaxed. Legolas was used to Gimli for a saddle mate and was pleased to find that the feel of Miredhel's arms around him was infinitely more enjoyable. He glanced down to notice dark scratches and bruises scoring the length of her arms. Anger surged within him, burning his veins like hot oil. He would kill this beast; even if the price were his own blood, he would see it dead.

Legolas angled his head back to glance at Miredhel who seemed a little peaked. "Do you think you can still pull a bow string?" he asked her, studying her expression.

"Of course, it will take more than a few scratches to undo me," she replied.

"Good, pull some arrows from my quiver," he told her, " but I hope you will not need them."

They darted across the stone bridge where Eledhel stood waiting, sword-drawn. With his grey eyes shining, he stretched his hand out to his sister, and she clapped it as they passed. At the eastern foot of the bridge, Legolas dismounted.

"I want you to wait with the horses away from the bridge," he instructed her.

Her eyes darkened and she frowned. "I can fight. Let me help you," she protested, but Legolas brushed his fingertips to her side where the dragon's claws had torn her skin. His hand came away edged in red.

"Nay, you are injured, lady." He hastily wiped his hand across the side of his leg. "Stay here and tend your wounds."

She opened her mouth to object again, but Legolas silenced her with a look that he had learned from his father.

"I want you to ride as soon as the first of us falls…"

She broke in, "But I…"

"No, you must," he said and clasped her hand tightly. "Promise me you will do this."

Briefly, she closed her eyes to summon her last bit of courage and then looked into his. She did not want to say it, but she could not refuse him. "I promise," she said softly. Her skin seemed almost translucent in its paleness, and her hand shook as it held onto Arod's mane.

He took her hand in both of his, hoping to calm her. "Miredhel," he began to say, but a shadow darkened the earth even as he uttered her name. He eyed the sky. "It is time." With a great deal of reluctance, he let his fingers slide from her hand and turned to join Eledhel on the middle of the bridge.

Miredhel could never recall if what happened next was more of her own accord or Arod's. The horse moved around his master, blocking Legolas' path.

Legolas was annoyed. Had she not just agreed with him to leave the bridge? "Miredhel…I thought we decided that you…"

"I know," she interrupted, "but…" Her eyes flew up to the sky. The dragon began to drop down toward the bridge. Surprising to the both of them, Miredhel unexpectedly leaned over and kissed his forehead. She frowned as soon as she had realized what she had just done. "I am sorry," she whispered apologetically and rode off the bridge.

The dragon landed on the bridge between Eledhel who still waited in the middle and Legolas who had just begun to walk from the far end. The stonework groaned beneath the beast's weight, and Legolas noticed a crack split and widen under his feet. The dragon's claws clinked across the marble as he crawled first toward Legolas and then back toward Eledhel, as if he were inspecting them both. His serpentine eyes flashed in recognition as they passed over the Mirkwood elf. Legolas diverted his eyes to observe the creature's armor, searching for any sign of weakness. The creature's talons and mouth were thick with blood and fur, the fresh red streaking the black. Legolas could only guess that Miredhel's horse had met a nasty fate. He studied the razor-sharp claws as they moved toward Eledhel, and the elf could not help but wonder how Miredhel had ever survived their grip.

The only sound was the tapping of his nails and the rush of the river far below. Legolas looked down and then up. The cracks in the stonework fanned under his feet. He knew the bridge to be ancient, built even before his time. He could only hope that it could last a little longer.

By now, the creature had turned its full gaze onto Eledhel on the other side. The elf stood adrift in the river breeze, his sword hanging loosely at his side, bathed in the golden light of the dragon's eyes.

"Eledhel," Legolas shouted, but Eledhel did not seem to hear him. The dragon slinked closer and then even closer so that his dreaded mouth and eyes were only a hand's length from that of the warrior's, and the dragon's breath blew whisps of his hair as he exhaled.

"Eledhel!" Legolas shouted again and waved his arms.

The dragon turned with a carefully crafted gleam in his eye, and then he spoke, "Mirkwood elf, why should he listen to you? You have shown yourself to be weak, unable now even to command a simple response from this elf."

Legolas' eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened as he pulled his bow taut. "I will slay you," he said in a low voice and pointed his arrow at the beast's side, "however weak you may believe me to be."

"Slay me? Ha!" The dragon cackled and then in his most oily voice addressed Eledhel, "I could kill you both with one sweep of my tail, but I crave a different fare, a sweeter meat. Bring me the maiden, the prize stolen from me earlier, and I will spare your sad lives…and the lives of all the other Lorien elves." He looked questioningly at Eledhel, and the yellow light of his gaze swallowed the warrior completely.

"The maiden…" Eledhel echoed the monster, his eyes glazed over.

Legolas looked with alarm toward the trees and the river where Miredhel rested. She sat with the horses and wrapped her wounds, watching them on the bridge, but Legolas knew her to be oblivious to what had just transpired.

The dragon purred again, "Yes, the maiden. Bring her to me now." To Legolas' great discomfort, Eledhel purposefully began to stride toward his sister.

"Eledhel? That is your sister he speaks of! Are you mad?" Legolas cried in alarm, but his friend did not answer. Instead he raised his sword hilt to his chest and pushed his way past the prince. The dragon lifted his wings and positioned himself on the great arch over the bridge. His tail snaked around the carven elven figure, and the narrow slits of his eyes danced in beastly delight. The corners of his mouth triumphantly twitched as the two elves face each other, weapons in hand.

Legolas knew the dragon had worked a deadly charm, which he must counter. The elf curved his bow as far as his strength would allow; this shot would have to garner enough force to drive through the slick black scales. Quick and deadly, the arrow soared toward its fate, but Eledhel stepped forward and smote it from the air with his blade.

"Eledhel!" Legolas shouted, his face turning red, "What the…" but the dragon also began to speak, and his voice had the power to cover all others.

"See, elf? He meant to destroy you with that arrow. He means to ruin your people, to sate his lusts on what he can seize for himself," the dragon purred.

Eledhel drew near his forgotten friend. "Traitor, murderer..." he spat. "Too long have my people died for your kind," he whispered as he circled the prince.

Legolas hung his bow on his quiver. "Eledhel, do you hear me? It is I, Legolas, your friend. I hold no weapons in my hand," Legolas said and took a step toward the warrior. "Do you not see? He means to confuse us!"

"No, I see all clearly," Eledhel said, his voice low and hollow. He took another step toward Legolas. Now they were only an arm's length apart. "You knew of the danger of this beast. You led us to our deaths. You killed Valraen. You would kill me too." As Eledhel spoke, a yellow flame flickered in his eyes, and he looked past Legolas toward his sister. "I would sooner spill her blood myself than let you have her."

"Eledhel, you know not what you say. I will not fight you." Legolas pleaded.

"Then you must die," he said and raised his sword. Eledhel brought the blade down hard, diagonally swinging it in a powerful stroke across his body. Legolas leaped back, and his hands flew for his knives. Crossing his twin blades before him, he caught Eledhel's sword between them. Both elves glared at one another in a contest of wills, tensing behind their weapons, knives and sword, a deadly triumvirate of metal.

Legolas gritted his teeth as he pushed his knives against the weight of Eledhel's blade. He had sparred with his friend before, in the spirit of practice, for fun. This was real. Eledhel was strong and well-studied in the art of swordplay. Legolas knew his friend's strengths along with some of his weaknesses, and he was pretty confidant that Eledhel, however poisoned his mind, would remember his as well. Legolas pushed into his knives. Fighting Eledhel seemed so strange, like one of the many dark dreams that had plagued his nights since the War. Legolas checked the world around him. The sky was blue and the bridge, beautiful. This was no dream. He was not sleeping, and he could not wake up. He watched in silent horror out of the corner of his eye as another crack split and widened right where he and Eledhel stood.

The world rushed by as the two friends froze against each other. Both leaned in, arms rigid, waiting for the other to attack. Legolas was in a quandary; in battle, he had any number of means to disable or even destroy his enemy, but this opponent was his friend. The prince wanted to disarm him without causing serious injury, but he knew that Eledhel's intentions would not be so generous. Legolas would try talking once more.

"Eledhel," he persisted, "drop your weapon. I mean you no harm."

The yellow light dimmed in the elf's eyes and his shoulders drooped. "Legolas…?" he asked, confused.

"He will trick you!" The dragon bellowed, and Eledhel turned his head to look at him. "Finish him. Kill him…" the dragon purred.

Eledhel looked back to Legolas. "Kill him…" he dully repeated. The yellow presence in his eyes had returned, and his face sharpened into a cold resolution. He launched all of his weight into his sword and broke free from Legolas' knives, shoving the prince back.

It was then that Legolas decided to take the offensive against his friend. He must. With a flick of his wrists, he twirled the knives in his hands as he and Eledhel circled each other.
"I do believe that beast wants us to kill one another," Legolas said lightly as he eyed Eledhel's stance. He knew his friend to lead right, and he would take advantage of that knowledge. Legolas feinted right and then spun left. Eledhel followed his movement and then corrected himself when he realized he had been tricked.

Legolas deflected the long blade in the air, and the duel began. Both elves moved seamlessly from defense to attack, anticipating each move and then responding with the quickest of reflexes. And so they fought, in a brilliant blur of cold silver. The river, the dragon, the bridge—all was lost to Legolas as he matched his friend, knives to sword. He felt nothing and heard nothing, save the clear ring of metal against metal. He struck and turned, twisted and parried; yet Eledhel met his every move. Together their movements wove a deadly tapestry of silver, blonde, green, and grey; and the dragon's eyes glowed with a murderous rage.

As he dodged the swing of Eledhel's sword, Legolas began to despair that he would not be able to stop his friend before serious injury came to either of them. Miredhel would never forgive him, if he accidentally maimed her brother. Legolas stole a glance toward the trees where she waited. She was still there, but looked confused. He could not blame her. He was right in the middle of the action, and he was clueless as to what was happening. The prince ducked a high swing of Eledhel's blade, chastisement for letting his mind wander. He had to gain the advantage. It was time to try something more unconventional. Since Eledhel had anticipated his every move, Legolas did something that no elf would expect, an old trick he had learned from Aragorn. The prince switched both blades into one hand and slashed left. Eledhel countered. Just as his sword cleared, Legolas reached back and drove his fist across Eledhel's jaw. The elf staggered back, and Legolas knocked the sword from his hands. Eledhel's eyes widened in surprise.

Legolas turned his knives toward his friend. "You tried to kill me," he said, sheathing one of them, "a crime punishable, only by death." He looked pointedly at Eledhel. "Do not move, or I will be forced to do something we will both regret," he added and walked toward the sword to retrieve it, all the time keeping careful watch of the blade's owner who had wielded it so potently. He picked up the weapon and pointed it toward the dragon still perched atop the arch. "You are a pestilence to this land and my people. Before the sun sets, I will bathe this blade in your blood."

The dragon smirked in faint amusement. "Kill me? You could not even kill this elf," the beast said. He lifted his black chin and spread his wings to full span. "Behold! I am mighty Anglachur, dread of Dol Guldur," he said and roared so that Legolas clamped his hands over his ears, and he felt the bridge rumble and stir.

At that moment, Eledhel was upon him, wrestling the sword from his grip. Seconds later when the dragon swooped from his perch, the elf held his sword at the prince's neck.

Legolas paid no heed to the cold sharp edge pressed to neck above the high collar of his tunic. He blinked and looked toward the sky. His mind was frantic for a solution, any advantage. He oddly felt a flood of relief at the realization that he could do nothing. At last, the fight was over. He had lost. He could not save himself, and he could certainly not save his friends.


Chapter 18 - Promises Broken

Legolas looked as the dragon circled above him like a craven vulture winging a black wreath in the sky. "Anything," he murmured to himself, "anything, something must be done." He knew he must not give up hope. Why would the Valar spare their lives, only to let them meet death now? It did not make sense to Legolas, and he bit his lip in frustration. Tiny red beads began to draw above his collar, for Eledhel still pressed the sword firmly to the prince's neck. He did not feel the cut or pain from his other injuries of the previous night. Legolas' entire being focused on this desperate twist of events and how he might save himself, Eledhel, and Miredhel. "Miredhel," he whispered softly, and Eledhel gave him a sharp glance. Legolas repeated himself, "Miredhel!" Her head jerked up, and he knew that she had heard him. "Ride, Miredhel!" he shouted. "Go!"

She kicked in her heels, and Legolas sighed. At least she among them might be spared. Yet Legolas' relief was to be short-lived, for Miredhel upon Arod turned and rode toward the river. Legolas cursed her foolishness when he saw Miredhel take up her bow and fit an arrow. What made her think she could succeed where he had failed? Still, she was his only hope at the present, and all of Legolas' prayers went with her arrows, borrowed from his quiver, no less. "May they fly straighter and swifter than any shot I have ever made," he intoned.

Miredhel grasped her small bow as she lifted an arrow from her bag. She fired the first at the dragon to no avail. It struck his hard scales and skittered off; however, she did find success in drawing Anglachur's attention to her. He turned in an arc of smoke and brimstone to claim her, satisfied that the other two elves were appropriately distracted.

"Not again," Miredhel despaired as he raced toward her, and she pulled another arrow from her satchel. The arrow felt light in her hand, but warm to the touch. Silvery engravings and runes graced the shaft and arrow. "So beautiful," she whispered and looked up at the dragon, "so hideous." The air hummed around her as she fit it to the string with a melodious twang like lyre's song. She squinted in the sun and searched out the dragon's form as he flew. Her fingers deftly pulled the string taut and popped it, sending Legolas' arrow flashing across the sky.

Catching the dragon flush in the side, the arrow pierced the ebony scales in a silver streak. Anglachur had never met with such injury or pain in all his dreadful years. "Wretched elves!" he howled with rage. Pitching and twisting, he plunged in a downward, lopsided spiral into the deep chasm and the river far below the banks. His frenzied tail lashed at the world and finally struck the crumbling stone supports for the elven bridge. The current rushed around him, and Anglachur the Black vanished in a hiss of steam and the dark, swirling waters of the Great River.

At the dragon's first howl, Eledhel's sword arm fell loosely to his side, and the weapon clattered to the ground. Head bowed, he sunk to his knees. When at last he looked up at Legolas, his eyes were true and grey. Legolas offered him a hand up when the stone beneath their feet began to shake. The bridge groaned, and the elven statues dizzily swayed as if intoxicated by a heady Dorwinian vintage.

Eledhel looked confused, but Legolas did not have time to explain. He pulled his friend to his feet, and the two elves sprinted for solid ground. The middle section of stonework gave way first in a heave of rock and white curls of dust. Both Legolas and Eledhel dodged falling columns, only seconds later to find themselves leaping across gaps where chunks of the bridge had fallen away. The bridge had borne the weight of many: elves in grim armor on their way to battle, consorts riding afar on fair steeds, dwarves and men, and peaceful folk; but the dragon's passage cost too great a fare. The ancient stone wrought of old would not have it.

As Eledhel and Legolas reached Miredhel on the other side, they turned to watch the rest of the bridge collapse into the Anduin. The two carven elves, so faithful for untold millennia, wavered and were gone. As Miredhel watched them fall, a dull ache thudded in her chest, and she mourned them.

"Lorien is no more," she said in a small voice. "This bridge…gone. Who will hide in their hearts the deeds we have done? Who will remember us? You were right, Legolas. Our power fades. Who in a hundred years will remember those elven statues?"

"Do not worry, Miredhel, for even they will find their way to the sea." Legolas comforted her, even though she spoke the concerns of his heart as well. He wiped the dust and grime from his face and swept his hand across the cut on his throat. "How do you feel, Eledhel?"

He replied coolly, "Well enough to travel down the river and search out the dragon," and then added in a more concerned tone, "Please tell me, friend, of my actions on the bridge. I cannot remember what happened."

"You tried to kill me…" Legolas began.

"I did what?" Eledhel interjected.

"But I disarmed you before any real harm was done. You suffered from dragon-sickness, I believe. Anglachur had the power to poison minds. He made you believe that I was the enemy." Legolas finished. He had purposefully left out the part about Eledhel holding him at sword-point. No need to make Eledhel feel worse. Miredhel raised her eyebrows at this account. Although she had not been on the bridge with the others, she had seen plenty. Legolas minded her expression and decided to change the subject. "Eledhel, we do not need to search for the dragon. Your sister has slain the beast with a single arrow."

Eledhel was incredulous. "My sister? Miredhel?" he sputtered. "Killed the dragon? I cannot believe it."

"I did, brother." Miredhel protested weakly.

Legolas strode over to her side. He gazed at her for a moment, his eyes aglow with admiration for her. "She really did, and saved all our lives." He bowed his head to her for a moment, and then reached for her hand. Miredhel allowed him to take it up in his own. "All shall hear of your valor, Lady. You will be counted among the most famous of elves."

"My little sister?" Eledhel's eyes were full of wonder as he beheld her. "The one I used to call Goldie?"

"Goldie?" asked Legolas and chuckled.

"That was a very long time ago," Miredhel countered. She felt so very tired. Her body ached. She felt as though she might slip from Arod's back at any moment, if not for Legolas' intense gaze. It was not a look of scrutiny or severity, which in days' past she might expect from him, but of warmth, sincerity, and esteem. His firm hold on her hand lent her strength, and she gave him a rare smile.

"Although I must confess I cannot fathom how she did it," Legolas said to Eledhel. Miredhel stopped smiling. "It defies logic."

"Does it?" asked Miredhel.

"Not even with my long bow, could I break through his scales. Your bow, Lady Miredhel, is smaller and less powerful," he argued.

"And no doubt, between the two of you, Legolas has the stronger arm," Eledhel agreed. "You must have struck a weakness in his armor."

"I suppose so, if in deed, that is the only way a maiden such as I could possibly fell a dragon." With that said, she dejectedly let go of Legolas' hand.

"I do not mean to lessen your deed, Lady Miredhel. All of Mirkwood shall hear this tale," Legolas promised. He peered at her once again, but this time he noticed the way her shoulders sagged and that her fine eyes seemed dull and hazy. "We will not make my realm's borders tonight, but we should ride as far as possible anyhow."

"What of the dragon?" Eledhel questioned him.

"I do not wish for us to split up, and your sister is not well. We cannot go looking for it, whether the beast has died or is merely wounded," Legolas decided. He glanced at Miredhel again.

Eledhel, much alarmed, inquired after his sister's injuries. He checked the cuts on her arms and side and her sore ankle, all the while apologizing profusely for not noticing sooner.

Miredhel protested that she could ride, but neither Legolas nor Eledhel listened to her feeble arguments. They decided that Miredhel should stay on Arod and ride with Legolas, for the horse was much more used to double riders than Eledhel's warhorse. Miredhel was none too sure about the arrangement. Legolas had an uncanny way of making her feel permanently on edge.

He swung up behind her, explaining that he did not want her to fall off during the ride and him not know about it. She rolled her eyes at this explanation but felt relieved and decidedly more secure.

As they rode east away from the river, the horizon darkened in a green line of forest as far as even elven eyes could see. Miredhel wrapped her arms around her waist. She yawned but then instantly straightened her posture. She would not have that Mirkwood prince thinking she possessed any weakness, although her aching muscles severely tempted her to lean back into Legolas' chest and to let those strong arms hold her. She pushed the thought out of her head. She would not allow it.

Legolas smiled behind her. He had heard her yawn, but she obviously did not want him to know of her growing weariness. She had been through so much in the past few days. Of course, so had he, but he counted himself long used to hardship and tension. For many centuries had the prince railed against the growing darkness of Middle Earth, and he would continue to fight if necessary. The elf looked at the scenery around him—verdant green, soft hills, and in the distance, a much beloved forest—and he sighed.

"My lord?" Miredhel asked curiously.

"What?" he asked in return.

"Oh, nothing. I heard you sigh. You are not tired, are you?" Her voice was hopeful.

"No. Are you?" Legolas asked and then added, "If you are, it is to be expected."

"I feel fine," Miredhel insisted, but a jaw-splitting yawn followed her remark.

Legolas laughed, but he stopped short when she turned her head to look at him. She seemed pitiful and small, except her eyes, which looked overly large and soulful. "You have borne witness to much bloodshed and battle, my lord. I have not. Please do not make me feel the less for it."

Legolas never really considered himself battle-hardened by any meaning of the phrase. Although he enjoyed archery and fencing for sport, he loathed war and would far rather stroll through the woods than lead a siege. The Lady Miredhel, on the other hand, was a novice and had handled all events remarkably well so far. He told her these things, hoping his words would grant her comfort. She gave him a rather pathetic attempt at a smile and then turned to the front.

"We will not ride for much longer, lady. Then we shall all rest," he said softly and placed a hand on her shoulder. So delicate, this did not seem the shoulder of one who brought down a dragon. He still could not fathom how she had succeeded and was a little aggravated that he had only met with failure. A thought occurred to the prince, and he frowned in dismay. "Lady Miredhel?" he asked.

"Yes…" she responded, not really sounding like she wanted to talk anymore.

"Why did you ride back to the bridge?" he asked flatly.

"Is it not obvious enough?"

"I told you to ride away, and you deliberately rode back to the bridge," Legolas reminded her.

"I know," she said.

"You should not have done so," he said sternly.

She turned her head back to face him again and said pointedly, "I probably saved your life, my lord."

"You very well may have, but no one asked for your involvement," he said. His eyes darkened, and Miredhel swallowed. She figured that he was angry with her for not heeding his word. She did not want to argue with him, but…

"You seem rather ungrateful, Prince Legolas," she said aloud and then blinked. She should not have said such a thing. She quickly looked to his face, and those eyes were severe and brooding.

"We are not discussing my appreciation or lack thereof, lady," he said and paused. "You intentionally disobeyed an order."

"Do not confuse yourself. I am not one of your Mirkwood subjects, and I am not yours to command," she replied haughtily and whipped back around to the front.

"You are one of my subjects now, and you will learn to follow my lead," Legolas said low in her ear.

She turned again, and their faces were so close together that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She was glad that Eledhel rode in front of them, so he would not witness such a scene. Her face felt hot, and her eyes stung.

"I did not break the promise I made you," she said, her voice equally low and controlled to that of the prince's. "I promised to ride when the first of you fell. Neither of you did," she added smoothly.

"It matters not. You could have been killed," he insisted.

"You and my brother could have been killed," she retorted. "Do not make orders that you yourself would not follow." She glanced ahead to check that Eledhel still rode ahead. "Look me in the eyes. Tell me that if you were in my position, you would have ridden away like a coward, leaving your friends to die. Can you?" Miredhel asked, her bold words belied the way she felt inside, and her lower lip trembled.

Legolas knew the truth of her words, but he carefully looked her in the eyes anyway to make as though he might meet her challenge. Honesty had long been the foundation for his principles and everything he had fought for, and he would not cheapen that commitment now, merely to win an argument.

"You are right," he said slowly. "I would not have left, even if ordered to do so."

Her face softened in surprise, and the tears she had been trying so desperately to hold back escaped from the corners of her eyes. She had not expected this concession from him. She blinked and wordlessly faced forward. She did not want the prince to see her cry, for him to feel triumph in the power he had over her. Only now her brother had slowed his horse to walk by a small grove of trees, so Arod might catch up. Eledhel's eyes widened as they approached.

His sister's appearance shocked him. For someone who was usually so private with her grief, she sat silently crying and clutching her sides. "Miredhel, what ails you?" he asked and then shot an angry look to Legolas. "What happened?"

"Eledhel, it is…" Legolas started to say.

"My brother, do not worry for me. I am simply weary. Perhaps the prince would allow us a short rest before we join the road again," she said hopefully without looking at Legolas.

As much as he could not understand why she had kept their argument from Eledhel, Legolas could not refuse her request and announced that they would stop for the day and ride to the borders of Mirkwood in the morning. They dismounted and looked for a suitable place to camp among the trees, preparing for the evening and night to come.



Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!


Chapter 19 - The World is Changing

Despite Miredhel's vehement protests, Legolas had insisted on carrying her to a fallen log in the grove of trees. Her ankle throbbed, and it was just as well that she did not put any weight on it. He suggested that she clean her wounds and change the cloths which she had hastily wrapped around her cuts. So there she sat in the shade while the other two elves had walked the horses to a nearby stream for water. When they returned, both her brother and the prince insisted on checking her injuries.

Legolas had to admit she continued to impress him. She had managed to tie neat little bandages for her arms and had tightly bound her twisted ankle in cloth. "Nicely done, Lady. I had planned on helping you in these labors, but I see that you have managed on your own."

"She always does," commented Eledhel, rather proudly. "Miredhel trained as a healer years ago."

"I had not known this," said Legolas. "She is full of surprises."

"Aye," agreed her brother, "and I helped my sister by providing her with much opportunity for practice."

Miredhel softly laughed at her brother's assertion. "Without Eledhel and Belegil, I would never have mastered the art of bandages," she agreed, good-naturedly.

Her seemingly improved spirits cheered Legolas who, truth be told, had been angry with himself for his behavior toward her during the ride. He still felt that he had been right, but the way he had addressed the issue had completely lacked finesse. Convinced that the Valar had brought them together again for a reason, he promised himself that tonight he would make amends with her and put everything to right.

While Legolas entertained these thoughts, Eledhel took one look at the messy pile of old bandages beside his sister and decided they needed to be burned. He quickly went to work collecting fallen timber and kindling, leaving Legolas and Miredhel to each other's company. Legolas knelt beside her and asked for permission to check her ankle.

"I am sure I only twisted it when I fell off Thorontal," she said to her brother, her eyes dimming as she remembered her lost horse.

Legolas slid his hand along her ankle and tendon, carefully rotating her foot in his hand. "Does this hurt?"

"Do you even know what you are doing?" Miredhel asked. It was the first time she had spoken directly to Legolas since their argument, and she still avoided his eyes.

"I admit to having a slim knowledge of healing," Legolas said, "but I have seen other much more gifted healers at work. I know how to check for broken bones." He gently placed her foot on the ground. "I have long admired the ability to heal, like my friend Aragorn—he could patch up anything."

Miredhel recognized the name. "Is this a man you speak of, my lord?"

Legolas nodded. "I know he spent time in Lorien. Did you know him?"

"I know of him," she revealed, "he often spent time with the healers when I was there. Eledhel knew him much better."

"Yes, I know, for it was Aragorn who first introduced me to your brother."

"He is truly gifted, for a mortal," Miredhel said, "much more so, than I."

"Your brother thinks very highly of your skills, Lady Miredhel."

"Well, of course he would. Eledhel persuaded me to study with the healers. He hoped I would enjoy it."

Legolas nodded and moved to sit next to her on the log. Inside, he rejoiced that he and the maiden were having such a peaceful conversation. "Do you enjoy healing?" he asked, hoping to understand her better.

She did not answer his question right away. "My lord, healing is such a safe profession. I had long hoped to join the forest guard, but…" Her voice trailed off.

"Eledhel did not want you to join?" Legolas guessed softly.

She shook her head. "No, so I joined the healers instead, but I wish that I might have followed my heart

"Whether you would fight or mend, Ithilien could use your skills, Lady Miredhel."

She finally lifted her eyes to look into his with an amused expression. "I must confess to you that I always feel like I will somehow make an injured person worse."

"I doubt that," said the prince, and he ran his hand through his hair, nervously working out the tangles. He studied her as they sat next to each other, noting that she had not mentioned their argument. Except for the way she had avoided looking him in the eyes, she did not seem to harbor ill feelings toward him because of his angry words to her earlier that day. In his heart, Legolas knew that he had hurt her. Perhaps he had been overly hard on Miredhel, or perhaps she was not as strong as she pretended to be.

"Miredhel," he began, his eyes skirting around for Eledhel's busy silhouette among the trees, "about this afternoon..."

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. "I do not wish to speak of it, prince." The elf maiden would have preferred to leave him and walk away, but at the moment she could only hobble. So she continued to sit next to Legolas and hoped he would not press the matter.

"No, please grant me this wish," he said and waited until she looked at him. "I must apologize for my behavior to you. I was angry about what had happened, and I took my frustration out on you," he said sincerely and watched her closely, hoping for an amiable reaction. Blinking, she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, and her lips formed a single line. She reminded Legolas of a child, who wandering deep into the woods, finds that she has lost the way home.

When she spoke she lifted her eyes, searching his own for answers, for proof that she should trust him. "My lord, I own that I did not expect an apology from you."

"I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong," he said.

"Nor I," Miredhel replied steadily, "for I know that we have been at odds with each other since our first meeting." She smiled sheepishly at this understatement and lowered her voice to whisper, "I have much that needs telling, Prince of Mirkwood." She raised her finger to her lips and tilted her head toward the sound of light footsteps. "Softly now on these words! My brother returns."

Understanding, Legolas nodded his head, though full it was with wonder at what this maiden could wish to reveal. Obviously, she did not want Eledhel to hear. She seemed to accept his apology, but perhaps she wished to discuss their argument further. She might want to question him about her brother, possibly his bout of dragon sickness; yet as Eledhel returned to the camp, he seemed hale and not in the least bit of danger.

"How fares my sister?' he heartily called to them, dragging a small pile of sticks and brush for the fire he planned to build.

"I feel fine, Eledhel. You need not worry over me. Sit and rest," she said. Her brother stopped where she sat and put his arm around her. "I nearly lost you today, Miredhel," he said. "Never again will I allow you to fall in harm's way."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, saying: "We all nearly lost each other today, my brother. This land is fraught with danger. We cannot expect to avoid harm, nor should we hide from it."

Eledhel pulled away from his sister and countered, "True as that might be, I can make sure that my sister is better protected than most!"

Miredhel frowned. She lacked the strength to debate her brother on this long-standing argument between them and decided to change the subject. "Here are those bandages that you thought best to burn."

Eledhel looked at her critically. His sister must feel quite weary to let the conversation drop as she did. She had lost a fair amount of blood from those wounds. Proof enough was her dress, and Eledhel decided that it must be burnt as well, much to Miredhel's displeasure. "The scent would prove irresistible to any orc or beast," he explained.

"I understand your reasoning, but what shall I wear? My other gowns were in the bags that went with Belegil and Sulindal. All I have in this small pack is some food and healer's things—you know, herbs, medicines, bandages, " Miredhel said.

"Hmm. My personal effects went along with the company as well, not that anything of mine would have fit you anyways," Eledhel concluded.

Legolas, who had enjoyed watching the exchange between the two siblings, now felt the full thrust of their combined gaze. "Eledhel? Lady Miredhel?" he asked and then instantly realized what they wanted.

Legolas felt the evening breeze stir behind the tips of his ears as he and Eledhel returned to the campsite where Miredhel had changed into his old tunic, a green one that he had worn during the War and only had kept for sentimental reasons. She had left the top two toggles unfastened, and her creamy neck shone soft like moonbeams. Legolas swallowed hard. His throat felt dry and raspy; he was not entirely sure why seeing her in his shirt had this effect on him, when at best they could barely stand to be civil with each other. Yet all the elf could think of at the moment was the way she would feel in his arms, the way she had felt when he had caught her fall—or when they had embraced in the Lovers' Ring…the fresh scent of her hair, her velvety cheek… He had to put a stop to this line of thinking. It simply would not do to dwell on something that could never be. After all, she had brutally refused his attentions, and he, in turn, had bitterly given Miredhel his word that he would never again approach her in such a manner. Legolas tore his eyes away from her.

He began rifling through his pack for an added distraction, pulling out a wide range of random items: string, small knife, comb, dried venison, whetting stone, tinderbox— a gift from Gimli, and another gift which was from his sisters, rose cordial. Legolas snorted when he saw it—rose cordial, indeed. He remembered the fun the twins had compounding the potion and the way that Celeril had slyly slipped the small vial into his bag. "You never know when the occasion might call for it," she had said with an impious smile.

More often than not, the mixture would seep from its confinement into his bag, and he would smell like a rose for the next three days. 'Like a rose,' he thought ruefully, staring once more at the maiden before him, 'I feel the thorns, but none of the bloom…'

"Legolas?" Eledhel interrupted his thoughts. "Did you not hear me?" Legolas' head jerked up from his silent reverie, confused by Eledhel's sudden question.

"What?" Legolas asked, his throat still painfully dry.

"I was warning my sister to be more careful." Eledhel said and turned to face his sister. "Careful now, sister. The prince will not like it if you look prettier than he in his own tunic."

"Eledhel, really," Miredhel said annoyed and glared at her brother.

"She would anyways," Legolas rasped. He then began organizing his pack once more, not wanting to be drawn into the conversation again.

Eledhel would have none of it. He plopped down next to Legolas and feigned great interest in every item that his friend produced, passing little judgements on the usefulness of the contents, punctuated by the occasional yawn. "Hmm, hunting knife, a little dull... Ooh, venison, that is odd, smells like roses… Ahh, a tinderbox, very nice indeed, it is dwarvish, yes?

"Yes," Legolas confirmed, "my friend, Gimli, carved the metal work."

Now Miredhel was interested as well. Taking the box from her brother, she held it lightly in her fingertips to study the carvings of waves, gulls, and the setting sun. "I have never seen the sea, but its beauty must be great. Will you tell us about it?"

"No," Legolas said quickly and retrieved the box from her, stuffing it back into the pack. "I do not wish to speak of it," he added.

"Well…" said Eledhel uncomfortably, "if you do not mind, I wish to rest. I feel spent, and my head and jaw ache for some reason." He rubbed the side of his face where Legolas had punched him during their fight. Miredhel raised her eyebrows at the prince.

Legolas winked at her, and then looked at his friend carefully. "It could be the lingering effects of the dragon sickness," he speculated.

"Or that I stayed up the entire night before, searching the shadows for a particular friend of mine," Eledhel grumbled and then pulled himself onto a branch of the nearest tree. "Do not forget to burn those bandages, sister. I do not wish to have every orc within five leagues disturbing my slumber, because they caught the scent of elven blood." With that said, he folded his arms behind his head, leaned in to the trunk of the tree, and promptly began to doze.

"He is right, I suppose," Miredhel said to Legolas and rolled the old bandages up in her dress.

Legolas retrieved his tinderbox to light the fire and then stowed it in his bag once more with one longing look at the carvings. Gimli's workmanship was beautiful, but the elf desperately wished that his friend had carved trees instead. Legolas began humming to take his mind off the sea and tossed some more kindling onto the small fire. "If you are going to burn those, best to throw them in now," he advised her.

Miredhel wistfully tossed in her dress. "Do orcs really have such a keen sense of smell?" she asked him, watching the fabric darken into ash in the fire.

"Some more than others, but when I am on the trail, I prefer not to take chances," Legolas told her and stirred the fire with forked stick.

She nodded thoughtfully and then inquired about his tunic from the night before. "If I remember correctly," she said, "your shirt was drenched in blood when you returned from the river last night. Should we burn it as well?"

Legolas thanked her for remembering and fetched it from his bag. He sheepishly held it out to her, for the tunic was a mess with mottled stains.

The gruesome sight shocked her. "Surely that is not all your blood, " she wondered. "How did you ever? Well, you are not hurt, are you?"

"No, my lady," Legolas protested, "most of this blood came from something the dragon had killed," and he explained to her what had come to pass in the river.

"Most of the blood? A fine healer I am," she said. "Letting you fuss over my silly ankle when you have far more serious injuries."

Legolas shook his head. "See?" He said and rolled up one sleeve to show her his arm. "A little burned is all."

"Burned? Come over here and let me see," she demanded.

With a sigh, Legolas meekly obeyed, oddly feeling like he was on a journey with Aragorn again. Only he would have protested much more against Aragorn's request. Somehow letting Miredhel look at his injuries seemed a different matter to the prince. Legolas rolled up his other sleeve and showed both arms to the maiden. She placed one of her hands on the top of his arm and then withdrew it almost instantaneously.

"Your skin is burning up," she informed him.

"Really?" Legolas said with mock surprise.

"Well, at least your sense of humor seems to be perfectly in tact, my lord," Miredhel said with a little smile.

"You wished to speak of something earlier, Lady Miredhel. Please tell me," Legolas asked unexpectedly.

Miredhel pretended not to hear and continued, "I know these burns must give you pain. I might have some herbs that could soothe the inflammation." She looked into her pack and produced some thick succulent leaves, which she promptly crushed in her palms and worked into a gooey salve. "This is Helialid. I want you to smooth it onto your skin where it hurts the most," she said and transferred the substance into his hands.

Wrinkling his nose, Legolas gingerly rubbed the concoction across the tops of his arms. The salve felt cool like winter's ice, and he pushed his sleeves up even more so that he could cover the entire length of his arm. "Thank you, Lady Miredhel," he said enthusiastically. Miredhel smiled knowingly at him, and he thought of his back, which had received the brunt of the dragon's flame. "You…you would not happen to have anymore of that Helialid, would you? If I should find any other areas that burn, I would not wish to bother you," said Legolas.

"Any other areas that burn?" Miredhel asked incredulously. "You elven warriors are all the same, always pretending to be perfectly well even unto death. I would know, for I have Eledhel as a brother."

Legolas sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the fallen log where he sat next to the maiden. "I may have a few more burns on my back, but I did not want to bother you with those," he confessed.

"Bother me? You did only break my fall today and probably saved my life," she scoffed.

"Lady Miredhel…it might be unpleasant for you to see…" Legolas explained.

"I assure you, between Eledhel, Belegil, and Sulindal, I have seen much worse injuries than burns, if that is what worries you."

"It is not that," Legolas insisted. "Only our recent history does not allow for such. I thought it might prove awkward."

For whom, you or I?" she asked after considering his suggestion.

"Both," said Legolas quietly.

"If I feel embarrassed, I will let you know. I do want to help you."

"Even after the way I spoke to you today?" Legolas asked.

"Yours were not the only words spoken in haste and anger," she reminded him. "I would still help you."

"Even though I am dragging you off to, in your own delightful words, 'some Valar-forsaken forest?'"

She groaned and shook her head. "Please do not remind me. The dreadful things I have said!"

Legolas smiled. At the moment, Miredhel seemed so different from that frosty maiden he had first encountered in Lothlorien. She spoke to him now as she might with her brother or friends, not as a stranger, not as an enemy. Legolas leaned toward her and lowered his voice to ask: "You would help me even though I hail from the shadowed forests of Eryn Lasgalen, from Mirkwood, that I am the king's son?"

She drew back as though he might have slapped her, the rosy flush of her cheeks drained to chalk, and the night air around them became very still.

Legolas spoke again, his voice steeped in regret, "I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to…"

"No," Miredhel stopped him, "even so, I would still help." She took a deep breath before looking steadily into his eyes. "I would still serve you, my lord," she said. "I would, and I shall, for the world changes and I must change with it." She hesitated but then shakily reached for his hand, and Legolas wondered at her unease. Her eyes had never left his, and both took comfort in the other's gaze. Legolas placed his other hand on top of her own. Miredhel stole a glance up toward her brother. Eledhel still slept.

"There is much I must tell you," she began…


Chapter 20 - Love Mingled with Grief

All Legolas could think of was how her hand fit perfectly in his own, and how he feared to look away from her soft dark eyes as if all that had come to pass might fade from him like a dream upon waking. And if this was a dream, Legolas did not want to wake up. Before him sat a girlish slip of an elf who had shown courage in the face of dragons, who would gladly risk his anger if it meant speaking her mind, and who spoke to him now as a friend, and Legolas longed for that closeness, to have her smile or even laugh with him the way she would with her brother or the twins. He had known many elvish beauties before the War and had treasured them all, but the prince had never found true friendship with any of them; he supposed that was why none of those relationships ever lasted very long. Of course, he had always counted Celeril as one of his greatest allies and confidantes, but she was his sister and did not really count.

Legolas wanted to prove to himself that he could do this—that he could find friendship in the unlikeliest of places, that mysterious creature before him, who had openly scorned his every advance. If he could find friendship with a dwarf, he could find it with her. She intrigued him. Even now her eyes glowed with a warmth that had not before been there, and he thought her more lovely than when they first met under the stars in Lothlorien.

He sensed that she felt nervous but debated the cause. Were his actions at fault? Had he been too hard on her? Legolas admitted to himself that he had looked upon her as an adversary, someone to be conquered, and this afternoon, when her first tear fell, he knew that he had won. He had defeated her. Only this victory made him feel rather pathetic and disgusting. To win her affection would prove a much more glorious pursuit, and he would endure the worst throes of battle to claim it. Tonight was a start, for both Miredhel and Legolas had put forth a concerted effort at being pleasant to the other. Legolas decided that if he wanted to win her friendship, he must first develop her trust. Simply put, he wanted her to trust him, and at the moment, she looked as if she were very uncomfortable. She had something she wanted to confess, or tell him, but 'Whatever Miredhel had been planning to say,' Legolas silently decided, 'could wait,' and before she could begin her tale, he stopped her.

"Lady Miredhel," he said. "You are shaking. What troubles you so? Tell me so I may help."

"I must speak with you about a matter most personal. I should have told you when first we met, but I did not…for foolish reasons. Now I know I must."

Legolas blinked. "Oh," he said. "I thought you might be, you know, afraid of orc attacks, or sleeping out in the wilderness, or the dragon…" he jokingly added, "or having to put medicine on my back!" Miredhel looked horrified. Legolas quickly added, "but I told you, I have no need of it, for I am practically well."

"No, no," she said, "if I look upset, it is only because I am angry with myself for being so preoccupied that I completely forgot about your injuries. We will tend to it right away."

"But… you were going to tell me something?" Legolas reminded her.

She nodded as she pulled open her small bag. "And I do still want to tell you, but if I want your full attention, I cannot have you passing out from the pain for those burns," she said and crushed more leaves.

"I have never 'passed out,' just so you know," Legolas protested.

"I am sure you have not," Miredhel replied with a glimmer in her eyes.

"I have never…to my knowledge," he said and turned so his back faced her. With his assistance, she gingerly peeled the fabric away from his miserable skin.

"How dreadful!" she gasped when she saw his back exposed, with red whelps and blisters riddling the length of his torso.

"Ah, that is not the response I had hoped for," he said, feigning sadness.

"No, I only said that because these burns are quite nasty. Your back is fine…" she said and peeked around his shoulder. He grinned at her, and Miredhel quickly corrected herself, "I mean, that your back will be fine, once these blisters heal." With that said, she began to work the salve gently onto the elf's back in small circular motions. She could not help but notice that his years of training and archery had perfectly toned and defined the muscles in his back and concluded that any other female to see him disrobed probably had a much different response than her own. Miredhel bit her lip and forced herself to concentrate on the salve, on being gentle, on helping the prince to heal. She smoothed the cool substance across his skin, hating the way her fingertips tingled when she touched him, and the way her heart quickened at seeing him smile. 'He is not for you,' she reminded herself with a frown.

Legolas had turned his head in time to see the lady's displeasure written across her face, and he wondered out loud what bothered her so.

Miredhel looked up toward the sky, mentally chiding herself for allowing him to see her frustration. Of course, she would not tell him what really bothered her, so she put on a sad sort of expression and with a certain degree of seriousness, said, "It pains me to see you suffering so."

"Lady Miredhel, I have sustained far graver injuries than a few minor burns. They are unpleasant, but hardly unbearable," Legolas assured her. "Your injuries are worse than mine by far."

"Hmm." Miredhel considered his words for a moment and then continued, all the while working the salve carefully toward his shoulder blades. "Well, the good news is," she said, "I do not believe any of these burns will scar, my lord."

"That is glad tidings, I suppose," he said thoughtfully. "When do you think they will heal?"

"Oh, I suspect that you will be back in rare form by five days time at the most, if you are careful not to rub or scratch any of the sores."

He nodded and faced forward, and she continued her ministrations, carefully rolling up his shirt as she progressed toward his shoulders. For him, her gentle touch soothed almost as much as it excited. She was so close to him, he could feel her light breath as she leaned towards him, and all over, his body burned anew, only now for the quiet rebuke of her hands. They were as two flames consuming all between them, slowly devouring his will to resist. Miredhel hummed softly as she worked, completely unaware of her power over him, so busy she was, waging a battle of her own.

She knew she should not dwell on such thoughts, such as the way a single look from him could make her feel. Not just because he was temporarily her patient, but for his identity, his position, who he was and who she was not, and the sum of their common history together. At times, he had infuriated her with his high-handed ways and arrogance, and she had disliked, if not hated him, with a vengeance. Yet the last few days had revealed in him a quiet strength, a will to lead and protect, that she had not seen before, and he had shown her kindness unlooked for, accompanied by a sense of grace not unlike that of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

Now this prince sat before her, vulnerable and exposed, trusting her to heal him, and the elf maiden with the cool touch and heart colder still, could not deny that she was impervious to all of his charms. Everything that she knew or thought she had known, all that she counted true and had convinced herself of, melted as did her heart, and for the first time, in a very long time, Miredhel did not know what to believe or what to feel anymore. When she reached his shoulder blades, she gathered his hair to drape it over his shoulder, and her mind rushed back to that night in the garden when she had kissed him and had wrapped her arms around his neck. She reluctantly remembered the way his hair had felt against her skin, cool and warm all at the same time when he had held her tight. Miredhel closed her eyes and bit her lip, willing the memories to fade and for her heart to slow its pace. She had stopped smoothing the salve on, and Legolas noticed.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked her.

"Err… no. No, no. I am fine… No, I mean, yes! Yes, for you that is. Not for me. Nothing is wrong with me." Miredhel stammered, blushing furiously. She felt exceedingly thankful that Legolas had not turned around to see her pathetic moment of daydreaming. She told herself to focus, and cleared her throat. "It seems you have a particularly nasty bruise on your shoulder here." She pressed around the area with her fingertips to ascertain that nothing was broken. "How did you ever manage to get a bruise there?"

"I am not really sure. I think I hit something when I fell into the ravine," Legolas said.

Miredhel finished rubbing in the salve and lightly pulled his shirt over his worried skin. She teased him, "Perhaps you fainted and that is why you do not recall the details."

"I told you I have never fainted or passed out! Not do I intend to," Legolas insisted, and his eyes were merry as he turned to face her. Then he grew solemn and thanked her for her help. In turn, she told him that it was the least she could do, and that she would check his progress in the morning. Then both elves fell silent. Miredhel nervously hummed a little for she knew that she must speak to the prince of the matter that had gripped her heart for so very long. It concerned him as much as it concerned her. He should know. He deserved to know.

Miredhel squeezed her hands in her lap, and then quietly addressed the elf beside her, "My lord?"

"You do not have to say that, you know," Legolas said, a bit tiredly.

Miredhel mistook his meaning, and she wondered if Legolas already knew of her tale. 'But how could he possibly?' she asked herself. Who could have told? No one knew the truth now, save for her. "What do you speak of? What do I not need to say?" Miredhel replied with alarm.

"You know what," he said.

Still not comprehending the prince's words, she gasped, and her skin grew pale. "You already know…about Annariel?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, Sulindal told me about her, but that is not what I meant," Legolas said, a little confused as well. "I only meant that you did not have to address me so formally. 'My lord'- I would rather you not say it." Now Miredhel was the one to look confused. So Legolas joked, "You know, proper Elvish etiquette dictates that after two people fight a dragon together, they must address each other by first names only."

Miredhel blinked. She was not entirely sure what had just happened. She said slowly, "Oh, you spoke not of my friend, but wished for me to call you…oh, I do not think that I could be so bold, my lord."

Legolas smiled and returned, "Of course you could, you have already said much more caustic things to my face than my own name."

She blushed. "Again, please do not remind me."

The elf insisted, "Lady Miredhel, you would do me great honor if you would address me as Legolas." She shook her head. "Why not?" he asked. "You speak to Belegil and Sulindal, using their personal names."

"Yes, but I am friends with them." she replied, and then hastily clapped her hand over mouth when she realized what she had said. "I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to imply that you and I are enemies."

He shrugged with downcast eyes. When he looked up, his steady blue gaze betrayed the sorrow of his years and the enduring loneliness bought of immortality. He spoke with a low voice, saying, "Haven't we been, though? From our first meeting, we have hardly been cordial."

Miredhel nodded miserably. "I know, but the fault is all mine."

"No, my lady. I am equally to blame. I let my own sense of worth and selfish pride guide my behavior in all of our moments shared. I deserved your disdain."

"I suppose we are both at fault, but the lion's share of the blame is mine alone." She took a deep breath. "I had said earlier that I had something to tell you."

"Yes, but you did not wish to speak of it in front of your brother."

"I know. I did not want him to hear, not just yet. It concerns you, and me…and Annariel. I do not know exactly how to say this. I have thought of telling you this tale many times. Even when I first heard that you would visit Lothlorien again, I planned on meeting and telling you, so you would know. It was no accident when I met you on the balcony that first night we met. I had planned to tell you then, but…"

"Why did you not? We were alone. I would have listened."

"Would you have really? I did not think so at the time. Pardon my observation, but you seemed much more interested in romancing the first maiden to cross your path."

Legolas bristled a little before he realized that she was quite correct. "You are right on that count," he agreed sheepishly. "I would have happily swept you off your feet had you let me."

The tips of Miredhel's ears burned at his suggestion, and she raised her eyes toward the black blue vault above and the crescent moon wreathed in ethereal light lost of stars. She wondered the impossible, if Fate had been kinder, if things had been different. She and Legolas might have met under better circumstances, perhaps even to fall in love. A lone tear slid down her cheek, for what might have been. Miredhel silently shook her head and twisted a golden curl betwixt her fingers.

She said, "In the light of what I had come to tell you, your behavior seemed like a slap in the face."

"For that, you cannot fault me. I did not know. I still do not know," he protested.

Miredhel's eyes were wet and distant as she began her tale. "What has happened between us, especially concerning my behavior to you, oddly enough concerns my best friend. Annariel was truly a sister to me. We did everything together. We had even pledged long ago that she should wed Eledhel so we could truly be sisters. Then one day last winter, January 17, I believe it was—"

"The fellowship arrived in Caras Galadhon," finished Legolas.

"Yes, and you among them. Annariel found me on the practice fields that evening. I had rarely seen her so excited. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was quite out of breath, for she had ran all the way there to tell me about the most bizarre company that had come to our city: two men, perians, a dwarf, and an elf." Miredhel paused and raised her eyebrows. "From the way she described you, I knew she was smitten."

"With me?" Legolas asked incredulously.

"Do not act so surprised," Miredhel advised him. "I dare say I know you well enough not to be fooled by feigned modesty. Anyway, she wanted me to accompany her to see you for myself."

"And what did you think?" Legolas prompted her.

"I did not go with her." Miredhel replied. "I told Annariel that she was being foolish, that the strange elf she had seen might be a criminal, a vagrant, a servant of the Dark Lord."

"But I was none of those things," Legolas reminded her.

"I know. Eledhel returned from the forest guard the next day and told me that one of our Mirkwood kin, the son of Thranduil, had arrived in the strangest of company. When I went to visit Annariel, she positively glowed. She told me that she had seen you in the company of the dwarf in the gardens, and went on and on about how strong and beautiful you were and how blue your eyes were… I knew then that my friend had passed beyond the limits of infatuation and fancied herself completely in love with you."

"And I never even met her. Why did she not find a way to meet me?" Legolas murmured sadly.

Miredhel looked knowingly at the elf and continued, "She was very shy and much too timid to introduce herself, especially in the presence of a dwarf. After that, all she spoke of was you. She tried to find ways to meet you, but you were always with a flock of people or wandering around with the dwarf. She asked for my help, and I refused."

"Why would you not help her?" Legolas wanted to know.

"I am not proud of it, but I suppose I was jealous. After all, she had promised me that she would marry my brother. And for the month that you were in Lorien, she completely forgot about everything and anybody but you."

"My heart aches for the loss of someone I have never even met," he said slowly, wishing that somehow time could unravel so that he could find this love he had never known. What if she had been his soul mate, and he had lost her before he found her?

Miredhel reached for his hand to comfort him, and perhaps gain a little for herself as well. Her gesture surprised him, but her next words surprised him even more. Her voice full of grief, she whispered, "You did meet her. She had begged and begged for me to help her. Finally I gave in. Eledhel told me that the Fellowship would be leaving in the next few days, so I could not see the harm in it. Once you left, I figured she would forget about you, and everything could go back to normal. I let Annariel take my place as one of Galadriel's maidens when the Lord and Lady met your company on the river. She was the one who presented you with your bow."

"So full of admiration I was for my new weapon that I did not even notice her," he said and hung his head. "Why did you tell me this story?" he asked bitterly. "So my dreams can be haunted by a new sort of phantom?"

"No, and I beg your forgiveness if that shall indeed be the outcome of this conversation." Miredhel said in earnest. "I wanted you to know, to understand, why I was so horrible to you when we first met."

"Because your friend fell in love with me?"

"If it were only that simple!" she exclaimed. After you left Lothlorien, Annariel had changed. She never sang. She never laughed. We rarely talked, because she knew I did not approve of her interest in you. She grieved and worried for you. When she heard of Celeborn's plans for the siege of Dol Guldur and the battle for Mirkwood, she was one among the first to enlist in Eledhel's group of archers. She did not tell me. I found out from my brother." Miredhel took a deep breath. Legolas brushed the curls away from her face to find the busy tracks of many tears racing across her cheeks.

"When I confronted her about it, I lost my temper. I told her she was being irrational, and she told me that she planned on staying in Mirkwood after the battle to wait for you. We fought. I said so many dreadful things. You know me well enough to believe me capable of it. She begged me to release her from our pledge that she should marry Eledhel, saying she could never love him now that her heart had fallen for you. I called her an oathbreaker and refused. She pleaded with me, and I said that I would never speak to her again as long as we lived if she went back on her word."

"And you did not relent?" he asked, lifting her chin with his fingers so he could look into her eyes.

Miredhel turned her head away and looked down. Beyond the strain of normal hearing, she whispered, "No," but Legolas had heard and had understood. He kneeled in front of her, still holding her hand, and cupped her face in his other hand.

"It is not your fault that she died, Lady Miredhel. She chose to go to that battle of her own volition. You had no way of knowing the future," he said gently.

"That was the last time I saw her," she sniffed. "When I heard that she had been killed in battle, I could not find it within me to grieve. I traded my sorrow for anger, and blamed everyone for her death, including her, myself, my brother, her brothers, the Lord and Lady…and you. I never shed a tear for her until now. I felt that I had lost her to you. And then you returned to my city, with plans to take a great many elves to a new land, and my brother wanted to go. I hated you. I am sorry to say it, but I did."

"Shhh," he calmed her. "You do not feel that way now though, do you?" He studied her face for any sign of feeling she might have for him, both fearing and longing for her response.

"No," she answered honestly, and Legolas sighed in relief. Miredhel gingerly brought her hand that held his to rest above her heart. She looked at him unwaveringly and said, "You have outmatched me in both words and deeds. I discovered that I could not stay angry with you for long. My gratitude and admiration prevent me from doing so. But when you arrived, you were to me as a thief who had stolen or was going steal everything precious."

"Then why did you agree to a wager with me in the archery contest, if I was so horrible to you?"

"I had hoped that I could win, of course, and secure my brother's future with me in the Golden Wood."

"But I won," he said slowly, "and forced you to kiss me in that infernal garden. By these accounts, my crimes are severe indeed."

Miredhel shook her head in disagreement. "No, my lord. In one fell swoop, I had lost my brother to you and Ithilien. I was angry with you, but furious with myself. Everything felt so out of control and beyond my grasp. Then I met you in the Lovers' Ring, and I kissed you as per our agreement…you did not 'force' me," Miredhel hesitated, and her eyes, full of self-doubt, met his.

Legolas considered himself a fine judge of expressions and emotions, but as he looked in her eyes, he was lost as to what she felt—sorrow, to be sure, and guilt, but perhaps fear lingered there also. He could not understand what she could possibly dread so much.

Miredhel's voice broke down and she repeated herself, "I felt that I was losing everything dear to me—to you! I had lost Annariel—to you! I was going to lose Eledhel—to you! I was going to lose my home—because of you! Then we kissed, and I knew that I was in danger of losing myself as well."

Legolas did not know what to say. He was dumbfounded by her revelation at best. He sat stupefied, dully watching her cry into her sleeves. Then he reached for her, and she slid into his arms like it was the completely natural thing for her to do, or she had done so a thousand times over. He held her there by the hearth of their fire and fiercely kissed the top of head as she leaned into his shoulder. Neither spoke, and both mourned.

He held her thus until the moon began to wane, and Earandil had made a lazy path across the night sky. She had shed tears uncounted, his shoulder felt damp, and Legolas still struggled to find peace within the tumult of her story. He grieved for the loss of never meeting Annariel, and even more for the way Miredhel felt about him. Legolas thought he would have rejoiced to discover she even cared for him the smallest bit, but now that the moment had arrived, he just felt sick. Miredhel might have feelings for him, yes, but would she follow her heart? Legolas hoped so. He sighed and pulled her in even closer.

She had stopped crying more than an hour ago and now slept. As much as the elf would have loved to hold her until the first morning light, her brother would certainly not approve. Legolas whispered in her ear, "Miredhel, Miredhel. You must awake." She stirred in his arms, and light returned to her eyes as she looked up at him. Legolas helped her to his bedroll, for he knew he would not sleep tonight.

Before she settled in, Miredhel took one long glance at this elf who had single-handedly wreaked such havoc in her life. She knew she could no longer hate him, but struggled to discern her true feelings for him now. Such things were better left unthought of until the easiness of daylight. She pulled the light blanket over her shoulders, and before nodding dreamily off to sleep, whispered, "Goodnight…Legolas."

The prince was undone. She had called him by his name. Surely that meant something. He wandered through the grove of sleepy trees, softly singing, thinking about her, of all that she had told him, and Annariel. The more he debated the situation, the more Legolas felt sure that Miredhel would not pursue anything greater than friendship with him. He wondered what Gimli would say if the dwarf knew his predicament now. 'He would say, "Elf, stop over-analyzing everything!"' Legolas thought, 'but I cannot help but do so. It was far easier when she disliked me.'

He stopped walking back at the campsite, and sat down on the fallen log across from where she slept. Legolas pulled his pack to him, thinking he would eat something to take his mind off his pathetic love-life. As he reached into his pack, his hand met his tinderbox, and he pulled it into view.

Gimli had done his finest on the carvings. The sea! She beckoned to him. Legolas wondered if his heart would only know peace on her shores, near the waves…and the gulls. As he turned the box in his hands, the waves seemed to swell and crash, the sea-birds frolicked, and the sun sank low like a yawning door to the west. He hastily stuffed the tinder-box into his pack, but he could still hear the gulls' cries. The elf tried looking at Miredhel and thinking only of her, but the sound of falling waves rumbled in his mind. Legolas stood and clamped his hands over his ears, but still he could hear her call…the sea, the sea! His mind forsook all thoughts, save the salty taste of a midsummer's breeze, grey ships with white sails cutting through wind and water, and the phantom cry of gulls and waves, and the elf began to sing:

Neither elm, mallorn, oak, or beech; no forests wide or small;

Nor shady paths through moonlit groves can dim her plaintive call.

Softly now she haunts each dream, and every moment waking,

I hear her cries, her murmured song, the will within me breaking.

With deepest blue and brightest gold, she tempts immortal elves,

To bid farewell to love and kin and slowly lose themselves,

Amidst curled waves, sheer glimmering stars, and countenance divine.

She lures me to my elvenhome to claim my soul and mind;

Yet I pledged these years to my friends, mortal though, and aging,

I cannot leave, I cannot stay, the land and woods are changing.

The seasons spiral, red drifting down, like a windblown leaf,

Bidding me to leave these shores, where love bleeds into grief.

And as he sang, Legolas glimpsed Eledhel with his arms folded behind his head, sleeping above on a sturdy branch. He saw Miredhel's slender form resting peacefully with the blanket pulled high so only a tuft of her curls could be seen. He thought of Gimli, Aragorn, Merry and Pippin, who had begged him to stay.

These were his friends, and he would not leave them. He did not have to wonder how much longer he could withstand the call of sea. The answer already lay before him—he would stay as long as need be.


Chapter 21 - Building Trust

Miredhel stirred restlessly in the dark. Legolas thought her asleep but her heart weighed too heavily for the light dreams of the elvenkind. She had repeatedly told herself to stop thinking of all the things she had said, that no good could come of worrying, or that such thoughts were futile. When he had held her in his arms, she was sure she had done the right thing in telling him about Annariel. The entire world could have slipped into oblivion, and Miredhel would not have minded. Only now she faced the darkness alone. She worried that she had said too much, revealed too much. Miredhel felt so exposed and foolish. What must he think of her? She twisted miserably in his bedroll, yanking the blanket up over her head. The fresh, piney scent of the blanket reminded her of him. Miredhel clenched her fists in the dark, knowing fully well that she would not sleep tonight.

She heard Legolas' light footfalls draw near. For the entire time that she had lain awake, the prince had wandered the grove in sleeplessness. Part of her very much wanted to call to him, confide that she too could not sleep, but the sound of his soft singing stopped her. Instead, she listened to his fair elven voice. At first she could barely make sense of his quiet words until his voice rose like a crown above the dark trees, wrenching in its beauty, thickened in a tangle of emotions—desire, regret, sorrow…love.

Miredhel squeezed her eyes shut. She had heard enough to conclude bitterly one honest truth—Legolas was very much in love. She dared not hope that he sang of her, for his song favored someone with deepest blue and brightest gold. She might have the golden part covered, but her hazel eyes were anything but blue. Apparently, Legolas could hardly wait to be reunited with this love of his; so great was his need and desire for her. His voice faded away with his footsteps, leaving Miredhel with more questions than answers. Why did he show interest in her when he already loved another? Why did he pretend to care about their kiss? Miredhel felt used and confused. She did not find rest until the wee hours of dawn.

Legolas did not sleep that night. When the first pinkish rays slipped over the horizon, he woke Eledhel to tell him that he would be taking the two horses down to water. As he passed Miredhel, he paused to see that even in rest, worry and grief strove to spoil the beauty of her sweet face. He stole a glance toward Eledhel. He still lay as though sleeping. Legolas knelt down beside her. She had bravely suffered through grief and loss, and Legolas thought with a pang to his heart, that he had unwittingly been the primary cause of her pain.

"Would that I could take your cares as my own burden," he whispered and smoothed his hand across her cheek before he stood. He did not linger long at her side, for he decided that he was not quite ready to explain anything to Eledhel.

When he returned to their makeshift camp, Legolas was pleased to see that Miredhel was awake and folding up his bedroll blankets. She bid him good morning and reminded him that she should check those burns before they left.

"Allow me to help you with that," he offered and strode over toward her.

"That is very kind, my lord," she answered stiffly, not noticing the hurt look in his eyes when she omitted using his name, "but as you can see I'm practically finished." Miredhel stuffed the blankets into the slim little sack from whence they came. Half of the bedroll still hung out. She gave a determined look at Legolas who now smiled knowingly at her. "I am sure I can make it all fit," she insisted.

"I will be more than happy to help."

"I can do it," she replied stubbornly, refolding the blankets and squeezing them in with all her might. Still, success eluded her. She yanked the blankets back out and began again. "These must be enchanted," she muttered.

He walked closer and picked up the opposite end of the bedroll. "Sometimes, you just have to let someone help you," he told her and brought his end to meet hers, so that they now stood face to face.

"I know," she said. "And I appreciate you sharing your bedroll with me last night. Thank you. If I can ever return the favor, I will."

Legolas raised an eyebrow at this last statement. Miredhel glanced off to the side as she rethought her words, and then she turned a violent shade of crimson.

"That is not what I meant!" she protested and looked helplessly at her brother who pretended to be shocked. "My apologies, prince. I did not mean it that way."

"Of course, you did not," he said with a grin and then, taking the bedroll from her, folded and fit it with ease inside the cloth sack.

"My lord, how did you…" she mumbled as he handed it to her.

"I thought we had agreed on less formality between us," he said, a bit disappointed. "Legolas. Say it," he encouraged her.

In her heart, she wondered at his interest in her. Confusion bound every thought she had of him. Her own feelings for the prince betrayed her past friendship with Annariel. She had tried ignoring him, even hating him, but failed at both attempts. He knew the truth, and still sought friendship with her. She inwardly sighed and said, "All right, Legolas, but it feels awkward. What will the others say?"

"They will say that we are friends," he answered blithely.

Eledhel, who had been watching the exchange, joined them, smiling. "I, for one, am glad to see it, and I rejoice to see you smiling again, my sister. It has been too long. If battling a dragon is what it takes to procure such a blessed event, then I would do so any number of times.

"As would I," Legolas agreed.

"I am fortunate to have a brother such as you, Eledhel," Miredhel said and added rather shyly, "and a friend like you, Legolas."

Miredhel and Legolas then sat down so she could check the burns on his back while Eledhel busied himself with clearing any trace or reminder of their presence from the small grove. Legolas lifted up the back of his tunic. His burns already showed considerable improvement from the night before. Miredhel prodded the skin on his back, not quite as gently as before, and Legolas found himself wincing.

"Everything all right back there?" he asked her.

"Your back heals nicely. I suspect that you will be back in glorious form in plenty of time to give all of the ladies of your forest reason to swoon."

"But not you, of course," he teased her.

"Of course not," she returned loftily, "Being your healer, I am above such things." She finished applying the helialid, and he turned to face her.

"How about you?" he asked. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Not wonderful, but better," she admitted and then lowered her voice to say "Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For listening to me last night. It felt good…to be able to say those things. I had kept it in for so long. And I am sorry if what I said caused you pain. That was not my intent."

Legolas nodded. "I know, he said, "and I am glad you told me." With that said, both elves fell into silence. Legolas did not know what else to say. At the same time, Miredhel felt more than embarrassed. Last night she had admitted that she had feelings for him, only later to hear him singing about his love for someone else, and she had cried on his shoulder like an elfling.

Legolas finally asked of her injuries and she rolled up the sleeves of the tunic he had lent her and peeled back one of her bandages. The cuts and scratches seemed a little more red and swollen than either Legolas or Miredhel would have preferred.

"The dragon's claws were filthy," she explained. "I cleaned the wounds to the best of my ability, but I am sure all of the remaining grime hinders my ability to heal quickly." Miredhel looked up to see panic spreading over the prince's face. "I fear it will be a while before I feel the urge to wear sleeveless gowns," she joked.

"Our first stop once we reach the borders of my forest will be to take you to the healers," he said and then yelled to Eledhel. "Eledhel, did you see this? Come over here!"

"Stop it!" Miredhel hissed. "I am perfectly well, and you know it. It is just a couple of scratches." She slapped the bandage back across her arm and hastily pulled down her sleeve. Miredhel carefully made her way toward the horses. Legolas fell into step beside her, lifting her pack from her hands.

"It is well that we are all on the mend then," he said, "for I am sure that my father has plans for merriment 'ere we go," he said and helped her onto Arod's back.

"Then it is just as well that I can plead weariness to avoid such tiresome activities." Miredhel said.

"Did you not just say that you were 'perfectly well?'" asked Legolas as he swung up behind her.

"Well…" she began.

Eledhel joined them. "My sister, whatever the king may have planned, I am sure it will prove the perfect remedy for whatever ails you."

Miredhel groaned. The last thing she wanted to see was Legolas fawning over the elf maiden in his song. There had to be a way out. "But it might be better for me to rest, you know…" she tried.

"Nonsense! My sister? Rest? I am surprised you even know the meaning of the word." Eledhel interjected.

"Besides, all will want to meet the dragon-slayer. You will be the guest of honor." Legolas said proudly.

"Let us ride for Mirkwood then. I feel like nothing should stop us today," Eledhel said, and the elves set forth toward Eryn Lasgalen. Miredhel shook her head. She had sworn that her shadow would never darken the borders of that infernal forest, and now here she was hastening toward it with the prince of Mirkwood, no less. She feared seeing it, but also longed for the day when she might put it behind her forever.

They reached the southern edge of the wood by midday, and a sense of dread settled over Miredhel as they entered the shadows of the wood where the arching boughs of the trees carved a black forest path. Legolas, however, felt nothing but joy at seeing his homeland once more. They had ridden safely to its borders without seeing any sign of orc or dragon.

"Soon, my friends, you will enjoy the hospitality of the wood elves," he said ecstatically.

"Great…" grumbled Miredhel as she shifted in front of him. Her eyes scanned the trees and the ivy clinging from branches. She remembered Legolas telling her about those spiders and had a strong inclination to reach for her bow.

"What is wrong?" Legolas whispered in her ear.

"Could I not stay outside of the forest?" she pleaded. "No offense, but I do not want to go any further."

"Oh, Miredhel. You are my guest here. I will not allow anything to happen to you."

"How far are we from the pits of Dol Guldur?" she asked, her throat tightening. Her mind raced. The woods before her were quiet and empty, save for the occasional black squirrel, yet all she could picture in her mind was Annariel falling to legions of orcs as they swarmed the trees.

Now Legolas understood her discomfort. "Dol Guldur is not what it once was, Miredhel. The forest has been cleansed," he said gently.

Eledhel rode closer. "If you can kill a dragon, sis, you can beat this. We are perfectly safe. Annariel would not want you to be afraid."

"I am not afraid!" Miredhel said, her eyes flashing. Eledhel and Legolas exchanged knowing looks with one another. "I am not," she insisted, "only I do not want to be here."

"I understand, Miredhel, but cannot let you stay outside the forest by yourself. Besides, we have almost reached our destination. The forest guards will not let any harm come to you."

"What guards?" she asked.

"We have already passed three pairs of them," Legolas told her and laughed. "Everything will be fine. You have my word as a prince…as your friend, that no harm will come to you."

Miredhel was not easily convinced. She had considered jumping off Arod's back and running for the borders. Instead, she turned and looked at Legolas. He seemed puzzled, but genuinely concerned for her. "It is not that I am afraid something will happen to me personally," she explained, "but these woods have haunted my dreams. I just…" and she shivered, "do not want to see them in real life."

"I am sorry, Miredhel. Believe it or not, I understand what you are saying," Legolas told her. He thought to himself that he would definitely never want to step foot in Moria again after all the wretched dreams he had of that place. "Close your eyes and think of something peaceful," he suggested.

"Close my eyes?" Miredhel scoffed. "And fall right off the horse?"

"I would not let you fall," Legolas answered and protectively circled his arm around her slender waist.

She looked down at his arm and then turned toward him with unsure eyes. She wanted to trust him, but part of her screamed that she had already let her guard down too much. That same part of her instructed her to push Legolas away, that he was using her. Slowly she brought her hand over his arm, sliding it down to his hand that held her. She hesitated.

"Legolas?" Miredhel asked and slipped her fingers through his. "How much longer until we arrive?"

"We are nearly there," he said and both elves urged their horses to quicken their pace so that they would reach the king's pavilions before lunch. Soon five members of the forest guard, dressed in green and brown, joined them on horseback, saluting the prince and welcoming his safe return. Miredhel opened her eyes to look at them and the mighty beeches that framed the path. This part of the forest seemed more like the Golden Wood and a lot less…murky than the first part they had entered. She could see beyond the trees a great canopy of sheer white with green awnings, surrounded by many smaller tents.

Legolas felt his heart rise to his throat, so happy he was to reach his father's camp and reunite with his family. A great many elves had journeyed from his father's halls to wish him and his company off to Ithilien. He had told his father before he left that he wished his final parting to be a small, family affair, knowing fully well that his father as king would settle for nothing less than a big send-off.

Legolas, Miredhel, and Eledhel dismounted to walk their horses, and one of the five guards dismounted to lead Arod and Eledhel's horse away. He bowed before Legolas, saying: "I believe the king awaits your presence in the main tent, my lord."

"We had better not keep him waiting then, shall we?" Legolas asked his friends, and they walked together toward the large canopy.

The king sat in a large chair at the end of his make-shift throne room, wearing a crown of bright berries and red leaves and holding an oak staff carved with the elven runes of his people. He stood at the sight of his son and bid all three elves to enter. Legolas rushed forward while his friends hung back. Thranduil elatedly embraced his son and then chided him for not returning sooner.

"We ran into some trouble along the way, my father," Legolas said seriously.

"The dragon? Your captains from Lothlorien, Belegil and Sulindal, met with me when they first arrived," Thranduil responded rather sharply, and his eyes narrowed. Legolas got the distinct impression that the elf speaking to him did so from the perspective of king, not father. He did not want his friends to see him get lectured. His shoulders sagged, and he pleaded with his eyes for his father to wait until later. Thranduil was no fool, and he caught the fatigue written in his youngest son's eyes. He stepped down from the dais and put his arm around Legolas. "I understand you have had a trying journey. I will let you rest."

The prince nodded and then brightened, "Father, please let me introduce my friends to you. This is Eledhel of Lothlorien." Eledhel bowed.

Thranduil smiled, stole a glance at Miredhel, and then looked at his son. "And who is this lovely young lady?"

Miredhel curtseyed but found herself blushing under the king's inquisitive gaze. Not to mention the fact that she still wore Legolas' old tunic, she knew she must look frightful, unkempt, and decidedly un-lovely despite whatever compliments the king decided to pay.

"This is Lady Miredhel, Eledhel's sister," Legolas paused and beamed at her. "She saved both our lives with a single shot, felling the dragon from the sky."

"Now that will be a tale worth the telling," the king replied. "We shall feast tonight, my son, and all shall hear this story of brave deeds." He returned to his chair. "I know you all must be weary. I have prepared accommodations for you, and will send a servant to bring you victuals."

Legolas decided to stay a few moments longer with his father while both Miredhel and Eledhel went their separate ways to the tents awaiting them. Legolas braced himself for the worst of speeches. He wished he might have left with his friends, but he knew he could not avoid his father forever and preferred to have any unpleasantness behind them. When he looked into his ada's eyes, the prince read the disappointment lingering there. Disappointment and something he could not place…concern, perhaps? Legolas' heart sank deep into his chest, and he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Legolas," his father began slowly.

"Father?" he heard himself say.

"Come closer, my son," he said and beckoned him to approach.

Legolas walked timidly toward Thranduil's chair. His father brought his hand to forehead and shook his head. "What were you thinking, Legolas?" he asked. "To throw yourself recklessly into danger when so many depended on you? Any elf could have stayed behind to wait. You do not always have to play the hero!"

"I chose to wait. He was my friend. It was my decision," Legolas said firmly.

"No. Unacceptable. The integrity of your company depends on you. You were their leader, and you abandoned them!" Thranduil retorted, and the kingly tone returned to his voice.

"I did not abandon them. I put their safety above my own," Legolas insisted.

"Sometimes, my son, to lead means that you have to trust others. You cannot expect to do everything by yourself. You must allow others to do it for you. You must allow your company to protect you. If you wish Ithilien to succeed, you must trust in the strength of your people."

Legolas hung his head. His father was right in so many ways. Suddenly he felt very tired and weak. "You are right, ada," he choked out, "as always."

"No, Legolas…just a good many times." He smiled softly at his son who had grown from such an adorable elfling to such a capable warrior, and now a leader among his people. He reached for his son's hand and squeezed it. "What you did was very brave and your people already love you. And that is what really builds a realm, whether it be large or small." He stood back up and stretched, and then taking Legolas' arm, said, "How about I escort you to your tent, and you can tell your old father all about your adventures…and this Miredhel. I want to hear about her…"

Meanwhile, Miredhel followed an elf maiden along a forest path between tall beeches and the occasional open tent. All of the tents were made from the same light fabric, which on most, had been gathered back with green silken ties to reveal four straight poles. They were spacious and airy, and on the inside, one could see green cushions and low soft bed with plush pillows. Finally the king's servant stopped at the tent, which was to be hers, and Miredhel sighed with relief. All of a sudden she felt dreadfully weary, probably due to the fact that she had hardly slept the night before. Her stomach growled and she also realized that she was hungry. All she wanted to do was eat and then sleep and then perhaps bathe. She began to ask the maiden to bring her something to eat, when Lady Limaer appeared from within her tent.

"Of course, she will want something to eat!" Limaer gushed. "Lady Miredhel has had a very difficult trip. Luckily, I am here to take care of her." With that said, she pulled Miredhel inside the tent and made her sit down on one of the beds. "I suspected that you would need assistance, so I asked the wood elves if I could share a tent with you."

"You really should not have…you are too kind," Miredhel murmured, too pitiful to protest.

"Nonsense!" Limaer laughed, and her busy eyes took in every detail of Miredhel's appearance. "Why, my dear! What ever happened to your dress?"

"It got some blood on it, Limaer. So we burned it," she answered flatly. "Are any of my dresses here?"

"Of course they are! I had Captain Sulindal bring them over for you. Would you like to change into one? Or perhaps bathe first?" she asked eyeing Miredhel.

"I think that I would really just like to rest, Limaer. We rode pretty hard."

Limaer nodded, but she just could not help herself. "I heard that you rode in with the prince. What was that like? How is he?"

"It was fine, Limaer. I am fine. Legolas is fine. We are all fine." She fell back onto the pillows behind her and folded her arms across her chest.

"Hmm. You called him by his first name," she observed. "I thought you said earlier that there was nothing between the two of you."

Miredhel stifled the urge to hurl one of the pillows at Limaer. She was never going to stop asking questions about the prince. Miredhel decided a new tactic was in order. "Limaer?" she asked sweetly. "I think I would like a bath. Would you be a dear and draw me some water?"

"Of course, I would," Limaer answered with enthusiasm. "I will be right back."

"Oh, but I would not want you to feel rushed at my expense," Miredhel said gravely. "Please take your time."

As soon as Limaer left, Miredhel pulled off her shoes and leaned back against her pillow. She just began to feel sleepy when she heard footsteps approaching. "Not already…" she grumbled and sat up. She looked toward the doorway and saw not Limaer like she had expected, but Legolas standing outside.

"Oh!" she said, a little startled and began to stand up. "I was expecting Limaer, not you."

"You do not have to stand on my account. Can I come in?"

"You are always welcome," Miredhel said.

"I did not believe that you would ever say that to me," he said and grinned at her. "What is this about Lady Limaer?"

"Oh, Legolas. It is the most vexing thing. She is my tent-mate. She especially asked to share it with me." She looked at him despairingly. "Would you stop grinning like that? It is not funny!"

"It is, and you know it, Miredhel. She just wants to be nice to you," Legolas said, a bit too gleefully for Miredhel's liking.

"I am not sure that is all there is to it," she said darkly.

"Well, in any case, I did not come to see you to talk about Limaer."

"Why did you come? I thought you would still be talking to your father."

"The king…and I, of course, would like for you to attend the feast tonight as my special guest."

Miredhel had not been expecting him to say that. She was so stunned she found herself saying that she would be delighted.

"Wonderful, then. I will come by before sunset to escort you. Oh, and Miredhel?" he added wickedly, "you might want to take a bath!"

"Ha, ha, Legolas!" She laughed sarcastically and threw a pillow at him as dodged out of the tent. 'Perhaps it was a good thing after all that she had sent Limaer to draw water for the bath,' she thought as she leaned back and tried to go to sleep once more. She would need her wits about her for the evening's festivities to come.


Chapter 22 - So Begins the Night

Author's note: My vision of the wood-elves' party feast comes from "Flies and Spiders" in The Hobbit:

The feast that they now saw was greater and more magnificent than the one before; and at the head of a long line of feasters sat a woodland king with a crown of leaves upon his golden hair…The elvish folk were passing bowls from hand to hand and across the fires, and some were harping and many were singing. Their gleaming hair was twined with flowers; green and white gems glinted on their collars and their belts; and their faces and their songs were filled with mirth. Loud and clear and fair were those songs…




Legolas quickly dressed in the solitude of his tent. All the servants had gone to prepare for the evening's feast, and the prince welcomed the chance to be alone. He had fallen asleep upon his return from asking Miredhel to dinner. The elf counted his good fortune that his dreams had been pleasant, not of Moria, not of the sea, and whatever had been the content of his slumber, he did not feel like divulging this secret to anyone. Legolas smiled to himself and deftly began to braid the sides of his hair in accordance to the house of Oropher, as was the custom for the sons of Thranduil. One look outside to the forest told him that the sun neared the horizon. He should hurry, or he would arrive late to escort Miredhel, and he did not want to keep her waiting. He turned to pick up his prince's crown and was surprised to see that his father had joined him.

Thranduil smiled at his son. He had rarely seen Legolas in such high spirits since his son had returned from the War. The king could tell by only looking in Legolas' eyes that his presence in the War, his role in the Fellowship, had altered him irrevocably, but as to what had forced the change in him, the king was uncertain. Thranduil had never pressed the matter, hoping that his son would confide in him in his own time. Only now he was leaving for a realm of his own. Thranduil hoped that Legolas would find peace there, if not in the woods of his old home. He spoke to him gently now, "My son, the evening finds you much improved. How do you feel?"

Legolas answered as he sat down to put on his boots, "Much better, I assure you. I slept better this afternoon than I have for the past month."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. His son was not sleeping well? "Perhaps, because you are in the borders of your old home."

Legolas grinned. "Perhaps." He stood again and ran a brush through his hair one last time.

"Would it have anything to do with the forest feast tonight? Or a certain young lady that might be in attendance?" Thranduil looked quizzically at his son.

"I am going to be late to escort that certain young lady," Legolas said as he looked outside to see the sun begin to dip behind the trees, "if I do not leave soon."

"I thought you might wait and greet the rest of your family before the dinner tonight," Thranduil said.

"When were they supposed to arrive?" Legolas asked and glanced outside again.

"Your brother-" Thranduil started.

"Is here!" finished Oromer, pausing dramatically in the doorway before greeting Legolas with a gigantic hug.

Legolas pulled away from his brother's grasp and surveyed the tent, the forest path, with an old fear tugging at his heart. He asked, looking to his father, "Just Oromer? What of Idrian and Celeril? The twins are coming as well, are they not?"

Oromer and Thranduil exchanged glances. Oromer spoke up, "What do you mean, just Oromer?"

Legolas blinked. He squinted at his father, as if trying very hard to remember something, and then turned to face his brother. "I thought they were coming. Celeril and I had spoken of it." He sank onto the low bed next to his father and confusedly repeated, "I thought they would come…to say goodbye, at least." Legolas could not believe that his sisters had dismissed him so. True, he had not allowed them to accompany him to Lothlorien, but he had not thought that they would hold a grudge to the extent of not saying goodbye—not when they would be parted from him for years, decades, centuries to come, until meeting once again on the white shores of Valinor.

And for the first time since many long years, since his own mother's departure to the havens, Legolas felt the full meaning of separation, losing his family to his dream of building Ithilien. Thranduil reached his arm around his son's shoulder and gave a panicked look toward Oromer before he spoke. "Legolas," he said, "you have always been tender-hearted. Much like your mother, I fear. I see it in Celeril as well. Both of you suffer from the weight of your emotions, which is why…" Thranduil's voice trailed off. He had faced battle and grim steel, the many dark years of the Necromancer's shadow upon his wood, yet in this moment, fear ruled his heart like never before. He would lose Legolas. He could not keep him at home forever, but he would not lose him to grief.

Thanduil's throat tightened as he finished his statement, "which is why I decided to leave the girls at home. It was my choice. They are not coming."

Legolas' complexion, which had faded to a grim white, now flushed, mottled pink. The prince reached behind his back and brushed off his Thranduil's arm from his shoulders. His eyes burned with a cold, blue flame, and neither brother nor father had ever seen him so upset, so…angry. "Why?" he asked quietly.

Oromer spoke up, "Legolas, we thought it best for both you and Celeril."

Legolas hollowly laughed and said, "You thought it best! I suppose my opinion matters not."

Oromer's voice sharpened as he spoke, "Do not be so selfish, little brother. The pain of your leaving during the war nearly consumed Celeril! When you announced your plans for Ithilien, we feared the worst. Do not subject her to another parting, to another farewell."

"Why was I not told of this?" He said and despaired, 'Have they so little faith in me?'

"We feared as much for you, my son."

This was not to be borne. Utter disappointment fueled the prince's anger. Thranduil still thought him a child. He would always be the kid-brother to Oromer.

"I am not an elfling anymore, Father. Neither are my sisters. You have said that you were proud of me, even to the point of blessing my decision to forge my own realm in Ithilien…" Legolas' voice trailed away, and he frowned at his father and brother.

"Legolas—" Oromer began and took a step toward his brother.

"—and for what?" Legolas said chokingly as he turned away from Oromer, "you do not even believe that I have the strength within me to say goodbye." He took one last glance at his father and brother. The sky had deepened into a deep violet. Miredhel still waited for him. She believed in him.

"I am late," Legolas said plainly, "with your permission my king, I would leave now." And without waiting for his father's response, he left his tent and turned down the trail. The steely blue flame still burned in his eyes and deterred all would-be supplicants in his path, most remarking to themselves that they had never seen the young prince look so much like his father.

Legolas slowed his pace as he reached her tent. The sky had grown dark; he was indeed late, and he could see her silhouette through the gauzy awnings, moving from one end of the tent to another in a repeated fashion. He felt horrible and really no longer cared about attending the feast. Legolas would have almost considered sending his apologies to Miredhel, if at that moment she had not stepped into the dim evening light herself.

She had pulled the fabric of the door to the side and tied it with a long green sash. Holding a small candlestick in one hand, she peered into the night as if she searched for someone. 'Probably me,' Legolas thought ruefully, and he pulled himself into the shadows so he might not be seen. The wavering flame of her small candle flickered in the darkness, and the trailing beadwork of her white gown danced in its light. Her hair was a cascade of sheer gold and curls, and her eyes were wide and bright, and perhaps a little fearful too, as she searched the shadows of the trees. With disappointment written on her face, she turned to re-enter her tent.

Whether it was the regret in her eyes or her pure loveliness in the rising moon's light, the sight of her softened his heart. She waited for him. She trusted him. She missed him, and he found that he could not leave her so. She deserved much more than a servant's message of his excuses. He glanced at the small cluster of violet blooms he still held in his hand, which he had brought for her. He took a deep breath and then walked to her tent.

"Miredhel?" he called to her softly, "It is I, Legolas," and she pulled open the loose fabric of the door and beckoned him to step inside.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting," he said, not offering any explanations to his late arrival.

Well, it was rather difficult to turn away all of my would-be suitors in your absence," she returned with an easy smile.

Legolas smiled broadly, unwilling to reveal that he was, in fact, still very upset. Yet Miredhel was no fool; she knew something must have happened to keep the prince tonight, for he was never late. And though he dearly tried to hide it, she could read the pain lingering in his eyes.

Part of Legolas wanted to share with her all that had come to pass, of his family—his father, brother, and sisters. He was sure she would understand his disappointment. He felt that the two of them had reached a level of trust and confidence; however, the more sensible side prevailed. He knew better than to air his grievances about his father, the king.

"What troubles you?" she asked quietly.

"I would tell you," he began, "but alas, I cannot."

Miredhel spoke up. "But I know something is wrong," she said, "I would not count myself as your friend if I did not try to ease your pain."

Legolas looked at her with smoldering eyes, and the flames within had died away. "It is too personal…" he said uncomfortably.

She considered that for a moment, weighing the meaning of his words. "Is it any more 'personal' than what I told you last night?"

He shook his head ruefully, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Thinking it high time to change the subject, he produced the petite bouquet of flowers he had brought for her, which until now had been forgotten.

"I brought you these," he said, almost shyly.

Her eyes lit up. "Thank you. I have never before seen flowers such as these," Miredhel said, taking the blossoms from him and breathing in their soft fragrance.

Legolas smiled at her obvious pleasure in this small gift. "They are called 'purple crown,' and to my knowledge, grow only in this realm."

"They are lovely. I was just telling Limaer this afternoon how much I missed my favorite garden in Caras Galadhon," she said and looked about for a container to hold them.

While she searched, a thought came to Legolas, and he just could not help himself. "You miss your favorite garden?" he asked, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Would that be the 'Lovers' Ring' garden?"

"Yes, but only because the flowers and trees were so pretty, Legolas," she said with an amused look. Finally, she found a smallish water pitcher, still half full, and triumphantly placed the flowers within.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at her arrangement. "I fear you misunderstand," he said. "It has long been a custom in this forest for ladies to wear flowers in their hair, especially to events such as tonight.

"Oh," she murmured in surprise, "I did not know." She plucked the flowers from the pitcher and shook off the water. Miredhel pick up a hand mirror from among Limaer's finery and contrived to arrange the small violet blossoms against the halo of curls across the top of her head. "Like this?" she asked.

Legolas shook his head. Part of the custom, which he had failed to mention, was that the suitor who brought the flowers would take great delight in arranging them in his lover's hair, but Legolas was neither suitor nor lover, only friend. He would not claim intimacy when there was none.

So instead, he watched amusedly while Miredhel rearranged the flowers carefully, weaving the stems through the braids circling the crown of her head. His original resistance to helping her faded with each moment's passing. It was just that her eyes were so inviting under those tangled lashes of hers, and her skin, so creamy against her white filmy dress. He had always thought her pretty, but she surpassed all of his preconceived ideas tonight.

Miredhel noticed his staring. "I do not suppose you could bring it upon yourself to lend a little assistance," she asked after placing another tiny blossom in her hair. The whole thing looked lopsided.

"Are you sure you want me to?" Legolas asked hesitantly.

"Please," Miredhel insisted. "The more I do, the more dreadful it looks. It could not possibly look any worse." She handed him the flowers, sat down on the edge of her bed, and looked up at him expectantly.

Legolas bit his lip. At first he had thought the flowers had been such a good idea, but now he was not so certain. He had done this before, many times over. On more than one occasion, the lady in question had found herself in his arms. Yet at he leaned over Miredhel, his fingers felt clumsy and dull; his mouth, dry. To be so close to her, to feel her hair beneath his fingers in such a way, to breathe in her soft scent mixed with the maddening fragrance of the flowers—it was too much for the prince, and at the same time, not enough. Legolas could feel his heart race in the same way it had before the archery tournament. Only this was no contest, and he saw little chance for a favorable outcome. Whatever his feelings might be, he could not act on them. He had vowed never to renew his advances toward her after seeing her displeasure when they had first kissed, and Legolas held any vow or promise with the utmost seriousness. Only a word from her, only she, could break his resolution.

He tucked the final flower into her hair, and she held up the mirror and smiled in approval. "It is a tremendous improvement," she said and stood.

"Then allow me to escort you, Miredhel of Lorien, to this feast tonight," he said and offered his arm. She took it, and they left the warmth of the tent and stepped into the cool forest air. The dark of night had settled among the woods, and the soft chirping of crickets blended with elven song and laughter, drifting away from the forest clearing where the feast was to be held. Miredhel pulled in closer next to Legolas as they walked through the trees. She knew better than to be afraid, but still, these woods…who knew what lurked in the shadows?

Miredhel squeezed Legolas' arm a little tighter.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her.

"I was just thinking that this dress should have a belt for a knife," she said, "at the very least, a pocket."

"I think it is perfectly charming the way it is," he said, his voice full of admiration.

"Well, I suppose if we get attacked by orcs or spiders, then I will just 'charm' them to death," she said and met his gaze.

"Besides, you are with me, and I always carry a knife," he said.

"Oh, a knife. That is comforting," she said drolly.

"I can do quite a bit with a knife," he told her.

"I never said you could not."

"Hmm. Well, you will not have a chance to find out tonight, for we have reached the feast intact," Legolas said and brought her into the clearing.

Many Mirkwood elves were gathered there, dressed in green and brown, sitting on logs and stumps of the felled trees in a wide circle. A great fire roared at the center of the ring, and Legolas swept Miredhel to the front of the throng where his father and brother sat. Miredhel thought Legolas resembled them both, but perhaps looked the most like his father who wore a crown of leaves upon his golden hair. The Lorien elves laughed and sang with those from Mirkwood, and Miredhel saw that a great many of the maidens wore flowers in their hair, of all different shades, though none were so lovely as her own.

Both Thranduil and Oromer saw the purple flowers in her hair and exchanged knowing smiles. With the pretence that nothing had happened between himself and his family, Legolas greeted them cheerfully and introduced Miredhel to his brother. He then showed her wear to sit and smoothly took his place next to her.

Thranduil rose from his seat, and called to his people, "Here me, elves of Middle Earth! May we celebrate tonight the forging of a new elvendom, under the leadership of my son, Prince Legolas." He raised his glass. "To Ithilien!"

The rest of the crowd followed suit and toasted.

"And may I also give pause to recognize bravery in the face of evil. To the Lady Miredhel who felled the dragon Anglachur with a single shot." A quick murmur ran among the elves, and they raised their glasses to her. Thranduil bid her to approach his chair, and he gave her a small silver knife hafted with green and white gems in the hilt. She bowed her head to the king, but he lifted her chin and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for saving my son," he whispered to her.

She returned to her seat blushing. She could see her brother, Belegil, and Sulindal, among the host, and all of them looked incredibly proud and pleased. She had only seen them for the briefest moment since her return and longed to recount her tale to them, as well as hear of their journey since their separation. She turned to Legolas as she placed her knife before him on the table.

He grinned at her and said seriously, "Now you should no longer fear the shadows, my lady."

"No?" she said and looked at him inquisitively.

"No," he answered and unsheathed her knife with a certain relish, "the shadows should fear you!"

She laughed at this and took the knife from his hand. Its bright blade gleamed in the torchlight. "How perfect that your father gave me a knife, when I lost my old one in the dragon's claws." She paused and admired it. "Only my old one was not half so lovely as this."

"My father was going to give you a bracelet," Legolas admitted, "but I thought a warrior such as yourself would infinitely prefer a blade."

"Was it a very pretty bracelet?" Miredhel asked, pretending to be a little sad.

"Gorgeous!" Legolas replied. "White mithril, delicate white gems all over it." He winked at her. "You would have hated it!"

"Sounds horrible," Miredhel said dryly.

But Legolas only caught up her hand in his own. "Miredhel, with the way you look tonight, I am sure there will be no end to the elves who would wish to give you such jewelry," he said with a laugh, and as he spoke, the food began to be passed around in silver platters and bowls. Many elves began singing and harping again, the merriest of music, and though his words caused wonder in her heart, she could not help but laugh with him.

So the feast begins… Thank you for reading!


Chapter 23 - Into the Darkness

The feast truly met and surpassed all of the Lorien elves' expectations, and after everyone had their fill and felt that they could not possibly consumes anymore, the music began anew. Quick, merry, light, and loud, the wood elves' music swirled and eddied in the night air and on into the darkness against the crackling fire; more potent than a heady wine, the songs captured and occupied the elves' minds and hearts. Truly magical it was, with the power to enchant even the most stalwart of persons.

One by one, more elves joined the harps and singing, and then the dancing began. The world in its entirety seemed to shrink beneath the stars, and old troubles were forgotten; their cares slipped away like curls of smoke from the heat of many flames, and the whole of Middle Earth faded, save the night's milky array, the music, and the turn of dancers flushed with fire's glow.

With bright eyes, Miredhel and Legolas both watched the festivities from their table as they visited, speaking of old lives and new friends. Legolas told Miredhel of his visit to Fanghorn forest with Gimli after the war, highlighting how much the dwarf loved the woods.

"Every time a twig snapped or the leaves rustled, he jumped! And at one point, I just had to laugh. And I told him, Miredhel, that he should not worry because I would not let the big, scary trees get him…well, he said, 'the day I need an elf's protection is the day I am too old to carry my own axe.' Right as he said that, one of the ents came out of the wood, and Gimli all but dropped his axe and jumped behind me!"

Miredhel laughed and voiced how she would very much like to meet him and, in turn, recounted a very silly tale of how Eledhel had scared her and Annariel with a creepy story of an elven spirit that wandered in the Golden Wood, searching the shadows for his lover.

"We were afraid for weeks, " she said rolling her eyes at the memory. "Neither of us would even go outside after dark. When we finally found out that he had made it all up, I knew we would have to get even somehow."

"So what did you do?"

"Oh, I told Eledhel that someone had told me that Finduilwen, this maiden he had been courting, was the spirit's lover, and Annariel innocently asked him, 'would that not make the ghost very angry at you for trying to steal his love?'"

"What did Eledhel say?" Legolas asked, with a wry smile.

"He blanched and said that it was just a silly story, and it could not possibly be true. I told him that I had asked Finduilwen, and she had not denied it. A bit later on, he jumped up and said that he had to go see her." Miredhel smiled at the memory and continued, "It was a dark night, for the moon was hidden. We had gotten Belegil to paint his face white and hide behind a tree... I had never seen my brother leap so high as he did that night! But he never did tell us any more scary stories…" she concluded and pointed to her brother who danced with one of the wood elves.

"Look at him, Legolas," she said. "He seems to have completely embraced the culture of your people.

The prince studied her brother, dancing amidst the trees with a lovely maiden, for a moment and tucked away a smile playing at the corners of his mouth before saying, "He seems to embrace much more than just the culture right now, Miredhel."

Miredhel looked toward the couples dancing and then back to Legolas with a tilt of her head. "You have an uncanny gift for taking the things I say and giving them the worst possible meaning," she said with a snort.

Legolas smiled slyly and leaned back in his chair. "Ah, but that is the very least of my talents, Miredhel."

With that said, both fell into thoughtful silence, wondering if perhaps the other would wish to dance, and Legolas promised himself that on the next song, he would ask her to stand up with him. Yet fate had decided that the prince was not to have that chance. Just as Legolas had drummed up enough courage and willpower to dance with her and only dance, Eledhel approached the table. He took a precursory bow before the king and then greeted his friend and sister.

"Miredhel, you look completely lovely. I believe something about these woods suits you," he said, eyeing Legolas curiously, and picked up her gift knife lying before him. "A beautiful weapon," he observed, "and a very handsome gift from the king. Such silver and jewels I have not, my sister, yet you saved my life as well." He placed the knife back on the table and picked up her hand as he asked, "Could I have the honor of giving you a dance tonight instead?"

Miredhel could not help but smile at her brother's formal invitation, and she turned to Legolas. He nodded, but something in his eyes flickered, disappointment, perhaps? Eledhel pulled her away from the table, and together they joined the swirl of dancers in the middle of the clearing. Legolas watched them as they danced and berated himself for not asking her sooner, although he really did not begrudge Eledhel a dance with his own sister. If Celeril and Idrian had been here, he would have wanted to dance with them as well. They were not here, however, and Legolas flashed a disappointed look in his brother and father's direction as he stood.

He decided to move toward the dancing, so when the next song began, he could easily ask Miredhel to be his partner. As the end of the first song neared, however, one of the young captains from the Mirkwood forest guard cut-in on Eledhel and began the next dance with Miredhel. Legolas' jaw tightened with determination. That young captain, his name was Adrendil , notoriously pursued any maiden in which Legolas ever showed the slightest interest. He really thought himself quite the charmer and frequently boasted on his ability to steal the affections of elleth.

At that very moment, Adrendil and Miredhel swung by the prince, and he gave Legolas a roguish smile. The prince began to walk quickly toward them and might have even pulled them apart right then, if the thought had not occurred to him that his actions would only encourage the young captain even more. He frowned and turned away. He had, after all, subjected himself to this evening with the plan of showing Miredhel a good time, and at the moment, she hardly seemed to be suffering. Legolas considered for the briefest of moments returning to the table and being content merely to watch her dance with other fellows, but in the same amount of time, he dismissed that thought and began to think of a way to steal her away from his competition. After all, those were his flowers in her hair, and he was not the type of elf who took to losing easily. He decided that the best possible course of action would be to provide Adrendil with a distraction; his eyes busily scanned the groups of mingling elves when Limaer appeared at his side.

"Your highness, good evening," she said coyly. "How is it that you stand alone?" she inquired and stressed, "without a dance partner?"

He smiled softly at her. 'This is going to be too simple,' he thought happily and said aloud, "Limaer, would you give me the pleasure of this dance?"

She turned to face him in great smoothness and took his arm. "I would consider it an honor, my prince," she said with an almost predatory gleam in her eyes.

Legolas swallowed hard. He had not missed the hungry look Limaer had given him. This plan had to work. If it failed, he would most certainly be entertaining Limaer indefinitely.

"Then let us not waste another moment," he said, sneaking a glance at Miredhel as she cheerfully turned in the arms of Adrendil. Legolas steered Limaer through the dancing couples. She talked incessantly over the music, and Legolas wondered if she talked this much to Miredhel in their tent. If so, Miredhel had his full admiration. Occasionally, Limaer asked him a question, but she mostly chattered on about how exciting it must be to live in Eryn Lasgalen, and how beautiful the woods were, and not scary in the least, although she felt quite sure that not everyone from Lorien felt the same way.

Legolas gave her a confused look. Did she mean Miredhel? He did not have time to inquire, however, because at that moment Miredhel and the captain swung by them. From that point on, Legolas practiced extreme care to keep himself and Limaer in Adrendil's line of sight, and when the music finally wound down, Legolas had conveniently stopped dancing right behind the other couple.

Miredhel spotted them immediately. "Prince Legolas," she said with certain amount of surprise, "I am delighted to see you out dancing." Her eyes moved from Legolas to his partner, and she quickly added, "and with Limaer, no less. You two really are quite charming together."

Limaer beamed and tightened her hold on Legolas' arm. "Of course, Miredhel," she purred, "you have not yet introduced me to your partner."

"As host, please allow me the honor," Legolas said. "Lady Limaer, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Captain Adrendil, of the Forest Guard in Eryn Lasgalen."

Limaer curtsied, and then Legolas offered his arm to her again as another song began. "Let us all dance, shall we?" he asked, noticing with a building amount of hope how Adrendil's gaze drifted from Miredhel back to Limaer. Legolas acted as though he meant to lead Limaer away, and he dared not let his eyes linger on Miredhel. If only Adrendil would take the bait, then she would be his for the rest of the evening.

The captain took a step forward. "Prince Legolas," he called after him, "do you really think it fair to monopolize all of the most enchanting ladies of Lorien?" Legolas and Limaer both turned in their paths, and she smiled and batted her eyelashes at this most obvious compliment. Relief rushed through the prince. He dreaded the thought that he might have to share another dance with Limaer. His little scheme might actually work, but Legolas shoved these thoughts aside and regarded the captain coolly. He must not seem too eager, or Adrendil would be suspicious.

Legolas hesitated for a moment and then spoke slowly, "I would not want to be thought of as an ungracious host…" He stepped forward with Limaer toward the captain.

"Of course, you would not," said Adrendil. And he neatly slid between the prince and Lady Limaer, took her arm, and led her away.

Legolas hoped that he would not see the captain or his former dance partner again for the rest of the evening. Now he turned his full attention to Miredhel who, at the very least, looked rather confused.

"What just happened?" she asked.

Legolas simply smiled and shook his head. "Would you dance with me, Lady Miredhel of Lorien?"

She curtsied formally, but then gave him the slightest of winks as she answered, "Nothing would give me more pleasure, Prince Legolas."

So he took her hand in his own, again marveling at how perfectly her fingers fit against his own, and slid his arm around her waist. Surely dancing was one of the finest inventions of the Eldar yet, he concluded happily.

As they danced under the light of many fair stars, Legolas looked down to meet her gaze, to see if she enjoyed herself as much as he, but quite the opposite seemed true. Miredhel looked as if she were in pain. He stopped dancing and pulled her to the side.

"Miredhel, do you feel well? Does your ankle still hurt?" Legolas asked with alarm rising in his voice, and he silently cursed his own selfishness. He had been so preoccupied with the thought of dancing with her; he had not even given pause to wonder if she should…

Miredhel's eyes met his, and they brightened at his show of concern for her. "Legolas," she said gently, "before you arrived, I was prepared to make my excuses to that young captain and tell him that my ankle troubled me too much for dancing. How glad I was that you arrived when you did! For now I may freely dance with you. And I promise that my ankle feels perfectly well."

Legolas was still not entirely convinced.

I feel fine," she insisted. "If I frowned, it was because I was concentrating on not bungling the steps." Miredhel smiled slyly and added, "Although I am sure I could dance circles around you."

"Do you think so?" Legolas asked and peered down at the ankle in debate. It did appear to be in perfectly normal health.

"I know I could," retorted Miredhel. "We elves of Lorien are natural dancers."

Legolas freed a curl that had become tangled in the flowers in her hair and then took her hand back in his. "Would you care to make a wager based on that belief?" he asked as they began to dance again.

She could only laugh. "Oh, no. I have heard what happens when unfortunate young ladies make bets with the likes of you."

Legolas pretended to be shocked, then hurt. "I hardly know what you could mean by that, Miredhel," he said.

Miredhel arched an eyebrow and replied, "Oh, I think we both know fully well what I meant by that. My days of making any foolhardy bets are over."

"Well, I for one am very sorry to hear it, " Legolas said as he pulled her near and rested their hands together over his heart.

The music slowed, and Miredhel's thoughts drifted to bittersweet memories. So much had changed in her heart since that fateful wager in the garden. She could not help but remember how drearily time had passed since Annariel's death, and even the hours of the day had become a burden, an obstacle to overcome. She grieved for the loss of her friend, but even more so for the loss of the closest, sweetest friendship she had ever known; Miredhel despaired that she would never again know that joy—to have someone who understood her dreams, secret hopes, and weaknesses, and would love her all the same for them. Yet in the darkest hours of her grief, she had found friendship in Legolas; he, who knew her heart, even with all its flaws, still sought her companionship.

Miredhel leaned her head on his shoulder. Legolas thought perhaps they should sit down, that she might not be fully recovered, but his will-power to suggest that very thing diminished by the second. He could feel her breath on his neck and the warmth of her cheek through his tunic. He might have stayed with her like that all night, if not for the strong tap on his shoulder.

Legolas turned to see his brother standing behind him.

"I must have a word with you," he said, his face grave, and motioned for the prince to follow him.

Legolas reluctantly withdrew his hand from Miredhel's, and she gave him a sympathetic look. He turned to trail his brother to the edge of the clearing, and then on into the shadows of the trees.

"Legolas," Oromer began, "Father left the feast a few moments ago."

"Please tell me that you did not bring me out here to tell me just that," Legolas said sharply. He should have stayed with her. He could still feel the warmth of their dance. His eyes drifted back to the feast, but he did not see her. He hoped she did not already dance with another fellow.

"Legolas," Oromer repeated his brother's name. "He is very upset about your behavior."

"My behavior?" Legolas asked incredulously. "If anyone should be upset, it should be me."

"You scarcely spoke to him," Oromer pointed out, his grey-green eyes flashing.

"This is not to be borne, Oromer. I refuse to listen to this," Legolas said and began to turn away to return to the feast.

"Fine, my little brother," Oromer said smoothly. "Run away like you always do, from all your problems. Just like you are running away to Ithilien."

Legolas turned back around, and his brilliant blue gaze met that of his brother's. He strode to within an inch's space from Oromer. "I am not running away," he hissed, "and I am sick of you making me feel guilty for my decisions.

"It is your own selfishness that makes you feel guilty, not me, little brother," Oromer said and gripped him by the cuff of his arm.

Legolas jerked away. He had endured much on the battlefield. He had faced danger, even unto death, and had overcome great peril. Yet his older brother still saw him as a child, would always see him as such.

He spoke, and his voice was low. "What right did he have to do this to me, to her? He should not have separated us!"

"As our father and our king, he had every right," Oromer said, his eyes narrowing. "You really do not care about the people you leave behind, do you? Would you let her just waste away?"

"She is stronger than you give her credit for," Legolas insisted.

"You did not see her during the war, during your absence. You did not have to watch her slip away into almost a shadow as she faded…" Oromer's voice died away. "If you loved her half as much as she cares for you, you would not make her suffer so."

"I do love her! Your faithlessness will bend her to grief before my absence does," Legolas said stubbornly.

"What would you know of grief, Legolas?"

Legolas swallowed, and said, "I have seen much in the last year that has wrought my heart." He closed his eyes. For a moment, he could hear the sea's cry, calling him away to leave his cares on the shores of the havens.

Oromer's voice softened. "You are still very young, and so is she. Why will you not trust in our father's judgement?"

"Neither of you trust in mine." He looked toward the moon, which began to sink beyond the trees. He did not want to argue with Oromer, or his father for that matter. He wondered what Celeril felt right now. Was she fading, in grief? He knew his brother would not lie to him. He never wanted to cause his family pain, but he would not stay in Mirkwood.

Legolas' voice was hollow when he spoke, "My desires have outgrown these woods. I cannot stay here. And if that makes me selfish, so be it."

Oromer looked impassive. "You are a prince of Mirkwood, of Eryn Lasgalen." He frowned at his brother. "Have you no sense of duty?"

Legolas did not answer his question. Instead he clasped his brother on the shoulder and pointedly said, "You know she feels the same way. You cannot ;keep her here forever. She will want to leave these woods to see other lands, and when she comes seeking refuge in my realm, I will not refuse her."

Legolas left his brother and ventured into the darkness of the wood. His conversation with Oromer had left him feeling unsettled, and he wanted to clear his mind before rejoining the feast. Had he actually turned right then to reenter the forest clearing, he would have seen that Miredhel waited patiently for him by the edge, her face drawn and white because she had overheard part of their discussion; she had seen him retreat into the shadows.

Miredhel had not meant to overhear Legolas' conversation with his brother. Well in truth, she had mostly not meant to overhear what they said. She had originally moved to the side of the clearing to wait for Legolas without being in the way of anybody. Then she started to hear snatches of their conversation when Oromer and Legolas raised their voices at each other. They spoke of a female; who she was, Miredhel did not know. Apparently she was of great importance to Legolas; he had told his brother that he loved her. Miredhel did not know why that admission bothered her so. Could this maiden elf be the one Legolas sang of the night before? Her perfect memory recalled his silvery words, the heartbreak in his voice when he sang:

Softly now she haunts each dream, and every moment waking,

I hear her cries, her murmured song, the will within me breaking.

With deepest blue and brightest gold…

She bit her lip. She decided that the king must have separated them for some reason, putting an end to their love affair, but obviously that did not change Legolas' feelings for this mystery elf.

Miredhel returned to the table, feeling more than just a little rejected. Apparently her friendship was merely a distraction for the prince. She drooped down in her chair, where before she had been so happy—talking with Legolas and joking with him. She picked up her knife, the gift from Thranduil, and played with the hilt in her hand, feeling its impressive weight, familiarizing herself with flipping it in her palm. Torchlight ricocheted from its green jewels and silver engravings. She swung the knife, still sheathed, in her hand. Legolas had shown her kindness. She tossed the knife to her left hand. When she had told him Annariel's story, he had mourned with her, their sorrow binding their hearts in a way neither really understood. Miredhel flipped the knife back to her right hand and unsheathed it. The fire's flames danced in reflection from the blade. She heard steps behind her and set the knife back on the table. It was Limaer.

"Miredhel, where is Prince Legolas?" she asked, surprised to see her friend alone.

"Attending to royal business, something or other," Miredhel replied curtly.

"Perhaps it is well that he is not with you at the moment," Limaer said.

Miredhel did not acknowledge Limaer's comment with a response. She knew that Limaer was probably bursting with some gossip about Legolas. She had heard enough.

However, Limaer was not put off though by Miredhel's silence. She blithely continued on, "Adrendil told me that Prince Legolas had been courting one of his advisor's daughters, a maiden by the name of Lierwen, that they had been very amorous before he left for Lothlorien. Can you believe it?"

Miredhel looked to the woods where she had seen Legolas and Prince Oromer talking. "Yes," she whispered, really more to herself than to Limaer.

"I am sorry, Miredhel, that I teased you so about the prince. When all along he has probably been engaged to that other maiden!" Limaer said in a huff. She looked closely at Miredhel. She sat so quietly with her hands folded in her lap; her eyes, downcast. "Miredhel? Are you well?"

Miredhel snapped her head up and pasted a smile on her face. "I am quite well, Limaer. Thank you."

"Hmm. Well, Adrendil offered to escort me back to our tent, so I suppose I will see you later." Limaer looked suspiciously at Miredhel and then left.

Miredhel watched her leave and then picked up the knife. Legolas had not returned. Perhaps this 'Lierwen' had been the maiden that Legolas and his brother discussed; perhaps the king did not approve of their relationship; perhaps they were not allowed to see each other. Miredhel was sick of 'perhaps.' She would find out the truth for herself. She would confront the prince with the facts. If he were truly her friend, then he would unburden himself. She looked dubiously at the dark woods. How many times had this wood been the subject of her dreams? Miredhel squeezed her eyes shut. She had barely been able to walk through it during the day. It was foolhardy to go now, in the dead of night.

"Coward," she said to herself. Those were only dreams. Legolas was there. She would start on his path and find him easily. She picked up her knife and headed into the forest.


Chapter 24 - Into the Light

At first the bonfire lit the ground beneath the trees, and Miredhel could see easily enough. She started in the direction that Legolas had left. Soon the lights of the clearing dimmed to a mere twinkle. The music faded into the chirp of crickets and the night song of birds. She moved smoothly twixt the trees, her eyes anxiously scanning her path. Occasionally she saw the glimmer of yellow eyes, in the trees, on the ground. She remembered Legolas telling her about the spiders of his forest.

Miredhel gripped her knife. He could not have gone very far, could he? The woods grew darker, only illuminated by a pale slice of moon from behind clouds. She could no longer see the bonfire behind her. She remembered very how she had foolishly not told anyone that she was leaving. What if Legolas had already returned to the feast and thought that she had left with Limaer? The best course of action would be to return to the forest circle.

Behind her, a twig snapped.

Miredhel slid behind a tree. "Legolas?" she asked hopefully, knowing that a wood elf like the prince could walk soundlessly through the forest. Whatever that was, it was not he. Miredhel studied the tree behind her, wondering if she could seek refuge in its branches. She looked down at her long white gown--beautiful, yes, but not so useful for climbing. The footfalls grew closer.

Miredhel aborted the idea of climbing a tree. She left the path and hastily moved from tree to tree, seeking protection from their broad trunks. Another pair of yellow eyes flickered in the dark. Miredhel sucked in her breath. Her idea had been so foolish. She should never have come. She pushed her way through several large ferns and underbrush, well aware of the steady tread behind her.

She would sneak back to the path, if she could find it and then speed back to the clearing. Hopefully, she could outrun this forest creature. She unsheathed her knife and waited. The forest grew silent. Her stalker had stopped. She picked up her skirts in her free hand that held the jeweled knife scabbard and very carefully began to loop her way back to the path. 'Please, do not let it be one of those spiders,' she prayed. After all, the Lady Galadriel had cleansed the forest of the creatures, had she not?

In the moonlight, she could see the forms of many velvety black moths flitting amidst the silvery moss and crackled lichens that gleamed in the tree branches. Vivid memories of an old dream returned to her, one in which she had seen Annariel in Mirkwood, fighting—the battle, the blood. She had seen these moths in her dream. Dark, silent guardians, rising in the haze of arrows and black orcs, they hid her friend from her sight. Miredhel clenched her eyes shut at the memory, as real as life it was.

When she opened her eyes, she caught a dim figure move before the trees in front of her, blocking her access to the path. An orc? She was trapped. Miredhel tightened her hold on her knife. She silently crept toward the path, her knife poised in the air before her. Three more steps. Two more steps. She took a deep breath and willed her heart to stop pounding. She squeezed the handle of her blade. One more step.

But before Miredhel could act, the orc leapt from around the tree, pinning her shoulders to the ground. Her knife clattered to the forest floor. Her arm stretched out to reach it when the creature's claws caught in her hair, pulling back her head to expose her neck. The cruelty in his eyes consumed her. She twisted beneath his weight. She would have cried out, if not for his blade pressed to her throat, sticky with dried gore.

"Go ahead and scream," he hissed. "Tastier for me…" He delighted in the fear in her eyes. She would do nicely.

Miredhel watched his eyes roam from her body to her hair, and the beast growled, a thick rumble against her chest. She held her breath.

"Urgrech," he cursed with pleasure. "Prince's love!"

"What?" Miredhel gasped.

The orc ripped some blooms from her hair and held them to the moonlight. Miredhel's arm was free again. She stole a glance to where her knife lay, and covertly reached to grab it.

The orc ran a claw down her cheek, and she shuddered despite herself. He shredded the purple blossoms in his claw. "You have the flowers in your hair," he growled. "The royal house…a sweet prize." He took his knife from her throat and dragged it across her collarbone, leaving a jagged trail of red droplets. He inhaled the scent, his eyes growing more frenzied by the second. She did not have long. He would torture her and then kill her, if she were lucky. If she were not, then she would have to kill herself on her own.

Miredhel's fingers brushed against her knife hilt. The orc glided his finger along where he had cut her and brought it ravenously to his mouth.

"My friends search for me even now," she bluffed. "If you leave now, I will spare your wretched life." Using her fingertips, she slowly rolled the knife toward her, just a little closer…

The orc spat in her face, unaware of her plan. "Your friends'll get theirs! I know Anglach—" and he stopped himself. "Lies!" he howled instead, and the miserable creature raised his wicked blade in the air.

Miredhel flinched, as he plunged his dagger back toward her throat. She jerked to the side and caught his wrist in mid-air with her left hand. His sinewy black arm bore down, the blade licking her neck, as she tried to push him back. Her right hand shot out. She triumphantly grabbed her knife.

"Sana sina, mereth en draugrim," she whispered and drove her blade home into his neck.

He howled, and then gurgled. His hot, black blood spurted across her skin, her body, and she pushed him off of her. She lay there, bloodied and frightened, more frightened now than before. Miredhel looked at the creature beside her, his throat hung open and steaming, and promptly threw up. She decided that she hated orcs.

She might have lain there all night long, feeling incredibly sorry for herself, if she had not seen another figure creep down the path. An orc, she guessed. Her luck could not get any better.

She picked up her knife and forlornly crawled between a bush and tree trunk, crouching in silence until the figure rounded the tree. With a shout, she jumped up, but the orc turned and turned too quickly and caught her arm, pulling a knife to her throat.

"Not again," she mumbled.

"Miredhel?"

She relaxed. "Legolas?" she asked, and he released her. He dragged her into the moonlight.

"You are positively black with…orc blood! What happened to you?" he asked angrily, surveying the twigs in her hair, the blood down her neck and dress.

"I.." she started to say.

"What were you doing out here, alone?

"Well, it is a…" She stopped and looked back at the dead orc. Her lips quivered.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly and brought his hand to her cheek and brushed her hair away from her face and neck. "You have been wounded," he observed and traced the line with his finger.

She looked back at the orc. "I killed him," she said plainly, pointing at the dead body.

Legolas' eyes widened, and he moved to kneel beside it. "'Tis a good thing we gave you the knife tonight, and not the bracelet." He looked at the garb and weapon as if he were trying to place it, and then picked up the knife.

"Not poisoned," he said with a relieved sigh, "but he may not have been alone." He pulled Miredhel to him, and together they hurried down the path.

Their appearance at the bonfire created a stir, and Belegil and Sulindal rushed toward them. "Miredhel, are you well?" they asked, almost simultaneously.

She nodded miserably and then asked, "Where is my brother?"

The twins exchanged glances, "He, err, left to walk a young lady home." Sulindal told her.

Legolas frowned and then said, "Miredhel killed an orc in the woods."

"There could be more," Belegil pointed out.

"I know. Both of you assemble search groups, and I'll join you with my some of my king's guard."

Belegil saluted and left, but Sulindal remained. He took a long look at Miredhel and then pulled Legolas to the side.

"What about Miredhel?" he whispered.

"I will send someone to take her back to the camp."

"You will send someone? What was she doing out there anyways?" Sulindal asked and raised an eyebrow.

"I am not exactly certain, you know," he admitted.

"She looks frightened," Sulindal observed. "She would probably feel better if someone she knew stayed with her," he said and looked at the prince. "We can track orcs easily enough without much assistance, my lord."

Legolas hesitated and then walked back to Miredhel.

"Report back when you have finished and send runners to alert the King," he told Sulindal. He put his arm around her shoulders. "Shall we?"

They walked most of the way back in silence. Legolas was mostly angry, and Miredhel felt mostly frightened. He did not ask anymore questions, and she did not freely supply any information. When they reached her tent, both elves were amused and surprised to see the silhouette of two figures in her tent.

Legolas and Miredhel exchanged glances.

"This night keeps getting better and better," she moaned, and Legolas simply led her away.

"Come on," he said. As they walked further into the encampment, he spied one of his father's footmen and stopped him. "The Lady has had an accident. Please find her a suitable garment and bring it to my quarters."

Miredhel stayed silent and merely followed him to his tent. He ushered her inside, sat her down on his bed, and brought some linen and a shallow basin of water. She smiled a small grateful smile and wordlessly began to wipe the blood away from her face, neck, and body. He handed her a clean strip and she pressed it to her wound.

"I have decided that I never want to see another orc again," she said at last. "I am not sorry I killed him."

"He would have abused and killed you," Legolas said quietly.

"I know," she answered in a small voice. She brought her hand to her hair and began pulling out loose twigs and pine needs, all the while avoiding his eyes.

"Why were you out there?" he asked, his voice deliberate.

"To search for you," she said. "I waited for you at the clearing, but…"

"I am sorry." His voice was soft, and he reached toward her hair to remove one of the remaining flowers and offer it to her. "Please forgive me."

She absentmindedly traced the cut across the top of her chest. "I do not blame you, Legolas. It was all my fault, to be so foolish." She took the small violet flower in her fingertips. "He recognized these," she said and looked up at him expectantly.

"Did he?" Legolas asked with a certain amount of surprise. "Try not to think about it anymore, Miredhel. You should rest."

"No, Legolas. The orc. He…he did not call it purple crown. He called it something else."

"Something else?" Legolas asked reluctantly, and his eyes were full of concern and worry.

"Yes, the orc called it," Miredhel looked down and whispered, "prince's love?"

Legolas blinked. He had hoped she would not have heard that. "Well, Miredhel," he said carefully, "you really cannot expect an orc to know the proper name for a flower."

"No, I suppose not," she said and stood up, placing her bandage in the basin beside her. "But he knew," she said shakily, "he knew it was yours, Legolas- 'the royal house,' he said."

The prince picked up the basin and turned away from her. He sat it on a small table and wiped away at some spilt water. His heart had betrayed him in this. He should have known better, than to give her those, no matter how he felt! He could not be false with her now, not when she had stumbled upon the truth. He could not lie and say it meant nothing, nor could he break his former word to her.

"Miredhel," he said softly and turned to face her. "the flowers are prince's love. I knew it when I chose them for you…I wanted you to have them. I hoped that I could give them to you without you finding out their popular name. I am sorry," he said, his eyes pained.

"Legolas, no," she said gently.

"No, Miredhel. I cannot be sorry. My feelings toward you remain unchanged. I made a promise to you in haste, one that I have completely regretted since, but I will stand by my word," he said with a determined look. "I hope this will not spoil our friendship."

"Legolas, how can you say that? To have feelings for me?" Miredhel asked brokenly. "I know of your affair with Lierwen."

Legolas' eyes widened. "How did you hear about that?"

"I have my ways," Miredhel insisted. "Do not try and deny your love for her. I can only be happy for you."

"But Miredhel, we broke off our courtship even before I went to Lorien."

"But you still love her," she argued. "I heard you singing in the night, Legolas. You know that song, about hearing her call you in your dreams, and the gold and the blue. I heard it all!"

Legolas sat down on the bed. His face turned red, and Miredhel could not tell if he were angry or embarrassed. When he began to laugh heartily, she frowned.

"Miredhel, sweet Miredhel!" he said happily. "The song you heard, I sang of the sea!"

"The sea?" she asked dumbly.

"Yes," Legolas said and reached for her hand to pull her near. "I have the sea-longing as due my Sindarin heritage; ever since the war I have had it. Some nights are worse than others. The night you heard me singing was the worst I had felt since I heard the gulls' cry at Pelargir."

Miredhel suddenly felt incredibly foolish. She looked toward the door and wished she could leave, but Legolas still firmly held her hand. A single tear ran down from her eye.

He looked up at her where she stood next to him near the bed. He rose and smoothed his hand across her cheek. "One word from you will silence me on this matter forever…" he began, but did not finish his statement as Miredhel leaned in and claimed his lips for her own.

She held tight to his hand in her own and wrapped her other arm around his shoulders, and Legolas, overcoming his initial shock, kissed her back. She pulled away first, and they leaned toward one another breathlessly. His eyes nervously searched hers.

"If I kissed you again, you would not slap me like you tried to in the garden, would you?" he asked.

"I might hit you if you did not," she told him. So he pulled her in even closer to his body, wrapping both of his arms tightly around her waist, and kissed her again, this time memorizing her taste and the feel of her body next to his. They probably would have kissed for much longer than they actually did, for someone entered the tent.

"Ahem," he said, and both Miredhel and Legolas jumped in unison. It was Sulindal, and he had a very amused and pleased, and even smug, look on his face. "We searched the perimeters of the area and posted new guards. We found the carcass of the one, but did not find any others. The king wishes to speak with you, now, Legolas."

"Tell him I will be there directly," he said, and Sulindal saluted (and winked) and left.

The prince pulled away from her and held her at an arm's length. "The servants should bring you something to wear shortly, melamin," Legolas said and looked at her longingly. "Sleep here tonight. I do not feel like I shall have a chance to return until dawn." He kissed her one more time and then once more, before he made way to his father's summons.




Miredhel's elvish to the orc: *Take this, feast of wolves!


Chapter 25 - Unexpected

Legolas stopped in his path and silently ran his finger along his bottom lip. She had kissed him. He had not expected that! The stars hung low and bright as they had for the past millennia, and the tall beeches held their ever silent vigil, yet all seemed more vivid, brighter, bolder, darker—a world of contrasts, of opposites: dark, light; cold, hot; strength, frailty; pain, bliss. Miredhel. Legolas. Difference perfected in combination. The elf's breath hung in the cold night air as he clasped the small violet flower that she had pressed in his hand before he left, and he gently placed it in his pocket. Legolas leaned against the nearest tree trunk and clapped his hands to his burning cheeks to cool them and then to his chest as if to calm his heart.

Oh, that he might return to her, to secure her feelings once more, for truly his heart lingered there in that tent with her. She trusted him, even to returning his affection. She had kissed him; again, he marveled at her daring and at his surprise. Of course, he had hoped, even imagined that she would respond to him in such a way, but Legolas had not anticipated that the dreamt of event would occur this very evening. Now he had to leave her to go to some infernal council meeting. What if she changed her mind in his absence? Or regretted her actions? He should not have left her.

"If only I could have stayed there with her, held her, kissed her," Legolas murmured to himself. He glanced backwards with regret and combed his fingers through his hair. There was so much he wanted to tell her, to show her, so that she could understand the depths of his feeling.

He felt everything as he walked: the scent of fresh fir tinged with smoke, the feel of the small pebbles and pine straw beneath his feat, the cold air burning his lungs, and he cared for none of these things as his mind's eye strained towards her—the light brown flecks in her hazel eyes, the way one look from those eyes had made him feel, the bliss from knowing the touch of her lips, and the excruciating pain of parting from them. For a fleeting second, Legolas considered the possibility of ignoring his father's summons, and a lesser elf might have done as much; however, Legolas was an elf of duty. He took his responsibilities seriously. Despite his surfeited anger towards his father, he would always owe allegiance to Thranduil, the king. The large canopy of his father loomed ahead. Legolas was not one to turn back.

He slipped into his father's council meeting, quietly observing that Belegil and Sulindal had been asked to join as well. Some of the captains of the forest guard, including Adrendil, numbered among the circle. No on really talked, but whispered hushed speculations. Legolas evaded his father's eyes and instead of taking his place in the empty seat next to the king, he slid into one of the empty chairs by Sulindal. His friend permitted himself the smallest of smiles upon seeing the prince's bright cheeks and eyes.

"How fares her ladyship?" asked Sulindal.

"Still frightened, but feeling better," Legolas replied, wondering how much Sulindal had seen. However much, it was too much for his comfort. His tent needed a lock on the door.

"So I should think," Sulindal said, his eyes twinkling.

Legolas ignored the amused tone in his friend's voice. He asked, "Has her brother been informed of the incident?"

"To which incident do you refer? The one with the orc or the one where you—"

Legolas shot him a dirty look, and Sulindal smugly swallowed his words to become serious once more. "No, he does not know, but he is on his way here now, I believe."

Legolas nodded in approval. "He will not be pleased."

"To say the very least," Sulindal agreed.

The prince looked about and then lowered his voice to say, "Something more must have happened for my father to call such a council. He would not do this for the sighting of one measly orc."

"And at such a late hour," Belegil said, leaning over to join their conversation.

"When was the last time the wood elves met for a council?" Sulindal inquired.

Legolas did not hesitate in his answer, "Before the War. When Gollum escaped, the council convened and decided that I should bear the tidings to Imladris…and Estel, who had charged me to keep the wretch." He shook his head at the memory.

Eledhel soon joined them with a puzzled look on his face. "What has happened?" he asked the prince, but Legolas did not have time to explain.

"Let this council begin," announced Thranduil. "I have called you here to represent the interests of not only Eryn Lasgalen, but Ithilien as well," he said and nodded toward Legolas and his Lorien friends. He continued in a grim voice, "We have known the threat of darkness for years uncounted. Now I fear we must face the shadow again."

The council stirred uneasily. One of the king's most respected advisors, Inglor, who had entered service under Oropher, spoke up, "My king, forgive my ignorance, but I have heard only rumors of the truth, that a foolish maiden crossed paths with a lone orc." He paused and locked eyes with the king, one of few elves bold enough to do so. "But you would not summon the council for such an encounter. What has happened?" he asked simply.

And the council fell into excited debate as to the night's unfortunate events.

"A maiden has been killed in our wood by orcs!" cried one.

"Nonsense, Prince Legolas rescued her and killed them," suggested another.

"It was that Lady Miredhel, the one that he had brought to the feast," Adrendil corrected.

Eledhel, who had been quietly listening to the rumors fly, now jumped from his seat.

"WHAT?" he shouted and charged over to Adrendil. Eledhel grabbed him up by the collar. "What did you say?" he hissed, and his face drained from red to stark white, and his hand visibly shook as it gripped Adrendil's shirt front.

"What did you say?" he repeated venomously, and pure terror hung on Adrendil's face. Legolas and Sulindal were there in a second and pulled Eledhel back to his seat. The prince very much wanted to see what Eledhel might do to the young captain, who had tried to steal Miredhel away from him, but his compassion for his friend bid him to respond quickly and allay his fears.

Adrendil smoothed his tunic and sat down crimson-faced, but his eyes flashed contempt for the one who had just humiliated him so. Many of the Mirkwood guards who felt loyalty toward their brother in arms had jumped from their chairs ready to defend him against the Lorien elf's murderous actions. The wood elves and Lorien elves eyed each other suspiciously, and the council neared the edge of a brawl.

Thranduil stood and waved his hands, "Hush! Sit down, sons of the forest! We cannot tarry in idle speculation, nor can we allow misunderstanding to color our judgments." He turned to face Legolas who hurriedly tried to soothe Eledhel's fears.

"Prince Legolas will begin by recounting his knowledge of the events."

So Legolas told, as briefly as possible, how Miredhel had killed the orc in the woods before he had found her.

"Did she see any others?" Thranduil asked his son.

"I believe not," the prince answered, "but I looked at his gear—"

"Did the orc say anything to her?" Thranduil asked sharply.

Legolas wondered at his father's tone. "Yes," he said and paused. He knew what the orc had said about the flowers, calling them prince's love.

"Well, what did he say?" prompted Oromer, who sat to the right of their father.

Legolas eyed his brother warily, and both princes stiffened in their seats. "The orc recognized the flowers in her hair as being from Mirkwood," he said.

"Well, that is hardly useful information," scorned his brother.

"Not necessarily," countered Inglor, who had always favored the younger of the princes of Mirkwood. Much of Legolas reminded him of his old king, his old friend, Oropher. He continued, "If the orc recognized the flowers, then he might also have known their importance. Prince Legolas, what did the young lady in question say exactly?"

Legolas shifted and uncomfortably glanced at Eledhel. His friend seemed relaxed, but his hands were balled into white-knuckled fists on his lap. Now was not the best time for this discussion. He carefully considered his words before he spoke and then said flatly, "The orc knew that the flowers belonged to the royal house." Hopefully, that admission would do!

Inglor smiled. He had watched Legolas since his birth, grow from elfling to adulthood, and it was obvious to him that the young prince attempted to conceal something.

Legolas saw Inglor smile, and his own eyes widened. He quickly glanced to Eledhel at his side, and then slightly shook his head at Inglor. The whole exchange lasted for only the briefest of moments, and no one else in the council had seen, except perhaps Sulindal, who just happened to be a keen observer, and Thranduil, who made it his business as king to notice everything.

Inglor said, "If the orc had knowledge of the royal house, then we can conclude two things: One, he obviously had spent time in our forest. Secondly, someone has either informed him of the marks of the royal family, or he had spied it for himself."

"Could he have been a remnant of the Dol Guldur forces?" asked Belegil. Some of the forest captains nodded in agreement.

"When we returned to search the area, the carcass had been stripped. Armor and weapons, even the clothing, were gone," Sulindal added to his brother's statement.

"And I had left the body in tact," finished Legolas.

The council buzzed at these findings, and Thranduil raised his voice, "So something must have returned to remove these articles. Our lonely orc was not so alone after all." He stopped to eye the circle, and when his gaze reached the twins from Lorien, he asked, "Tell me of your findings, Belegil of the Golden Wood."

"We scoured the area and found a few tracks, but nothing absolute. These orcs took care not to be found."

"Perhaps it would benefit the council to bring Lady Miredhel before the king so he could question her," Adrendil suggested.

Eledhel gripped the armrests of his chair, and Legolas' eyes narrowed at Adrendil. Sulindal spoke up, "She is weary and frightened. Let her rest."

"Who are you, her nursemaid?" Adrendil scoffed.

Sulindal paid no attention to the captain's baiting, except to raise an eyebrow at his foolishness.

"I agree with Sulindal. She has been through much and has told all she knows," Legolas said quickly.

"If she could add any amount of detail that cold provide insight to this possible orc conspiracy in our borders, then it would behoove the council to hear her," Adrendil persisted, looking about for others to support his argument. The king looked impassive, but not completely unmoved by his suggestion.

"We already know enough to conclude that a band of orcs has traveled through this part of the forest," Belegil pointed out.

Suddenly Eledhel spoke up. It was the first time he had spoken since he had charged Adrendil, and his voice seemed hollow. "Where was she?"

"Outside the bonfire…in the forest," Legolas answered him.

Eledhel nodded thoughtfully, and his grey eyes seemed distant. "For many years, I served as a marshal of the guard in the Golden Wood, yet there is little to this problem that makes sense to me. As base as they may seem to us, these orcs can be cunning enemies. It will not do to underestimate them." He paused and looked at Adrendil. "They proved clever enough to slip between your watch, Captain."

"What exactly are you trying to imply, Lorien elf?" Adrendil bristled.

"My question is this," Eledhel asked coolly, "if these orcs were clever enough to elude capture, then why were they foolish enough to wander so close to an elven camp?"

"Unless of course, they were supposed to," Inglor suggested. "Prince Legolas' friend is quite right, King Thranduil. These orcs are not completely foolhardy . They entered the woods with the purpose of gaining proximity to our camp. There can be no other way to see it. If they were spoiling for a fight, they would have come in much greater numbers."

Thranduil nodded and stroked his chin, though doubt hung in his eyes. "They game to gather information?" the king asked a bit incredulously. Many of the elves in the council nodded in agreement, but not all were persuaded. Even Legolas was not wholly convinced.

"If what you say is true, then what can their object be?" he asked, and his eyes met his father's in agreement. Even though they might not have been on the best terms, they were still father and son, and their minds worked in a very similar fashion. No one had answered his question, so he added, "What kind of information could they possibly gather?"

"I must agree with my brother, here," Oromer straightened in his chair. "This is a send-off for Prince Legolas, not a war party." A buzz went around the circle once more, with many of the elves affirming the princes' insights. Legolas pushed his hands through his hair and began to feel impatient. This council meeting had proved futile so far. Much had been discussed, but no conclusions gained. He eyed his brother and knew that Oromer felt the same way. Next to him he heard Sulindal mutter something under his breath. Legolas' ears pricked, and he glanced at his friend.

"What if that is their aim?" Sulindal asked quietly. "To find out about the elves bound for Ithilien? Their numbers, their strength, their leader…" His remark hung in the air, and the room grew silent as each member of the council contemplated the possibility.

Finally, Inglor spoke. "They could have done so with much more ease before you actually reached the wood."

"And perhaps they did, or tried to any how," guessed Legolas, wrinkling his nose at the memory. "We came across a scorched raiding party on the road."

"Courtesy of the dragon," added Belegil.

Thranduil sighed and spoke, "We cannot neglect the point that Sulindal raised. The Ithilien elves may very well be the target of these orcs, but we also must consider the other possible threat—this dragon." Thranduil turned his gaze to Legolas, and the prince did not look away. "My son, do you believe this dragon to be truly dead?"

Legolas faltered. "Have you heard any report to the contrary?"

"Not yet, but I would not jeopardize the future of many on hearsay and speculation."

Legolas stiffened; he could feel the heavy weight of every eye in the council resting on him. He knew now why his father had called this council: to try and convince him to stay. His father counted on the fact that Legolas would not openly disagree with him in public. As king, he had instilled that value in his sons since their births.

"I saw Anglachur the Black fall," he insisted. "He would not have let us escape if he had possessed the power to stop us."

"It is my recommendation that your people stay in this realm under my protection until we can guarantee their safety." He stood up as if to signal an end to the meeting, and Legolas stood up as well.

Legolas feared his voice would shake, but spoke anyways. "I cannot agree with this recommendation," he said boldly.

The other elves who had been getting ready to leave stopped in their paths and stared. Inglor and several of the older Mirkwood elves raised their eyebrows at the unusual scene before them. As a royal family, the House of Oropher has always been as one. Thranduil's sons acquiesced to their father's every wish, especially Legolas who was much more soft-spoken than his older brother. Some might have expected this from Oromer, but Legolas? Never.

Both Thranduil and son gazed coolly at one another. Thranduil spoke first. "Then what would the 'Lord of Ithilien' suggest?"

"We should send…" Legolas started to say, but did not get to finish his statement as a trio of scouts rushed in the tent to stand before the king. They bowed and then hastily began to speak.

"My king, ill tidings I must bring. We have ridden from beyond the southern edge in great haste. A large party of orcs skirted our borders, heading east and then turned south."

Thranduil grimaced. "A large party you say?" How large?"

"The largest I have seen since the War, more than just a ragged band. They marched with order, my king."

Another one of the scouts came forward and said, "We were more than a league away, but I could feel the heat of their malice, their hate."

"How many? Two hundred? Five hundred?" The king asked impatiently.

"My king, forgive me. I started counting the rows and how many were in a row. So many." He shook his head. "I stopped counting at four thousand when we decided to leave and report, but the rest of the line seemed to stretch for a mighty length." He backed away, and most of the council paled at his words.

"This is a rude awakening indeed," said the king, and he sunk into his chair on the dais.

Legolas approached his father's chair and kneeled. His face had drained to an unearthly ashen color, and his voice shook with urgency bought of fear. "Father, these are dangerous days yet. If those legions of orcs turned south, they can only be headed toward Gondor." He thought of the many villages and towns that were unprotected now, in these times of peace. Even Minas Tirith kept its gates open now during daylight. "Father, please. Let me ride and warn them." His eyes pleaded with the king.

"Legolas, no. It is too dangerous."

"I will not ride alone. I can take a group of warriors with me. We can move faster than the enemy and slip past them."

"No, my son. I will not have you risk your life and others' in such a careless fashion."

"What of Gondor?" the prince insisted. "Their defenses are minimal at best right now. "Hundreds of innocent people could die."

Thranduil looked at his son, warningly. "I said—"

Legolas interrupted, "I know what you said! But we have a chance to warn them. Would you have their blood on their hands?"

The council murmured. They had never seen the prince so agitated, or defiant for that matter. The king's patience with his son diminished, and Thranduil rose from his chair.

"I would not have your blood and that of other elves on mine, if I sent you. Do I need to remind you, Prince Legolas where your allegiance lies?"

Legolas rose from where he had knelt at his father's chair. He looked in his father's eyes and swallowed. His own eyes felt bright and wet from the confrontation, and on the inside, he was a mass of jagged, raw nerves.

"I do know where my allegiance lies," Legolas answered sadly, "and I accept your offer of protection for my people."

Thranduil nodded at his son with a sense of immense satisfaction, pleased that his son acted sensible once more. Legolas was not finished, however; he reached for the slight golden circlet on his head, his prince's crown and removed it.

"My allegiance lies with Gondor now, father," Legolas said and handed the crown to the king. "Ithilien lies in its borders. My sense of duty will not permit me to stand idly by and allow a slaughter."

Thranduil's eyes darkened as he stared down at the circlet dangling loosely in his hands, and his fingers tightened around it. "You would choose to leave against my wishes? To ride in the defense of men?"

"I would hope to ride with your blessing, Father, but my answer remains unchanged. I shall leave under the pain of banishment, or I shall leave with your favor. The choice is yours, but either way I will leave." His eyes and voice did not waver at this last declaration; his resolute exterior belied the sea of conflict within. He felt as though his heart might break upon seeing his father's face slip for a moment, revealing the grief and pain inflicted by his youngest.

Thranduil recovered, and in an instant, manufactured a grim and kingly countenance. "So be it, Lord of Ithilien," he said.

Legolas' eyes flickered at the coldness in his father's voice. He looked around the circle before him as he spoke. "Ithilien will be naught but a dream, if Gondor falls to some dark purpose." He raised his fair voice, thick with emotion. "So we face the twilight of our years in Middle Earth. I would not spend that time isolated, shrinking from change."

Legolas thought of the Battle for Helm's Deep, when they had pulled back to the keep, and all seemed lost to hope. Yet the sun still rose, and victory had been their banner as they rode out to face their enemies. He wanted to feel that way again, to ride out and face whatever might come. He gave his father a long look, and said, "I will not stay and fall victim to cowardice and doubt. Whatever may come, I shall ride out and meet it; for me, for Ithilien, there is no other way. We will keep faith with Gondor. I will go alone if necessary." He glanced at his friends, and they rose to his side, as did Adrendil and some of his father's forest guards.

"Nay, lord, we stand with you," Eledhel said and clasped his hand.

"Then there can be nothing more to speak of," Thranduil said. He motioned for the council to rise, and he left the dais, his chair, and Legolas' crown on the seat behind him. He took one last glance at his youngest son before he turned away, and his face seemed strange to some. For a king who had just lost a prince, Thranduil's eyes seemed sorrowful, but triumphant and …proud?

Legolas departed from the canopy in the silent company of his friends. By nature, he desired to please others over himself. Countless times had he placed other's needs over his own, and now, he had acted for himself, made a decision that he wanted to make. He should feel elated, but all he really felt was guilty for displeasing his father so.

Even Belegil sensed his friend's distress. Nobody talked, and the warrior elf loathed awkward silences. "Legolas, if you would like we could go over some maps and charts and plan a route for Minas Tirith," he offered.

"You go ahead," Legolas replied dejectedly. "I need some time alone, I think…to reflect on the council's findings." 'Or how my father will probably never want to speak to me again,' he thought.

"Legolas—" began Eledhel.

"Then we will see you later then," Sulindal interrupted and prodded Eledhel on the back to join him.

The morning was stark in its brightness, and it seemed odd to Legolas that his own mood should be so dismal. He walked back to his tent. He still could not believe that he had possessed the boldness to support his actions—to go against his father's wishes, to speak his mind to the stuffy council, to renounce his title. The freedom of it all, and yet Legolas felt absolutely miserable. He had wounded his father, he was sure of it, not to mention disgusting his brother. He had acted for himself, for Ithilien. He wondered what his mother would say if she knew what he had done.

Legolas yanked open the fabric door, wishing for nothing more than to fling himself on his bed and replay every word of the council meeting until he was sure he had done the right thing.

Fate intended differently. Legolas' eyes rested upon the rosy-cheeked Miredhel sleeping on his bed. From slightly parted lips, her breath was light, and her slender hands clasped the coverlet at her chest. She had changed into a creamy nightdress, he presumed that the servants must have brought, and he could see for the first time, all of her soft white neck, bare shoulders and arms.

"Miredhel," whispered Legolas, and he thought her ephemeral. A vision. A dream. He stared at her as if she might disappear the first time he blinked, and an odd thing happened, his own cares, his self-doubt over his actions or words to his father, vanished in his discovery of her as mist does in the morning sun.

She did not stir, and he knelt at her side. As Legolas watched the slow rise and fall of the cool grey blankets as she breathed, he knew he had made the right decision. He would defend the dream of Ithilien for her, build it for her and others like her, like himself. He hesitated and then leaned over to place the lightest of kisses on her lips.

Her lashes fluttered and recognition filled her eyes as she saw him near, his proud face, now tender, and the steel in his eyes melted into wells of blue. She lifted a sleep-heavy hand to rest against his cheek, and then her fingers glided to rest in his hair.

"Even now I dreamt of this," she whispered, closing her eyes and then reopening them. "Pray, do not wake me now!"

Legolas stared at her and softly swallowed before he leaned over and brought his lips gently to brush against hers. He pulled himself up to sit beside her on the bed, and she wrapped the silken coverlet around her thin gown and sat up next to him. He placed his hands on her warm shoulders to look at her and then ran them down the length of her bare arms before pulling her to him.

He did not want to speak, was not even sure if he possessed the power to do so, but his heart thrummed in chest, and he wildly desired to know her feelings, beyond the way she looked at him, beyond the way she made him feel with the briefest touch of her lips. He must, he could never, but he simply had to ask her. His voice was shaky and unsure, not at all like that of a statesman or a warrior, or even a well-versed courtier. He paled as he spoke and dropped his gaze, fearing and longing for her reply to his question. "Miredhel, what made you change your mind about me?"

"You," she answered simply, "With your courage and ideals and strength… You saw the best in me, even when I could not."

He lifted his eyes to see her, and they brightened as he leaned in so that their foreheads nearly touched. The elf wrapped his arms around her waist and tangled his hands in her hair.

"You have given me a new dream, Legolas," she said softly.

"I have not given you anything, Miredhel, that you did not give me first," he murmured in her ear, and she laughed, not because she thought his words silly or humorous in the slightest, but because she was rather ticklish, and the joy she felt now overrode any sensibility in her possession, bubbling up from the well-spring of her heart and trickling through her laughter in his arms and the wide smile on her face. If Legolas thought her pretty by normal standards, then she was an enchantress in the repose of mirth. Legolas had never heard her laugh so freely and without restraint, and the few elves who happened to hear her as they strolled by the prince's tent felt a lightness in their step that was not there before and generally felt all the better for hearing her.

With dancing eyes and curving lips, she reached up and kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck. The dark cover of uncertainty that had shadowed their emotions shriveled and was no more in the light of that morning's sun. It was a kiss both reckless and tender, and he seemed like everything at once to her, the passion of youth, coupled with the wisdom and patience bought of great age. This time there were no interruptions, no untimely visitors, and Miredhel and Legolas entered their own, a moment like a dream so completely theirs and theirs alone. Together they tumbled back breathlessly into myriad cushions, and he, leaning on his elbow and not being able to help himself, stared at her beneath him, knowing she wholly belonged there, in his bed, with her hair down and soft around her face, next to him; time irregardless, for that moment they could only belong to each other. She did not blush or look away or give any sort of indication that she felt uncomfortable, but basked in the worship of his eyes, and the cool morning light, and birdsong of the forest eaves. Miredhel reached out with a slender arm, still lined with faint pink scars from the dragon, to touch the ends of his hair, to feel the warmth and strength of his neck, and oh, his lips, his cheeks, and she smiled again.

Touching her was a strange and wonderful thing. For so long he had shown restraint, denying himself ever since that moment of ill luck in the garden. He adored that garden now. It was as dear to him as any place, and as he looked in her sweet hazel eyes, he vowed that he would commission a garden like it just for her in Ithilien. He drew a lazy line down her cheek with his thumb, to her neck, across her collarbone, and down her arm, relishing how absurd it was that he should derive so much pleasure from such a little gesture.

And they stayed exactly thus for the remainder of the morning- touching, kissing, talking. No great professions of love were made, for neither really knew exactly how he or she felt. Legolas omitted any details of the council meeting, and Miredhel cheerfully avoided discussing her encounter with the orc. Instead, they laughed about friendship and pondered their feelings, all the while dreaming of Ithilien and their journey there together.


Chapter 26 - Such Sweet Sorrow

Chapter 25: Such Sweet Sorrow

The morning waned as the sun climbed and both elves loathed to leave the other's side. Miredhel and Legolas were as any young couple, in any walk of life, race, shape, or circumstance. For all intents and purposes, their hearts and minds were as any youths' who first find bliss in the look, the touch, or even the kiss of another. The way they felt for each other was certainly nothing new in Middle Earth. Many before them had lived and loved. Miredhel and Legolas' courtship might have continued in the similar, routine fashion of countless others, had Fate left them alone.

Yet in this tale of Ithilien, Fate abandoned simplicity. The Valar looked toward Middle Earth and saw much beyond reckoning. The Fellowship, the destruction of the One Ring, and the passing of the Three brought with them the end of an age, a great transition, and nothing is ever simple at such times. Kingdoms would rise and fall, and all would taste the blood and sweetness of death and love, and everything in between. Ithilien proved no differently. The prince of Mirkwood and his people were no exception. Legolas and Miredhel and all their kin and friends would face the pain of change, and the turmoil bought of a new era. Such were the times.

Miredhel wondered how she came to be there, with him, in his arms. To be in such a place felt so completely natural and yet so horribly wrong. Many things he had been to her—from enemy to rival, rival to savior, and leader to friend, but now he was something infinitely more dear. She looked at his hand holding hers and slowly brought it to her lips, kissing his hand, gentle and terrible. Smooth, slender, no traces of any archers' calluses could be seen. How many lives had fallen at his hands? She had fallen to them as well and now they held her. She ran her thumb across the top of his fingers and kissed them. He looked up at her and smiled a slow smile.

Miredhel felt her chest constrict as if though an invisible force squeezed her heart. Never had she felt so powerless in the face of any single person. Control had become a habit with her in years of late, and now she struggled to separate and confine even the most base of emotions. She had tried so very hard to set him aside. Yet when he confessed how he felt for her, she had kissed him. A regrettable mistake. 'Almost,' she smiled to herself. For now her emotions rushed where they may, and she could scarcely mark her own actions, all in the name of a simple kiss. But she had gained much in return. He had kissed her back, looked at her with eyes indescribable, and made her feel ways that no other elf had ever made her feel. A single look into his eyes confirmed the amount of power he held over her by the way it made her pulse quicken. Miredhel was losing control, and she knew it. Her eyes wandered from his hands to meet his eyes, and she faltered again under his gaze. Those eyes, could she trust them? She shyly dropped her chin and looked away.

Her expression was one of such utter seriousness, that he could not help but wonder what the cause. Had he made her uncomfortable somehow? Were his actions at fault? Whatever the cause for her sudden withdrawal, he would remedy it twice over.

He looked at her and lifted her chin with his fingertips, ever so gently. "Miredhel?" he asked. "What are you thinking of, right now?"

She would never had considered telling the prince what really weighed on her mind, which of course was highly personal and concerned the both of them. Instead, she shrugged and observed aloud that he was not wearing his signet ring, which she had seen him wear last night. "Did you lose it?" she asked innocently, hoping to change the subject.

Legolas regarded her carefully. Not only was she more observant than he gave her credit for, she had also skillfully avoided answering his question! He had pulled the ring off his finger during his stormy return from the council meeting. He guiltily wondered if she suspected anything that had happened. Had his emotions been that obvious? Well, if she wanted to be evasive, then he certainly could too.

Instead of answering her question, Legolas kissed the ends of one of her curls before letting it fall from his fingertips. The sun now streaked through the tent in lazy beams, illuminating her eyes and the gold of her hair. For the first part of the morning, he had thought only of her, but now as noon approached, he knew he would be called upon to help plan, looking at charts and maps, the course they would take, the provisions they would need. He could not fall back on his father's guidance in these matters. The success of this journey relied on Legolas alone, and his stomach tightened into one massive knot just thinking about it.

Part of Legolas wanted so badly to tell her of all that had come to pass—the quarrel with his father, the sighting of more orcs—but he also balked at the idea. Here in this tent with her, he had been able to forget. Even if it was only for the morning, he wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, that he had no cares, no responsibilities, and his sole concern was to please her. He was being selfish, and he knew it. Part of him felt disgusted by this display of utter weakness and cried out in protest, but his heart overrode all. The glimmer in her eyes as she had held his hand and kissed it alone was enough to make him push all logic aside. A thought occurred to him, so daring and sudden, he knew not where it hailed from. Again his pragmatic side cried out, 'Wait! Stop! Be sensible! What would your father say?' And that was really quite the wrong thing to say, for Legolas no doubt had a stubborn streak running through him. He did not want to think about anything his father might say at the moment. All he wanted to think about was how Miredhel felt and how she would respond if he dared to raise the height of their new relationship.

He pulled the ring from his pocket and handed it to her. A single leaf highlighted an exquisitely carved golden crest atop of the ring while the sides slid away seamlessly. She felt the dull weight of it in her hand and marveled at the smooth edges, evident of century's wear. "It is beautiful, Legolas." She turned the ring in her hand. "I suppose the design is your family seal? Do your brother and father have one as well?"

"Yes and no," he answered quietly. "The design was forged by my grandsire. This ring belonged to him. I alone carry it." His clipped sentences held an edge of sorrow, of pain and loss that Miredhel could not understand.

The Miredhel of a few days prior would have undoubtedly been much bolder. She would have questioned him without a moment's hesitation and been relentless until a satisfactory answer had been given. Only the Miredhel who sat before Legolas now was a much different maiden. He had awakened something within her that she could not comprehend, and with that came an unwavering softness. The old Miredhel would have scornfully pointed to this change as weakness, but of course, it was not. The change within her spoke of sensitivity, desire, and a fierce longing, one that feared disruption and longed for trust and acceptance. She knew so little of him, of his relationship with his family. As much as she wanted to ask him to confide in her, to pry it out of him, she did not want it that way. Miredhel would much rather he spoke of such things on his own volition, because he wanted to tell her, because he trusted her. Such was the change in her heart. Softer? Undoubtedly. Yet the boldness, which had previously formed her character, had not disappeared, but merely matured into something wiser, more sensitive, for nothing is bolder than the elves when it comes to matters of the heart.

She propped herself up on one elbow and searched his eyes. "Then you must undoubtedly cherish it," she answered and placed it into his open hand.

"I do," he replied and paused to prop himself up as well to look into her eyes. "My father gave it to me…when I returned home from the war."

"He seems very proud of you, I think," Miredhel answered carefully, hoping that he would talk some more of his family.

"Yes, he was. Proud of the honor that I had brought the family," Legolas said and looked away. A small smile spread across his lips. "Oromer always looked at the ring as due his inheritance," he recalled to her, "but father gave it to me. My brother was none too pleased about that…" Legolas frowned and added, "Of course, he would never question the king's decision…"

He silently berated himself, 'but you did, Legolas! You questioned him in front of the whole entire council!' He closed his eyes long enough to stifle the turmoil of emotions and thoughts fighting through his mind. When he opened them, Miredhel brushed her hand across his cheek to linger there.

She wanted to ask about Oromer, about his father, or about the pain sheltered within Legolas' deep blue eyes. Instead she pulled herself near and kissed his cheek slowly. Soft and gentle, the kiss whispered of comfort and understanding. He blinked in surprise. She knew, or had glimpsed his pain and self-doubt. Yet still she remained beside him, had kissed him even. She kissed him again, this time, pushing away his white-blonde hair to bring her lips to his temple and then down, next to his ear. His skin burned at the touch of her lips, and then burned for the loss of it.

His eyes closed involuntarily, and a torrent of emotions flooded the prince. Desire and longing, and yes, passion, a dangerous calling stirred within him, one whose voice he had long since heard. 'Go on, Legolas,' it whispered to him. 'Why so faint-hearted? Claim her for your own!' and then softer still at the very eaves of his mind, 'take her…let her feel what you feel…love her...'

She kissed him again, and he squeezed his hands shut from the sheer fire and pleasure sweeping across his brow, with the way she made him feel, strong and weak all at once. His ring pressed into his palm, and that ridiculous idea that had popped into his head earlier, did not seem so implausible now. He turned his head and returned her kiss, wrapping his arms behind her. He held his breath at the softness and warmth of her body against his, and then exhaled as he pulled his lips away from her own. Like Orodruin itself, his heart unleashed molten fire that coursed from his deepest reserves up to his paling skin, devouring any hesitation, any second thoughts. When the powers of breath and speech returned to him, he spoke in a low voice.

"Miredhel?" he asked quickly, before reason could change his mind, "will you keep this for me?" He took her hand and uncurled her fingers, placing his signet ring within her grasp.

Confusion settled in her hazel eyes as she looked down at the ring and then back at the elf beside her. "Legolas…"

"I want you to have it," he insisted, his voice still very low and dangerous.

"I think that…" she began slowly, but Legolas stopped her.

"Do not think. Just say you will accept it," he instructed her. "Please." He reached for her hand and closed her fingers around the ring.

"You have given me enough, Legolas, and…and this is of great value to your family, I cannot keep it," Miredhel said, her voice cracking as she spoke. She held the ring and her hand out to him.

He ignored her motion and spoke in soft, earnest tones, "Please, Miredhel. I do not have to tell you what dark times we may still face. If anything should happen…I want you to have something that truly belonged to me."

His voice and words worried her. Usually her prince was so optimistic. He was not one to despair. She wondered for a moment what had transpired at the council to evoke this change in him, and then she fought the tangle of emotions that bloomed inside of her, thrilling at and fearing his gesture.

She looked at him and slowly inhaled. His eyes were intense, but sincere. She glanced down at his ring in her hand as tremendous hope swelled against a horrible fear laying siege to her heart. It was just too much. She hastily pulled the ring from her hand and set it between them on the bed.

"Legolas, what does this mean?" she whispered, afraid that her voice would fail her.

"What do you want it to mean?" he asked in all seriousness. His desire for her made him bolder by the moment. Even though she had set the ring down, he had not missed the wistful expression on her face when he had first asked her to keep it, nor the hope or fear playing in her eyes. He had seen it all. He smiled which seemed only to vex her even more.

"Please," she commanded him, "I was being serious." She inched away from him and the ring.

"So was I," he said and crept closer to her. "What do you want it to mean?" She could have asked anything of him, any commitment, any promise, and he would have given it to her gladly, all for her acceptance of this ring. His crest, that one could dip in wax to form a seal; perhaps he wanted such a seal on her heart.

She bit her lip and looked away. As much as he looked sincere, he was undoubtedly teasing her, and Miredhel hated to be teased, especially when she had foolishly believed him to be serious. She hastily stood, the blanket she had wrapped around her, neglected, fell away, and she seemed to Legolas like the nephredil of her homeland, white, graceful, and undeniably fragile. She gazed down where he lay with scornful eyes, both angry and hurt at the same time. He made her feel so incredibly vulnerable, so exposed, and she hated it. Even in anger she yearned to throw everything aside just to be near him again.

Frustration rose in her voice as she spoke, "Legolas, stop it. I cannot take this ring. It was wrong of you to ask such a thing of me."

The prince slid off the bed and stood. With a flick of his thumb, he spun the ring into the air and then caught it again in a brilliant blur of gold metal. He studied her where she stood. Her hair fell down past her shoulders to her waist, her eyes were bright and sharp above flushed cheeks, and her attire did little to deny the natural poetry and curve of her body. He had ever thought her pretty. Seldom could he not find some attribute to admire in an elf maiden, whether it was hair or eyes, skin or body. He thought Miredhel more different than any he had known. She certainly was not the most beautiful maiden he had ever met—Aragorn's Arwen surpassed all on such terms. Nor was it the fact that she was merely high-spirited that attracted him, because he had met other strong-willed ladies before her. She was simply Miredhel—bold but hesitant, reckless yet cautious, and fiery and timid—a tableau of contradictions, strength, and undeniable sweetness. Even early on, when they had only first met, she could convict him like no other, with a single look or word, she could rend his heart. He doubted she knew of this incredible pull she held over him. Even now her eyes rebuked him, and remorse spilled over his entire being. He had acted too soon, been too hasty, too daring.

Legolas stuffed the ring back into his pocket. "Miredhel?" he asked and tentatively moved closer to her. "You are right. I should not have made such a request." He mentally added '…so soon' and cursed his impulsiveness. Exercising great care and restraint, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, marveling at the joy that he alone should enjoy such a privilege, and slowly kissed the top of her hand. His eyes met hers to search for forgiveness.

Such eyes! With one look, Miredhel felt her resolve clatter to the ground like loosened fetters. She pulled him in toward her and sighed before she said, "Legolas, know that I am flattered…beyond flattered, that you would want to bestow such a gift upon me."

"It was but a wish," he said. "I just wanted to give you something."

"But you have already," Miredhel replied and pointed to the knife which she had received the night before.

"That does not count," he said stubbornly, "my father gave that to you."

"You gave me flowers last night," she insisted, and her eyes began to twinkle.

"I suppose so, but flowers are not a worthy enough gift for my lady."

"No, no," she chuckled softly, "they are indeed, if they come from you."

"Then flowers my gift shall be. When we reach Ithilien, I will make you a garden beyond all reckoning." Legolas' eyes gleamed as he thought of the garden he would create for her.

"I should like that very much," she said. "Will it have a bench for two lovers to meet and dream upon?"

"Most certainly," Legolas agreed, smiling at the thought. "But the problem still remains, I want to give you something now, but I have nothing to give save my ring, and that you will not accept." His smile faded into a small pout.

Miredhel permitted herself a small smile at his most earnest dismay over finding her a suitable present. "You are very sweet. Much different from the elf I supposed you to be!"

"How fortunate for both of us, that first impressions are not always the most accurate, then." Legolas added wryly and sat back down on the bed. He picked up one of his boots and began to put it on.

Miredhel watched him as he straightened his appearance. "My prince, consider your company as gift enough for me. It is all I desire," she said sincerely and as soon as she had spoken she knew the truth of her words in her heart.

Legolas stopped briefly to peer anxiously at her. She did not know that he planned on leaving tomorrow morning. He shuddered at the thought of leaving her, but he would not call Miredhel to endanger herself needlessly. He opened his mouth to tell her of his plans, but the words would not come out. Instead he said, "Fate may call us to part, and then would I wish you to have a remembrance of me."

Miredhel did not like the way that sounded. His words sounded like he was…leaving to go somewhere, but of course, he would tell her before that happened, would he not? Her eyebrows knit together as she thought about it for a moment. "Legolas? Are you leaving?"

He really wished she had not asked that question. He stood up from the bed and looked toward the door. "As noon approaches, I shall be called upon to make plans and such. If I tried to stay, then Sulindal would come and find us together again!" He tried to smile. He had not lied, but from the way he felt, he might have done as much.

Miredhel nodded slowly. "Well, I cannot linger here either. I must find my brother and make peace with him." She looked down at her gown. "I suppose I should change clothes first."

Legolas turned from sorting through his bag to flash her a grin. "You look beautiful to me," he said with a wink.

"Hardly appropriate to wear when searching for one's brother, though. Especially when copious apologies and explanations are in order," Miredhel said and groaned. She was not looking forward to this afternoon. It would take all of the sweetness of the morning to counter this upcoming interview with her brother.

Legolas found what he searched for in his bag and pulled out a long brown cloak. He brought it to Miredhel and draped it around her shoulders before pausing in front of her to fasten the clasp around her neck. He leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Can I see you again, tonight?" he whispered, trying his best to dampen the excess anticipation in his voice. After all, he did not want to seem too desperate and smitten.

Her eyes brightened, and Miredhel reached out to smooth the hair around his braids and face. "It would be my honor," she answered and then teasingly quipped, "that is if I can tear myself away from all my courtly duties and planning."

Legolas kissed her cheek and then paused at the door. His eyes twinkled merrily, and he said, "Well, then do your best, my lady, for I will see you this evening." Then he turned and was gone.

Miredhel stood alone in the pale light of the tent and unconsciously brought her hand to her cheek to rest where he had kissed her. She glanced down at the bed where they had found peace in each other's arms. The morning had come and gone, and the dream had ended.

Both Legolas and Miredhel were alone again. Both felt the full thrust of reality, soaring in like a carrion bird, on swifter wings than either would prefer.

. Miredhel tip-toed into her tent, but then fought an instant surge of relief upon finding Limaer absent. She quickly changed from her borrowed nightdress. She wondered how much her brother must have been told by now and how angry he must be with her. With these thoughts in mind, she set off to find him.

Her search did not take long, for Miredhel quickly crossed paths with Eledhel on the way to his tent. He seized her by the shoulders and hauled her off the path to the company of a nearby tree. There he held her at arms' length and scowled at her for what seemed to his sister an eternity and then some.

As last he growled, "Miredhel! How could you be so reckless?" Under a furrowed brow, his grey eyes were stormy and dark as he frowned at her.

"Eledhel," she said, "I am sorry," and one glance at the pain in his eyes brought tears to her own.

He pulled her into a fierce hug and stroked her hair, and then pulled her back out to look at her.

"Miredhel, why is it that whenever I am angry, I always end up consoling you? It should be the other way around!"

"I am sorry, Eledhel. It was reckless and everything foolish," Miredhel sniffed, placing her hands on her cheeks to cool their burning.

Eledhel huffed and scowled for a few more moments, but the gratitude he felt at seeing her unharmed helped ease his temper. Finally he rubbed his chin and lightly traced the thin line across her neck. "So at last, my little sister has seen an orc," he said knowingly.

"And killed it," she added quietly with her eyes downcast.

He lifted her chin up, "It is an odd thing, my sister. I thought I should be furious with you. I nearly strangled some half-wit captain at the council when I first heard of your involvement. I was more frightened than anything. Afraid that I might lose you!"

"I defended myself," she insisted, growing bolder.

"Well, you are my sister," he said, a bit proudly, and then shook his head. "Besides, it would not do for me to leave here with bad feelings between us. After all, I insisted that you come here with me in the first place."

"Eledhel…you are going somewhere?" Miredhel asked, confusion written on her face.

Her brother wrinkled his nose, and then understanding entered his eyes. "Oh," he said delicately, "I suppose you have not heard the news yet, but yes, a few of us are riding ahead to Gondor. A large number of orcs have been spotted going in that direction."

"I had not heard," she murmured. Why had Legolas not mentioned this to her? They had spent the whole morning together and not a single word did he utter about the council meeting. She had even asked him. He had not told her the truth. Her cheeks began to feel hot again, and she very much wanted to sit down.

"What else happened?" she asked quietly. Silently, she thought, 'what else did Legolas forget to tell me?'

"Well, there was a big debate about bringing you in for questioning. Some of those forest guards argued about it, and the twins and I, and well, Legolas too, stomped on that notion. And then some scouts rushed in and told us of that war party," Eledhel rambled on and then added in a hush, "and the king would not permit Legolas to leave and warn Gondor. So what do you think he did? The prince renounced his title and told his father that he would leave with or without permission!"

Miredhel's mouth dropped open. She could hardly believe it. All this had happened, and Legolas had not mentioned any of it to her! They had spent the whole entire morning talking and confiding in one another, and he could not find a way to tell her that?

"I cannot believe it, brother, although I know you speak the truth."

"He retired directly after the meeting, left us and headed for his tent. I guess he wanted to be alone. I have not seen him since, but he looked horrible."

"I am so sorry to hear it." She shook her head and looked away. Tears stung her eyes, and she struggled to discern if she felt more upset for how Legolas must feel, or if her pain was due to the fact that he did not trust her. She decided the combination of both possibilities worked horribly well together. She felt utterly nauseous. Everything Miredhel thought she knew about her whole morning with him faded into disbelief. She blinked and then stared off into the mix of trees and leaves.

Eledhel attributed her reaction as merely being surprised by his news and he blithely continued. "What is there between you two? I heard you slept in his tent last night," Eledhel said curiously. "Did you see him?" he asked, and there was something to his tone that she did not appreciate.

She tossed her head. "We are friends, that is all," she icily retorted. "After the bonfire, my sleeping quarters were occupied. Prince Legolas kindly offered the use of his. There is nothing more to tell." Miredhel stared stonily at her brother.

"I hope you do not mind, Eledhel," said a voice behind her, and she turned to see that it was the prince himself. He had, without a doubt, heard every word that she had spoken.

To her credit, Miredhel managed not to blush or look embarrassed at his sudden untimely appearance. Instead she gave him a disappointed look and turned toward her brother.

"How do you feel?" Eledhel asked sympathetically.

"Yes, how do you feel?" Miredhel echoed her brother, arching an eyebrow at Legolas.

He mirrored her expression back to her. "Better," he said shortly and cocked his head slightly toward Miredhel. "Lady Miredhel," he addressed her formally, "would you escort me down the lane while I review some of the particulars of last night's events with you? Some questions still persist which you might be able to favor with your own insight."

Miredhel frowned at him and glanced at Eledhel. The prince was really being too obvious. Surely Eledhel suspected.

"It could not hurt to do so, sis," her brother interjected. "I would not mind hearing your account any how. All I have heard so far is hearsay." He turned with Legolas and made to walk with them down the path.

Legolas paused. He really wanted to speak with Miredhel privately. His mind raced to seize a solution, and then he said carefully, "Eledhel, I very much wanted to review the charts with you and the twins. Did you consult the king's scrolls and maps of the forest?"

Both brother and sister exchanged worried glances to hear the way their friend spoke of his father, the king. His voice had been formal, soft, yet edged with a sense of frostiness and grief that Miredhel understood all too well. She chided herself for not noticing before now. She had been so wrapped up in her own happiness and pleasure that she had completely neglected his feelings. 'I did not know,' she thought desperately. 'How could I have known? He said nothing to me.' She felt horrible. She felt angry—angry with herself for not noticing, angry with him for not telling her.

Eledhel broke the hated silence. "I believe so. Was there a scroll in particular that interested you?" he asked delicately.

"The king has a map with a dark green border and gold family seal. This map details the outer lands nicely. Will you procure it for me?"

Eledhel nodded, "Of course," he said to Legolas, and then he gave his sister a small hug. "Try and talk to him, please?" he whispered in her ear.

She nodded. Whatever might happen, she definitely planned on having a discussion with the prince.


Chapter 27 - Until Now

An exquisite mixture of anger and guilt tinged both Miredhel and Legolas' sentiments as they unflinchingly gazed at one another. Neither knew how to react. Finally, the lady spoke first.

She heard herself whisper in a voice not quite her own, "You are leaving?" It was more of a statement than a question, for she knew now with unparalleled certainty that he was indeed leaving.

He answered anyway, nodding miserably. "Miredhel, I was going to tell you myself…"

"When?" she interrupted flatly. "Tomorrow? As you rode away?" She shook her head. "I am fortunate to have a brother that informs me of these minor details."

"I do not see why you would be so affected by my leaving. Since we are in your words, 'merely friends,'" he said plainly.

"You mean much more than any friend, Legolas."

"That is not what you would have you brother believe," he said.

"I am sorry that my words pained you. 'Twas not my intent."

"Regardless of your intent," Legolas broke in, "why not simply speak the truth?"

"How dare…" Miredhel exclaimed, but then stopped, squeezing her fingers into a fist until she could feel her nails digging into her palm. She took a deep breath and tore her eyes away from him, toward the blue-fringed treetops. Legolas crossed his arms in front of his chest, awaiting her reply. She exhaled slowly and then lowered her eyes to his visage, her lips drawing into a thin line.

"I hardly think that you are the one, dear prince, to extol the virtue of speaking the truth. Her even tone turned acidic, and her eyes challenged him to speak—to apologize or vindicate himself. Let him try.

"I never lied to you," he said carefully. He returned her fiery gaze with one so cool, so calm and expressionless, like a woodland lake first kissed by winter's frost.

Miredhel shivered despite herself, and though she would not look away, her pride was far too great for that, her anger sagged in the face of his melancholy. "But you," her voice wavered, "you were not honest with me."

"No," he agreed. "I should have told you."

"Why did you not?" she asked simply.

Why indeed did he not tell her? What did he fear in the revelation of the truth? Legolas knew there were far too many subjects he would rather not speak of, too many topics he did not care to address. His gaze faltered, and for the first time, his proud, youthful facade slipped, and he seemed to Miredhel as one who had seen too much of death and toil; her question drained his vitality from him, as blood that seeps from a wound, and he felt the full measure of his long years, his relationship with his father, the war, and the calling of the sea pressing upon him as he pondered his response. The sea! Legolas closed his eyes, and he could hear the gulls again. The gulls, their plaintive screams amidst the pulling crash of waves, and he wondered that the very maiden who had helped him to forget could also force him to remember them. He sighed and turned away from her. She should not bear witness to his pain, to his weakness.

He rubbed his forehead and then quietly said, "I am sorry, my lady. I should have told you these things. I cannot give you any reason to justify my actions, to excuse my behavior." He felt so ashamed, so incredibly selfish that he had not told her the news this morning merely out of his desire to hide his feelings away. Like a warrior who cases his blades in velvet, hiding them from sight, hoping to ease the pain of bloodied memories and the dark dreams that steal all peace, Legolas had avoided all thought or mention of the council's circumstances. He had hoped to forget, but now he knew that he could not. His silence had been a wish to smooth away the frightening edges of his own discontent. How insufferable he must seem to her. His heart burned with abhorrence, and surely she must see that now—the shame radiating from him, filling and oozing from every pore.

But instead of turning in disgust, she kindly reached for his shoulder. "Legolas, can you tell me now? I would still rather hear of this from you."

His hand drifted to hers where it lay and lingered there for the briefest of moments. "There is nothing I can say that you have not already heard from Eledhel."

From behind him, he could hear her murmur, "Legolas, please. That I should hear this news from others. Will you not tell me yourself?"

He eased away from her touch, quickly glancing back. Though longing consumed his heart, he felt incapable of deserving her. It was simply too much, he thought, for them to be together. Duty called him to focus solely on the protection of Gondor and the consequent success of Ithilien. The sea-longing called him to leave these shores. His father called him to stay in faithfulness to Eryn Lasgalen. Now Miredhel had put a claim on his heart as well. Legolas felt pulled in every direction, but he had promised the dream of Ithilien to his people and allegiance to Gondor and Aragorn. He could not forget them.

He grimly said, "I leave tomorrow, Miredhel. I must do this. Such is my will."

"What of your will for us, Legolas?" she asked.

"According to you, there is no us," he replied blankly, keeping the emotion from his voice. Every fiber within him cried out in protest, that he should not leave her, that this was wrong, a horrible mistake!

Miredhel's eyes narrowed in disbelief at his words. Somehow, she had done this. Only hours ago, they had been so happy together. He had tried to give her his ring. Now he meant to leave her behind. Perhaps Limaer had been right in all her comments concerning Legolas and his ladies. Now Miredhel could add her name to the ever-growing list of maidenhood fallen prey to his charm. She despised his actions and herself for trusting him. Then another part of her really just wanted to be held in those arms again, but that could not be. Nothing could be done now, if he wanted to leave, then Miredhel would let him. She felt dangerously near to crumbling before him, and she would not allow the prince the satisfaction of seeing his affect on her. Her eyes flashed in resolve, and she forced herself to speak in clear, ringing tones.

"Namarie, Legolas, and may the Valar grant you peace on this journey."

Legolas watched her face and heard her words, and the elf swallowed dryly. His reasonable side urged him now to walk away, to leave her. He could find another later. He never had any problems doing so in the past. The prince had ever followed this creed, and he had not questioned its value. Until now.

For when he mistakenly turned for a last glance to commit her to memory, Legolas saw Miredhel with her sleeve pressed to her eyes, which she then hastily jerked away. 'Leave now!' Reason cried to him, 'There will be others! There always has been!' Yet Legolas' feet betrayed him, he could not find strength within him to walk away, and the prince breathed to himself, '…others, but not like her.' Only then in his need for her did he find the power to move again. He abruptly turned in his tracks and stepped toward her.

"Miredhel, I am sorry. Again. I should not have spoken so. I cannot leave you, not like this…not at all," he said, his eyes penitent. He feared her response. "Forgive me," he whispered, desperately longing to fold her in his arms again and soundly kiss her, kiss and hold her until he found forgiveness. Legolas' elvish intuition, however, warned him off this action, and so instead he stood humbly and silent before her.

Miredhel thought of all the things she might say to him. His friendship gave her such joy, and his affection brought even more. He wielded a terrible power over her, and even in this moment she felt the full measure of it. She needed him.

She knew grief. Miredhel had tasted the pain of separation with the first word of Annariel's death. Since then, she had strived to ensure that she possessed no bond deep enough, strong enough to tear her heart away. Until now.

She reached toward him and traced a finger across his flawless cheek. Her caress gave him reason to hope in the face of his despair. His eyes brightened, and he looked at her eagerly, tilting his head in toward her touch.

"All I want is to know more about you, to understand you better. Open your heart to me, and you shall have mine. Please."

He recoiled from her words, her touch, and shook his head. "Miredhel, I hear my own thoughts and find them repulsive. I dare not utter them to you."

"You do not trust me then," she accused.

"No, my lady, but I would not burden you with my pain…my weakness," he said.

She began to understand, for his words sounded so familiar to those whispered in her own heart. "I foolishly believed that once," she acknowledged. "I kept my grief to myself, locked away inside the darkness of my own thoughts. It is a safer road, no doubt..."

Remembrance darkened her eyes, and Legolas thought back to evenings before when she had confided the tale of her lost friend to him.

"…but a lonelier one, Legolas," she finished.

"I was never one to prattle on about my own woes," he countered. "Silence is strength." He proudly lifted his head and looked every inch of Thranduil's son that he was, but Miredhel was not impressed. Instead, she tilted her head with a wounded expression written across her face.

"Then you must think me very weak indeed," she said disappointedly.

Legolas' eyes widened, and he earnestly reached for her hand. "No, no. I would not have you believe that at all." He leaned in toward her and picked up her other hand. "I never thought you more strong than when you confided in me that night, Miredhel."

Her cheeks faintly flushed, and he firmly squeezed her hands. "Do you really believe that, Legolas?" she asked.

"I do."

"Then will you not talk to me? Join me on this lonely road," she said, rubbing her thumbs across the tops of his hands reassuringly.

Legolas shook his head. "This is different, Miredhel. You believe certain things about me. I would—"

"Little could change my regard for you, Legolas. Know that," Miredhel said and pulled him into a tight embrace. She kissed him on the cheek and then the chin, and then he met her lips with his own, in a kiss that spoke of trust, reassurance, and desire.

Legolas pulled away first and hungrily stared at her. "I never needed anything before, or anybody…" he said weakly. His eyes deepened to a shade bought of midnight, while the light and hope within his gaze could strive against Earandil and be the brighter. He took a breath, his heart rampaging hectically, only the faith in her eyes gave him strength to continue.

"…Until now. And I will not let you go, Miredhel, not even at the highest cost." He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the path cutting through the woods. "Walk with me, Miredhel, and I will tell you what you want to know."

He led her to a glade thick with mossy roots and grey green lichens. Within this coven of trees stretching from earth with limb and leaf thrown clear to the sky, Legolas began to speak of the council meeting. He described Eledhel's attempted attack on Captain Adrendil, and they both laughed, but when it came to speaking of his father, Legolas was much more reluctant. Miredhel noticed this, of course.

"I hardly know anything of your family, Legolas, but you obviously care for them a great deal. Why do you not speak of them more often?"

"I talk about them, Miredhel," Legolas protested.

Miredhel arched a single eyebrow. "Believe that, if you want to, but I am not even sure how many brothers or sisters you have!"

"Two sisters, one brother," he answered. He gave her a little smile just to show that he did not mind talking about them.

Miredhel returned his smile, but then frowned. "Prince Oromer I have met, but where are your sisters?"

"They are at home," Legolas answered shortly. His smile faded. He did not want to think about the discussion he had with his father. He did not want to remember why they were at home. Or the fact that his father thought that he was too weak to say goodbye to them! Legolas closed his eyes and swallowed. Perhaps this idea of talking was not such a good idea.

Miredhel pursed her lips at her friend's reaction. His sisters were obviously a painful subject to him, and guilt washed over her for bringing up the topic. She started to apologize, but Legolas shook his head.

"No, Miredhel. You are not to blame. Know that I want to tell you these things. I just…" and he sighed, "I cannot. Not now." Weariness settled across his spirit, and he sat down on an over-turned log. His father's words played through his mind, that he 'suffered from the weight of emotions,' and Legolas dug his fingers into the damp wood beside him, feeling the prick and tear of splinters against his flesh. He cared not.

"I am sorry," she repeated. "I cannot help but want to know more of you."

"No, Miredhel. I am glad that you do. But even from the beginning of my education, my father instructed my brother Oromer and I to be silent on the matters of our household, that we should never speak of our family concerns to anyone. My father is a good king and a wise ruler, far better than I could ever hope to be. He told me a long time ago that 'once the house of Oropher becomes divided in the eyes of our people, then also will it fall." Legolas' eyes dimmed, and he murmured, almost inaudibly, "And this I have done, to my father, to my people."

In an instant, she was at his side, "Legolas, no. You did what you thought necessary. Your father must know this as well." She wrapped her arm around the back of his waist, and with her other hand guided his chin so that she could see his eyes. "And Ithilien's subjects will count themselves the most fortunate of elves to have you as their lord. I know of at least one, who will."

The semblance of a tiny smile played across his lips, wavered, and was gone before he spoke. "And I am most blessed to have such a subject." His eyes brightened considerably, and he continued, "especially one who is so beautiful and kind," and he paused to kiss her, "and kissable."

"Kissable, my lord? I was speaking of Eledhel!" Miredhel laughed, and Legolas snorted and then laughed with her.

After that, he continued to tell her of what happened in the meeting, but when he told of his decision to ride and warn Gondor, her eyes widened and she reached for his hand.

"Who goes with you?" she asked with an edge in her voice.

"Your brother, Belegil and Sulindal, some of the forest guards from my father's realm." He stopped in the midst of the path they had been traveling and looked at her very carefully. "Miredhel. I cannot find it within me to leave you behind," he said, and even as the words had been spoken he knew of their veracity. "Ride with me."

"If you had asked such a thing of me even only a day ago, I would have agreed wholeheartedly, but now…" Her voice trailed away, and she bit her lip in dismay.

"I would never ask this of you if I thought you were incapable of meeting the demands of this journey," Legolas said, and his voice softened, "or if I did not truly desire your company."

"I had never even killed, much less seen an orc until last night, Legolas," she protested.

"I know," he said. "I debated all morning if I should ask you to go with me or ask you to stay. You are a good rider and a fine shot. I know it will not prove an easy trip. We will have to ride hard and fast to reach the first towns and warn them, and even then we may have to fight."

"So it is merely my skill with the bow that recommends me?" Miredhel asked slyly.

Legolas laughed and shook his head, before becoming serious again. "When I left this morning, I had decided that you should stay. The risk was too great, and you are far too precious. But now I know that I cannot willfully leave your side. I possess neither the strength, nor the heart, for such a task." He pulled her in close and locked eyes with her in a penetrating gaze. "Ride with me, Miredhel. For Ithilien. For me."

"No easy decision is this, Legolas," Miredhel agreed, "but I have never been one to shrink from danger, no matter how great my fear. I will go with you."

Legolas' arms engulfed her in an enormous hug, nearly lifting her from the ground. "I will ever be at your side, Miredhel. You have nothing to fear," he said ecstatically.

She only smiled back at him and returned his embrace, laughing at the kisses he planted across her cheek. "But that is when I will be in the most jeopardy," Miredhel said, half-jokingly, half-serious.

"You doubt my ability to protect you?" Legolas asked, in mock-sadness.

"But who will protect me from you?" She tossed her head, and the merriness in her eyes burned low into embers. "I will not deny that I fear this—" she waved her hand between them, "us, Legolas. But mostly you."

"Is that why you denied our relationship to your brother?" he carefully asked.

Miredhel looked to the ground. She knew that her actions had caused Legolas pain, but she did not regret keeping the truth from Eledhel. Trying desperately to make him understand, she approached the matter from a different angle: "Do you not realize how much people talk? Speculate? Wonder about you? Legolas, I want what is happening between us, just to be, well, between us. Not between you and me and the rest of Ithilien." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Is that so very wrong of me?"

Legolas felt his resolve slip away with one look at her eyes. "No, it is not wrong, Miredhel, but—" and he took her hand and gently kissed her from upturned palm to the soft skin of her wrist, "I want to shout it from the tree tops. They are our friends, Miredhel. They would only be happy for us."

"I know, Legolas, but…" Her voice trailed away. She did not want to admit that their affair would be easier to forget later, especially if she as the only one who knew of it. There was always less shame in secrecy, less embarrassment, less questions.

"Sooner or later, people will figure it out, and I would rather your brother hear it from us than from the mouths of gossips."

Miredhel knew he was right on that count and nodded.

"Eledhel is your brother, Miredhel, but he is my also friend. I would have him stay that way. He is too valuable an ally to lose. I really do not want him to think that I am having an underhanded affair with his sister. If you do not tell him about us, then I will."

Miredhel sighed. "Please, Legolas. Let it be our secret for one more night."

"It is not within me to hide something like this, the way I feel for you," Legolas declared stubbornly.

"Please?" Miredhel pouted with those irresistible eyes and a tiny smile tugging at her lips, and Legolas knew he would give into her.

"I want everyone to know…but if you promise to tell Eledhel today, then I suppose I can wait one more day." He grinned at her. "I might forget myself and accidentally kiss you in front of everyone tomorrow."

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Legolas!" She exclaimed and then laughed to add, "I might let you."

Legolas pulled her in for another long embrace. He kissed her ear, then her cheek several times, before bringing his lips to rest lightly against hers. He could feel the soft, warmth of her hair, her arms wrapped around his neck, the gentle curve of her body against his, and he tightened his arms around her, deepening the kiss, tilting his head another way. He felt as though he might drown in her sweetness and taste, but the natural sounds of the forest hushed, and the bright of day darkened like the coming of a storm. Legolas quickly pulled away, but even as he did so, the woods began to hum again, and the darkness had lifted. His keen eyes searched the sky for any tell-tale clouds, but to his surprise and ever-growing fear, there were none.

He glanced around the secluded spot in which they had been talking before he placed a chaste kiss across her lips.

"I have to go now," he said, squeezing her hand. "We were in a meeting and I left for those maps. The captains will think that I have gotten lost."

"Have you not?" Miredhel said playfully.

"No, I know that I am on the right path…if you are there with me," Legolas answered. "Meet me tonight?"

She nodded. "I will."

Legolas returned to his meeting after instructing his lady to return to her tent and stay there. He was not entirely sure what had happened there in the forest clearing, and whatever strange occurrences these were, he did not want Miredhel involved.

She had different plans, however. Miredhel most certainly did not want to return directly to her tent, where she would no doubt be subjected to Limaer for many long, uninterrupted hours. Neither did she wish to disobey Legolas' instructions, so ultimately she decided that she would return after a leisurely, very leisurely, stroll through the encampment. Miredhel began to wander the perimeter of the camp in her own time, taking in the strange and different trees and fauna.

Although she tried her best not to dwell on him, her every other thought returned to Legolas. So much of what happened had seemed but a dream. Had he really held her? She could still feel the hot track of his kisses on her mouth, down her neck, on her hand, her wrist. From the moment he had caught her fall in the dragon's attack, perhaps even sooner than that, her very existence had been caught up in a warm haze induced by his presence, comforting, intoxicating. And when he was not with her, she longed to be with him again. She would see him later tonight, for dinner and then remembered in dismay that they would leave early the next morning to ride to Gondor. Their travels would begin anew, only this time in great haste, to save a city and people of which Miredhel had only ever heard.

And somewhere, Fate smiled with a nod to the swift turn of events to come as time unreeled to slip by even more quickly, dangerously. The options had been weighed, the path chosen, and now the journey would begin.


Chapter 28 - Beyond Reach

Everything was happening much too quickly for her comfort, Miredhel decided, and now she had promised Legolas that she would ride with him to Gondor. Gondor! She slapped her hand to her forehead.

"Foolish, Foolish, Foolish," she muttered. She could barely stand seeing one orc, and now she was going to race against some odd thousand? 'Oh, Miredhel, what have you gotten yourself into?' she wondered, looking grimly at the woodsy Mirkwood path before her, vaguely wishing all paths in life would be so clear.

"Everything all right, my lady?" questioned a smooth voice from off to the side. Her head snapped up to see that captain, Adrendil, casually leaning against a tree. He corrected his posture and in an instant matched her pace to join her side.

"This is the outer reach of the camp, you know," he warned her. "Please, allow me the pleasure of joining you on this path." His eyes flickered fro a moment as he took in her casual garb, and the knife at her belt. "You know," he continued, 'orcs and other foul beasts have been frequenting the Southern Rim as of late. He paused and watched her face, "But of course, you would know this better than most."

She opened her mouth to say something contrite and quickly closed it.

He went on, "There was much discussion of you at the council last night, Lady Miredhel."

"So I have heard, " she replied evasively, determined not to look surprised by any comment he could possibly make, wondering what his aim was by this line of conversation.

She decided to take the offensive and steer the conversation away from herself. "I have also heard," Miredhel commented archly, 'that my brother, Lord Eledhel, dealt with you, well, rather abruptly?"

Adrendil's hand glided to his neck, which he rubbed uncomfortably. "That is not exactly how I would describe such an unwarranted attack."

"I have to admit that I was shocked to hear it," she paused and arched an eyebrow. "Eledhel, generally speaking of course-"

"Of course," allowed Adrendil, still massaging an ugly violet bruise on his neck.

"Eledhel usually shows so much more restraint in regards to his temper than I," Miredhel finished, flashing a charming smile at Adrendil before she continued, "but of course, he is very protective of his sister."

Adrendil was determined to look non-plussed by the warning in her last statement. He quickly returned with a charming smile, "Who would not be, with such a lovely sister?"

Miredhel frowned at him, thinking that despite the fact that his attention was completely unwanted and unwarranted, he was extremely handsome, in a roguish sort of way. He had high cheekbones coupled with smart brown eyes and thick sandy hair.

He smiled a slow smile again, for she had not rejected his compliment to her. He offered his arm to her, and she could hardly think of a reason not to accept it, so Miredhel allowed him the honor. After all, she really was not going to acknowledge her new courtship with Legolas, and she hoped more than believed that Adrendil was merely trying to be friendly.

"So Lady Miredhel, you have had many adventures as of late it seems," he observed.

"Alas, one too many for my taste, Captain. Adventures have been my lot, ever since I fell into company with your prince."

Adrendil smiled inwardly to himself. He hoped she would mention his name. "Ah, yes, the prince… or should I say Lord of Ithilien now, since he has given up his title and connection to Mirkwood?"

"I suppose so," Miredhel agreed uncomfortably.

"Prince or no, he has always possessed a knack for finding adventures…or the most beautiful maidens."

Miredhel carefully manufactured a smile. 'Unnerving, insidious creature,' she thought, 'what does he want from me?' She laughed for his benefit, and then merrily objected, "Certainly he has a talent for the former; as for the latter, I really could not say."

Adrendil chuckled. "Sly one! But of course, I spoke of you. Tell me, are you friends with Prince Legolas?"

"I admire the strength and leadership that your prince has shown."

"Ah, but that is not at all what I asked for, Lady Miredhel," he said and stopped in his path. "Please, be frank with me. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice."

Color rose to her cheeks. The audacity of it all! She resolved once more to remain cool. "My apologies, Captain…that you did not comprehend my answer. I will be more plain—yes, he is a friend."

He nodded and a cunning gleam entered his eyes. "It became quite obvious at the council meeting that he greatly admires you," he said softly to her.

"He has told me so himself before," Miredhel stated matter-of-factly in her normal tone of voice, ignoring the pretended intimacy of his whisper. They rounded the corner of the path, and she wondered how much longer he intended to walk with her.

Very briefly did Adrendil appear surprised by her remark, but he recovered and continued on, "My lady, I cannot presume to know his feelings for you—"

"Then please do not," interrupted Miredhel.

"—But know this, he is not your only admirer." And before Miredhel could pull away, he brought her hand to his mouth for a long, engaging kiss.

"Captain!" she indignantly gasped, and he dropped her hand before she could wrestle it away.

"Now it is I who must apologize. Forgive me, for your loveliness overtook my good sense." He pushed his hair over his shoulders, and then clasped his hands before her. "Please," he said, and Adrendil did have a velvety, attractive voice, "allow me to make it up to you, tonight—over dinner?"

Miredhel let out an angry puff of breath that she had been holding in and said, "I cannot allow you that satisfaction, Captain. I have made," and she looked away before she said, "other plans."

"I understand completely," Adrendil answered generously, and he really did understand, because her answer now confirmed his suspicion that she was indeed seeing the prince.

She smiled demurely, now more certain than ever that she wanted to part from his company. He was not finished, however; if anything could be said of Adrendil, let it be known that he was persistent to a fault.

"Here is where I must be leave of you, Lady Miredhel. I am joining Legolas' company, you know, and mean to help plan for tomorrow's journey. We leave at morning's first light."

"Yes, I know," replied Miredhel. She did not volunteer the fact that she would leave as well.

"I have always admired his lordship," Adrendil said to her, his voice intense and fluid at the same time. "He mentored my master archery training. He helped me obtain my captaincy in the Forest Guard." His eyes bore into her, but she did not look away.

"He is very kind," she said plainly.

"That he is. No one is more loyal to him than I. Yet all revealed, the apprentice always wishes to surpass his master." Adrendil squeezed her hand and then started down a separate path running through the clusters of tents. A few steps later, he pivoted and called to her, "If you and the prince… should part ways, I would most happily enjoy your company one evening, for dinner…or more." He flashed a smile, turned and was gone.

"Insufferable elf!" Miredhel shuddered, feeling annoyed to the hilt. "For dinner…or more?" she repeated to herself. He somehow knew or suspected her relationship with Legolas and still persisted. 'Some loyalty,' she thought.

She could not deny that she felt flattered to the slightest degree, for Adrendil was, despite obvious defects, very fair in voice and appearance, even charming in his own way. 'Yes, and now he is moving to Ithilien as well. Perfect!' She wondered what Legolas would say or do if he knew of the captain's amorous behavior. She sighed and started back to her tent, wondering if Limaer would be there or not. Limaer! Only the night before, Limaer had been Adrendil's object.

"Hmmph!" Miredhel snorted and quickened her pace to the tent.

Once there, she slipped into her tent to see Limaer stretched across one of the beds. She busily mended a gown and set aside her sewing to look inquiringly at her friend's return.

"Well, well," she smiled and looked at Miredhel expectantly.

"Indeed," Miredhel said and sat down on her bed. She pulled her knapsack from the floor and dumped its contents, keen on rearranging them before tomorrow's trip.

Limaer pursed her lips and then sighed. "Miredhel! Do not pretend that nothing has happened. Tell me! You know I want to know!"

Miredhel complacently folded a chemise and placed it next to the bag. "Know what?"

Limaer crossed the floor in a single step and grabbing the bag from Miredhel, promptly sat on it. She was not going to give up so easily.

"I am not getting up until you tell me what happened! -with the orc? -with the prince? Everything!" she declared through clenched teeth.

Miredhel scowled for a moment and then laughed. "It sounds as if you already know all that I could tell."

"No…Miredhel!" she cried.

"Oh, alright," she said with an overdone sigh. "At least make yourself useful and help me fold these things.

Limaer brightened, pulling the bag from under her and began to help, eagerly listening to Miredhel as she recounted her tale—leaving out the personal moments between her and the prince, of course.

"So you killed the orc?" she gasped. "How dreadful! Certainly better him than you." She squeezed Miredhel's hand. "And now the prince and a select group leave to warn this kingdom of men," Limaer said, "but I suppose you know all of that."

Miredhel nodded as she organized a length of rope to go into her bag. "I am going with them, Limaer."

The other maiden's eyes paled. "Oh, Miredhel, I figured as much. That definitely explains your packing." She paused to scrutinize her friend. "Why are you doing this? They have enough warriors without you."

Miredhel shrugged. She was not sure of the answer to that question herself.

"Is this because of your brother? Limaer asked and then lowered her voice, "Tell me, is this because of Prince Legolas?" She tried to read Miredhel's eyes, but she shied away from her gaze.

"I would be your friend if you but let me, Miredhel," Limaer said softly.

"Of course you are," she responded, meeting her eyes.

"I know Annariel's death was hard for you, but I do not think she would want you to be so lonely."

"How could you pretend to know what Annariel would want?" Miredhel snapped, instantly regretting her tone when the young maiden flinched.

Since her youth in the Golden Wood, Limaer had admired Miredhel, thinking her strong and clever, always hoping that she might join in Miredhel and Annariel's close friendship. She had envied them so, ever wanting to be included; wishing to join in their jokes and laughter, their ways quiet and merry. She still wished it, and perhaps she could still find that kind of friendship with Miredhel.

Limaer breathed deeply. "Who do you talk to, Miredhel? Confide in? Your brother?"

"I might," she replied stiffly, but in her heart she knew the truth of Limaer's words. She did feel alone. She missed having a female friend, and while Limaer was nothing so sweet or indefinable as Annariel, she was here. Annariel was gone, and Miredhel softly swallowed at how irreparably hollow that made her feel. To admit defeat and loss was a horrible thing. And lonely.

"I know how much you have admired him, Limaer." She said with downcast eyes.

Limaer slid closer to Miredhel. "I still do, but Miredhel, this is a mighty journey to take in the name of friendship."
"In truth, he is more than a friend," Miredhel confided. She had to tell someone.

"More?" Limaer asked with a sly smile.

"—But how much more, even I do not know," Miredhel added hastily, "and if you want truly to be a friend to me, than please be silent on this matter. Do not repeat it."

Limaer winked conspiratorially. "Of course," she assured her. "I will be more silent than the forgotten hills of Eryn Loch." She sat quietly for a moment, studying her hands folded across her lap. Then she picked up one of Miredhel's faded shirtwaists, folding and smoothing out the wrinkles. Her eyes darted to catch Miredhel watching her.

"What?" asked Miredhel. "Something troubles you. Is it because of what I said, about me and Legolas?"

"No, Miredhel. Honestly, I thought I would feel more jealous, but I do not. Instead, I worry for you. Prince Legolas, he is nothing short of remarkable, is he not?" Her fingers ran over the folded pile of clothing again, smoothing the wrinkles away. "But have a care, my friend," she warned, "for I have heard far too many tales of his love affairs since our arrival here."

Wondering what kind of stories Limaer had heard, exactly, Miredhel said, "Then I shall have to be on my guard."

"Indeed. I heard this one story of a peerless lady who—"

"Enough, Limaer!" Miredhel exclaimed, favoring ambiguity. She did not want to know any names, descriptions, or tales concerning Legolas' previous conquests. She had been known to be just a little jealous in times past, and any such information could only torture her mind later.

"You would rather not know the truth?" Limaer innocently asked.

"How can we know these stories are true?" Miredhel retorted, really hoping, more than believing, that they were just that—stories.

"You are right; we have yet to see him show favor to any lady save you, Miredhel," Limaer agreed.

"Exactly. Had we actually seen him engage another's affection, then it would be a different matter entirely," Miredhel said, pleased with her rationale and by the fact that Limaer seemed satisfied with it as well.

"Do be careful, though, dear." Limaer advised as her final say in the matter. She reached back to smooth one of her sleek curls and stood. She moved back over to her low bed and carefully sat down next to her mending.

So the afternoon passed for the two ladies. Limaer faithfully kept to her mending and sewing, and Miredhel arranged and rearranged her items and supplies for the trip tomorrow. She spaced all of them across her bed, debating on which to take and which to leave behind. Every time she felt that the arrangement could not be more complete, she would notice some small flaw in her reasoning and start over again. In truth, she was quite nervous, not only for the impending journey, but also because of her dinner tonight with Legolas. Most of her anxiety, she discovered, stemmed from being with him.

When she finally grew tired of arranging and packing, feeling that no perfect solution could be had, she changed into a soft, lovely gown for the evening to come. She let loose her hair so it curled softly around her face, down her back, and when she was quite pleased with her appearance, swept off the much debated contents of her knapsack from her bed and reclined upon it. Miredhel figured she could always finish fixing her bag later.

Miredhel's thoughts of meeting Legolas in the evening were hastily overthrown, however, when she heard her name called outside. She rose from the bed and pushed the door aside to see one of the forest guards from Mirkwood.

"My lady, the prince sends this message: that the plans have changed and the company will leave within the hour. Gather your things and meet the rest of the company within the forest circle," he said, his eyes uncomfortably flitting from Miredhel to Limaer.

"Yes, of course," replied a rather dazed Miredhel. The tent flap door fell from her finger tips, and she looked at Limaer and then to her belongings on the floor beside the bed in disbelief.

"Miredhel? Did you not hear what he said?" Limaer asked as she stood. "They are leaving—in an hour!"

Miredhel continued to stand there loosely fingering the silken fabric of her dinner gown. She could hardly believe it. Leaving? She still had much to do: finish packing, change clothes, braid her hair back, check her weaponry, and she had not discussed the trip with her brother yet! She wondered if he even knew that she was going with them. Probably not, she surmised, because if Eledhel had known, surely he would have stormed over to her tent in heated protest. Miredhel grimly swallowed.

Limaer tapped her on the shoulder. "If you plan on going with them, then we had better get you ready."

Miredhel looked down at her dress, her mouth forming a perfect 'o.' "I should change first," she decided.

"Yes, I think that would be a start," Limaer said wisely. "You change and I will finish packing your bag."

So the two ladies quickly went to work. Miredhel traded her lovely dress for more practical riding attire in soft Lorien grey while Limaer hastily shoved Miredhel's belongings back into her bag.

"I wonder why this sudden urge to leave."

"I know," Miredhel agreed and sat down to tighten the laces of her light boots. She picked up her leather gauntlets from the bed. They had been a gift from Eledhel, fitting to her slender wrists perfectly with a pattern of nephredil forming a star across the cuff. By the time she finished lacing them on, Limaer had finished packing her bag. Miredhel strapped her belt and her new knife to her waist and then picked up her bow and quiver. Limaer handed her friend the bag, which she had managed to pack quite slimly.

"Thank you," Miredhel said, and then very hesitantly reached to shift her bow to her left hand so she could hug Limaer with her right. "Thank you," she said again.

"Be careful, Miredhel," Limaer warned, "and try not to let our favorite prince do anything too foolhardy."

"I could hardly stop him if he tried," Miredhel said with a smile. "Will you go to the send-off?"

"No, I do not think so," Limaer said. "I was never too famous at farewells."

"May your paths be green and golden until we meet again," Miredhel said and she left.

She had pulled her hair into quick braids, and now as she walked, she patted them making sure of their steadfastness. Miredhel felt as though she could scarcely breathe, and the cool autumn air burned in her throat. She continued on down the path, nervously checking her belt for her knife, her bag for this or that, stretching out her fingers and then closing them again. She was lost to the hum of busy folk along the woodland trail, jesting, discussing, each on their own errand; until she heard a single voice which she had come to recognize. It came not from the jolly cluster of tents in the clearing, but from beyond the other side of the small path—into the woods.

"You know that I cannot allow this," the voice said excitedly. It was Legolas.

Miredhel paused. Her first impulse was to stop and listen, but certainly this did not concern her. She strained her ears towards the outer ridge of trees.

"No!" he cried and again, "No, I will not let you." Now Miredhel feared for his safety. What if he had been ambushed?

She silently nested her bag at the foot of a tree and crept deeper into the woods. Her hand lingered at the knife in her belt as she gained proximity to the sound of Legolas' voice. She flattened her back against a decrepit pine and slowly, carefully turned her head to peek around the trunk. She could not have been more surprised had she seen the prince hosting a tea party to a large number of Uruk hai.

For there standing beneath the bows of an ancient oak, was Legolas and a beautiful maiden with white blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and peerlessly fair skin.

Miredhel sucked in her breath and plastered herself back up against the tree. 'Well, this is certainly what comes of eavesdropping,' she thought, 'you inevitably hear that the worst is true.'

"I cannot believe you have done this, but I am so glad you are here," Legolas said in a low voice to the girl. "The king shall be very angry."

"I know, but I could not allow you to leave without saying goodbye," she said.

Miredhel stifled a groan and dared to look once more. Now the maiden was in his arms, with Legolas smoothing his fingers across her silky fine hair.

"Shh," he comforted her. "I can never be angry with you for long, but I am leaving tonight. You should return home."

Miredhel's head spun, reeling from wonder of who the girl could be and then to how she could sneak away without being seen. She bit back a sob and then braced herself to steal back to the path, but before she was out of range, she heard their low voices once more.

"I am sorry that I did not come sooner," she told him

"I understand why you did not."

"Take care of yourself, Legolas," she said and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too," he said.

And in the shadows and bracken of the woods, Miredhel squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel her pulse thrumming in her head, pounding: I told you so, I told you so, I told you so. She could scarcely believe it, could not. Could this be the same prince who only hours before proclaimed how much he needed her? 'Needed you,' a tinny voice reminded her, 'needed you, but he did not say that he loved you.' No, he did not.

Searing pain swept through her head, her chest, her stomach, and she stumbled to her knees near the tree where she had stowed her knapsack. She knelt there for a moment, nary a thought crossed her mind, and for the first time in many long hours, days, months, emotion reigned free, unchecked to destroy at will her cool demeanor. Finally, she slowed her breathing to a manageable pace, wishing she had never seen them, never heard their words, so she could still believe that he truly cared—that his words meant more.

When she heard the crush of pine needles, warning of someone's impending approach, she stood and swept her hands across her forehead and cheeks. She brushed away the tiny bits of red and gold leaves clinging to her tunic and pulled her bag to her chest, clutching it like a child who finds security in a beloved toy.

"Miredhel?"

It was Legolas. She faced him nonchalantly though it drained every ounce of resolve to do so. She certainly could not level any accusations now. She could scarcely move. Desire and action have ever been two unique attractors, and now that Miredhel felt the full force of one, she lacked the other. She would not mention what she had seen, but wait for a more opportune time. She could recollect her thoughts and then strike with more certainty, more resolve. She managed a small smile at Legolas, who had been studying the play of emotion across her face.

"Are you ready, then?" he asked.

"Not really, " Miredhel answered.

"Can I carry that for you?" he asked politely of her bag.

Miredhel still clutched her knapsack to her chest. "No, it is fine. I am fine. I was on my way to the clearing." She looked at him expectantly to see if he would offer any excuses to why he was in the forest.

Legolas looked at her with concern, noting the odd light in her eyes. "So was I, but I had to stop to linger once more in this wood."

"Oh?" asked Miredhel.

"I shall miss these trees, my home for so many years."

"You were saying goodbye to the forest?" she asked tiredly, and Legolas mistook her reserve for fatigue or perhaps nervousness.

"I am sorry we will not be able to have our special dinner tonight, Miredhel."

"As am I, Prince Legolas," she replied, "as am I."

"Do not mourn its loss, my lady. I will make it up to you, three fold if such a thing is possible."

Miredhel said nothing in return and merely continued onward. Now Legolas was certain that this new mood was related to their early departure. He wished to lighten her spirits and changed the subject.

"I told your brother that you were joining the company, so you should not worry about his reaction or anything," Legolas tried.

Now he held her attention again. "What did he say?" she asked anxiously.

"Say? Growled is more like it. He was not…overly pleased," he informed her, and seeing her dismay, was quick to add, "but I let him know that it was my expressed intent to have you along—since you were the one to shoot down the dragon. Eventually, he saw it my way."

"Did you tell him—" Miredhel started to say.

"About us?" he stopped and looked at her carefully, placing a hand on each shoulder. "No. You shall, though." He looked at her confidently and leaned in to place a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Miredhel's instincts screamed for her to pull away, but she did not. Even in the face of his duplicity, his lips still burned, strumming desire across her skin, through her heart, and she despaired. How could she fight this, when her weapons, her anger and loathing turned to ash with a single kiss? 'A fool am I,' she thought bitterly, 'to forfeit all chance of joy in one who loves another.' Miredhel remained silent for the rest of the way, answering only to the cruel thoughts that robbed her peace.

When they reached the clearing, Legolas steered her to a light brown mount with dusty white feet.

"Listen, Miredhel," he said and squeezed her hand, "I know that losing your horse on the way here was difficult for you." She nodded loosely, confused about his purpose. Her mind was already a jumble anyways.

"I chose this horse from my father's best—for you. I know she will not be the same as having Thorontal…" Legolas' voice faded out in his desire to know her opinion, to observe her reaction.

"No, Legolas. She is beautiful. Thank you."

"Then she is yours." Legolas smiled to himself. At last a gift that she would willingly accept.

Miredhel shyly rubbed the horse's muzzle with obvious adoration, but when she turned to look at Legolas and thank him, he sensed that something still bothered her. Her reluctance at his touch. Her uneasy silence. Now her eyes bespoke of a soul that had drifted beyond his reach. Vague, distant. Like a forest on a long horizon, he could hear the faint rustle of many swaying canopies, he could see the emerald leaves and rich, brown bark, but the distance was simply far too great to measure and cross. She was inexplicably beyond him.

Hoping to draw her back to him, Legolas asked, "Miredhel? Do you like her?"

"Yes, Legolas. She is wonderful," Miredhel said, turning to face him, and much against her set will, she impulsively kissed his cheek.

"I have to go now," he said, feeling immensely better after the kiss. "Ride close to the front—try and stay with your brother, if possible," he instructed her and left, feeling certain that he would always be at a loss to understanding females. He took one more look back to see her admiring the horse and shook his head. What was wrong with her? He reassured himself that she must be feeling overwhelmed. Feeling comforted by this analysis, he strode over to Arod, where his father and brother both happened to wait for him.

"I heard the scouts' reports, Legolas," Thranduil grimly said. "Another large company passed the edge of the southeastern rim towards Gondor?"

"Yes, which is why I decided to leave sooner rather than later. There is evil at work here, my father."

"The old alliances are dead, son."

"I cannot believe that," Legolas said firmly. "I will not."

"Legolas, please," Oromer spoke up. "Let someone else go if you must warn the world of men."

"It is MY allegiance to Gondor, to Aragorn, that binds my decision, my will," Legolas answered firmly.

The king exchanged a mournful glance with Oromer. "Peace be with you then," he said, and Legolas pivoted to secure his belongings before mounting his horse. The king's hand caught his shoulder, and his son turned.

"Legolas?" he said softly, "I am proud of you. Of your determination. Your strength. Your loyalty. I do not think I have to fear for you the way I once did." He pulled Legolas into his arms and hugged him. "Be careful, my prince…my son."

"Thank you, Ada. I will," Legolas whispered.

He swung up on Arod and raised his long bow with a great shout. "Hear me, my company. We ride into grave danger against forces unmatched and time itself. We no longer ride for Eryn Lasgalen or the Golden Wood. Now in this hour we shall ride as one. One people! One purpose! For Ithilien!"

"For Ithilien!" the company roared in return, and the host of elven riders leapt forward through the woods, breaking the smooth paths into a ripple of straw and dust behind them. And the Lord of Ithilien led the way, his hair caught up in a high breeze of his own haste, a golden-white standard to rule the way into battle and glory.


Chapter 29 - Brown-Lands

The sun dipped low in the west, spreading a brilliant crimson fan across the Brown Lands, and to the east, the land fell away to the rush of the Anduin, gleaming dark and cold, like an ancient blade of deadly length. The elven company had not lessened their pace since leaving the borders of Mirkwood behind them. Not once had Legolas looked back to catch a final glimpse of the dark eaves of his sires' land, for if he had then surely he would have seen a solitary figure on horseback slip from the shadows and take the road behind them.

Since taking leave of his king, Legolas turned his mind toward the road ahead, the route his company must take and above all the safety of his people. He did not have any real assurance that they would even reach the first towns in time enough to provide a defense against the encroaching enemy. As his bright elven eyes peered into the graying horizon of the Brown Lands, Legolas searched unabatingly for any trace of orc or beast, but to no avail. What time that had saved by leaving earlier than intended still might not be enough, and the uncertainty of the endeavor weighed heavily upon the young elven leader. He did not want to fail; he must not. He stretched out his fingers and then closed them again, rolling back his shoulders to prevent the stiffness that comes with hard riding.

They would keep on, he decided, even with the fall of the sun, they must not stop, save to water their mounts. Their success depended on their ability to outstrip the legions with the speed of their riding and eclipse them in stealth through a forgotten pass before and through Emyn Muil. So onward the elves pressed with grim eyes and hearts and the surety that comes with the realization of nothing being certain except the cold fall of night and the hard ride ahead.

Every elf felt it. Whether it was their heightened sense of awareness or plain warrior camaraderie, each member of the company shared the weight of the task before them, trusting in the hope of success and their new, idealist leader. One can only suppose that many of them had different reasons to follow young Legolas. Despite his great age among men, Legolas Greenleaf still ranked as barely more than a youth compared to his own, and some elves followed him for this very reason—for his youth, his exuberance, or perhaps that these inspired them to feel their own youth again also. Many more of the company, especially those of Eryn Lasgalen, followed the prince out of loyalty to the house of Oropher, to Legolas himself. Many more, from either wood, rode now for their love of this new hero among elves, the hope and promise and light unchecked within his steady blue eyes.

Regardless of their motivations, the riders with their sleek tunics, glinting flashes of silver, swept across the desolate lands, their fierce purpose betrayed by the well-loaded quivers or the elegant blades and bows—long, curved, deadly. All were splendid, ready to trust in the weight of a weapon in their grip, fell-handed warriors of old, lost from the eyes of men in the final years of the third age, and now they would charge into the world of men again in the name of honor, the loyalty of one binding them all to a fate unknown.

Keeping pace in this great host rode a less battle-proven elf, and though her courage flagged with the sinking sun, onward she rode. Not entirely sure of her place in such a company or even why she was there, she would have not turned back, and she supposed a great deal of that resolve was lent through the presence of the one ahead all the others on his white Rohan steed, his hair flipping back in the wind like a beacon, or a home-fire urging her forward. Miredhel sighed and swept a fly-away curl from her eyes. She had heard from his own lips that he loved another, yet still she followed him. She felt as thought she were bound to play the fool.

With a slight clip of her heels and a soft command, she urged her new horse forward through the racing throng, her goal being to meet and keep pace with her brother. Miredhel was upset on many levels—about the journey, the danger, seeing Legolas with another, and how angry her brother would probably be—and some might think her foolish for seeking out her brother at a time like this, especially when he was one of her chief causes of anxiety. All this considered, she also felt incredibly lonely, despite the fact that many of the other elves she knew as old acquaintances or even friends. Yet she sought the sense of protection and comfort that only his brotherly presence could provide, and Miredhel only hoped that he would not be too cross to be wholly unsympathetic.

She slid past Adrendil who regarded her with a certain amount of real surprise. He did not speak, but dipped his head in respect with a sly smile favoring his mouth. When she at last reached Eledhel who rode to the right front flank, her brother turned with a quizzical look in his eyes and said, quite nonchalantly:

"I was wondering if you were ever going to join me, Miredhel. Sulindal and I were going to make a wager on it. Ahh, but no need for that now."

Miredhel peered at her brother nervously. She had not expected him to take her decision so well or so calmly for that matter. He should have, in the very least, turned a nasty shade of red and shouted a bit, but at the moment, he merely rode complacently on his horse, his grey eyes as dark pools in the fading daylight.

And his lack of reaction made Miredhel's insides quake more than any amount of shouting. She would much rather a blow-up, than this well-mannered silence. It was just not…right.

"So, Eledhel," she tried, "you have no objections to my being here?"

Her brother snorted and then laughed in an eerily, fake sort of way. "No, no," he said, "I have plenty of objections," and he hemmed a second, his eyebrows furrowing together, "not that any of them matter now, since here you are!"

Sulindal shot Miredhel a sympathetic glance. "Now Eledhel, like I told you earlier, Miredhel is a fine hand with a bow. She could have easily joined the forest guard years ago."

"Oh, shut up both of you," said Eledhel irritably.

Miredhel more than happily complied with his request, for she had precious little desire to speak of anything at the moment, and especially not Legolas! Her intense sorrow and shock at seeing him with another lady had faded in the long hours of riding. Now anger threatened to boil up and pop like hot pus from a blister. 'A disgusting analogy, but a fitting one,' Miredhel mused as she thought of how pleasing it would be to let one of her arrows 'accidentally' fly into the prince's royal hindquarters during an attack. 'Would serve him right, too,' she thought, and the planning of such a scheme, how she would have to switch arrows , of course, so no blame would darken her character, and hit him at such an angle to cause no real damage, save a seriously sore riding seat! Such plans made her feel much better, and she scarcely noticed the dim fall of day into dusk as they rode, nor Farothin, Haldir's young nephew, returning from scouting ahead.

Sulindal and Eledhel had noticed, however, quite some time ago, and had hastened to the front where rode their lord and commander, Legolas. Seeing Farothin as well, the prince bid the company to stop and rest their horses. All dismounted with a serious eye to the incoming scout, wondering of the tidings, ill or fair, that he must bring. In no time at all, Farothin was at Legolas' side, panting with news.

"My lord, we are within reach of one of the orc battalions. Their pace slows. The many miles over foot, it seems, has caught up with them."

A ghostly smile played across the prince's lips as he pondered the news. "And now, it seems that we shall catch them as well." His bright azure eyes flitted up toward the sky in the last failing moments of daylight and slowly became steely hued as his jaw set resolutely.

"How many of them are there?" he asked, and his mind began to concoct a plan.

According to Farothin, a blackened, dead line of trees- almost a small forest- dotted the horizon. The elves could drive the orcs into the trees and easily surround them. All elves present, the captains decided, were woodelves whether it be from Lorien or Eryn Lasgalen, and would prefer coverage of trees in attack as opposed to the usual wide, gaping territory of the Brown Lands.

"What if this battalion is not alone?" asked Sulindal quietly.

"They were," Farothin bristled, a little indignant that Sulindal would question his findings.

"Are you suggesting a trap?" Legolas replied. The captains' heads now shifted from Sulindal to face Legolas with a collective look of surprise.

"Farothin, though doubtlessly a skilled scout," Sulindal began, and now Farothin beamed at him, "cannot see what lies beyond the horizon. None of us can. A whole legion could be waiting for that battalion."

Legolas nodded in agreement and pressed his fingers to his temple as if in deliberation. The elves stirred in his silence.

"Your Lordship, how can there be any question to our actions? Isn't our purpose to kill orcs?" asked a Mirkwood captain with a certain amount of relish in his voice. It was Adrendil.

Our purpose," Legolas corrected, "is to warn the towns of Gondor, which we will be most unsuccessful in doing, if we are all slaughtered."

"You have with you the best warriors of both woods! How could we possibly fail?" Adrendil exclaimed, and a few elves murmured in agreement.

"Forty-three of even the 'best' warriors is no match for a legion of orcs, Captain Adrendil," Legolas said pointedly, the ire in his eyes a dark warning to the elf.

"Prince Legolas is right," Eledhel agreed, glaring at Adrendil. "I propose that we send someone further along the banks of the Anduin to confirm the number and status of the party Farothin described."

"Would we have time for this, Farothin? Before the orcs pass the dead forest?"

Farothin shifted uncomfortably and nodded. "Yes, there would be time enough, if I hurried."

"No, we will have to send someone else, for you have ridden hard to relay this news and should rest your horse. Any volunteers?" Legolas' eyes scanned the group.

"I will go," answered Eledhel, and he glanced over to the horses where his sister happily patted her new steed.

"Good." The decision pleased Legolas. "Choose another archer to ride with you."

"I already have," answered Eledhel, and he left the captains and the prince to secure his mount for the mission.

"Sister darling, he said with a contemptible brotherly sneer," we are taking a little ride, you and I."

"Isn't that what we have been doing for the better half of the day?" she retorted, annoyed at the smug look on his face.

"No, this little trip is for just you and I," he said smoothly, giving her a hand in mounting her horse. "We are going to pay some orcs a visit."

"Orcs?" she gulped and then looked down.

Eledhel swung up on his horse and would have ridden out, if Legolas had not appeared at that very moment, a look of heavy consternation written across his peerless face.

"Eledhel, certainly…certainly you are not taking your sister along as back-up, are you? Are you?" queried the Prince.

"It would appear so," Miredhel blandly answered for her brother. She had wanted adventure, she had yearned for her brother to include her, and well, here it was. She was surprised at how her anticipation and longing for such a moment had resulted in a nauseating, nearly panicking grip of tension across her entire body now that the moment had arrived.

"And Miredhel, are you wholly convicted to partaking in this task?" Legolas asked. His eyes pleaded her to stay, to admit that her actions were in jest.

Miredhel's fear dissipated into swift satisfaction that Legolas worried for her safety. Let him worry. After all, he had gotten her into this in the first place, and for what? Certainly not love. He did not love her; no his heart belonged to another.

Her reply was cuttingly to the point. "Yes, my brother has faith in me," she said with a strange sidelong glance at Eledhel before she directed her eyes back to the prince and added coolly, "although, some do not."

"Are you sure you will not stay, Miredhel? With me?" Legolas reached for her hand, not caring the Eledhel looked on.

"Very sure, Prince Legolas. Besides, you would not even miss my company for two days, no wait—two hours—before you replaced me with another, I'd wager." Miredhel offered no other words or farewells and both brother and sister took off in search of the orcs, leaving behind a very confused Legolas.

After several moments of strained silence, Eledhel looked intently at his sister. "What happened back there?" he asked.

"Nothing you do not already know—that I believe him to be the single most infuriating person in Middle Earth."

The corners of Eledhel's mouth drew up into a semi-smile. "I will ask you this again, Miredhel. What is there between you and Legolas?"

She cast her eyes down. "Not even I know the full answer to that," she mumbled and looked up to her brother.

His expression softened. "I always hoped we were closer than this, sis—that you could tell me things."

"I know, El, but…he was your friend first, and you know, prince and hero and everything—and well…"

Now his soft grey eyes began to twinkle. "I always knew he admired you, and then suspected, well, more than admiration," Eledhel said.

"Admired, maybe, but I think he has already formed a lasting attachment to someone else," Miredhel said truthfully, catching her brother's eye. "He is not really serious."

Eledhel shook his head. "No, sis. I disagree. We've talked about such things before, him and I, and he never mentioned having any serious relationships. Quite the contrary, actually."

Miredhel bit her lip and knotted her fingers in her lap. "Hmm," was all she could bring herself to say aloud to Eledhel; although in her heart, she began to have her doubts about the scene she had witnessed with Legolas. Perhaps her brother was mistaken, and Legolas had deceived them both. She hoped that she might be found wrong on all counts, but her heart, having been wounded in matters of love before, warned her to keep up her guard.

Now Eledhel and Miredhel crept closer to the party of orcs, and Miredhel's innards lurched as she saw their crude helmets and brutish scimitars gleaming in soft moonlight. She swallowed dryly and whispered to her brother, "Tell me why you asked me to come with you?"

"Punishment," he whispered back gleefully. "Since you wanted to tag along with the real warriors, I thought I would let see what it's really like."

She punched his arm. "You troll!"

"You are not afraid, are you?" he teased her.

"I am NOT afraid," Miredhel hissed back.

"Good. Then stay here while I creep in for a closer look."

"By myself?" Miredhel groaned and then reasserted herself. "Sure. I will be fine."

Eledhel stopped for a moment and looked back. "Listen, sis. If anything should happen, you ride back to the company. If they give chase, then head for that dead forest. You can hide better in there."

Miredhel nodded. "Got it. I will just wait here until you return."

Her brother rolled his eyes. "Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

Minutes rolled by. Miredhel waited quietly, patiently for her brother. Eledhel had not returned. 'Just where could he be?' She irritably wondered. Then she heard a sudden, distant clang of metal, followed by a hushed gurgle and then a shout in orcish. The hasty glow of torchlight and more shouting in the Black Speech ensued. Filthy language, that. Some of the words she picked up on in the common tongue, many of them curses she had heard uttered by Belegil when she had once cleaned a nasty arrow wound. Whatever had happened out there in the inky dark probably involved her fool brother, and as much as she hoped and prayed for his safety, she could not linger for his return. She had listened to all of Eledhel's instructions, despite whatever he believed.

The torchlight grew nearer, and Miredhel made the decision to ride back. She whispered to her horse, and together they began to move quietly through the low glade where she had hidden herself. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and loosely fit it to her bow, just in case the need should arise. To Miredhel's astonishment, her silvery bow wrought from Gondolin of old, sparked in the darkness and began faintly shimmering a soft blue glow. The old tales were true! Miredhel could not wait to tell Eledhel, if she got to see him again, that her bow did glow, which also meant that orcs were near. That realization extinguished all of Miredhel's excitement over her bow. Orcs were near! The steady nearing flicker of torches threatened to give her position away, and the sound of many hideous voices shrieked louder, then louder.

"Garn! You maggots, he couldn't have gotten far. Spread out!" one of the orc chiefs shouted.

"Nar!" another snarled. "I won't be gutted like that fool Borbrat."

"The big boss'll roast you filthy squeakers if you don't! Call the wargs—there might be more out there."

'Big Boss? Who might that be?' Miredhel wondered for a second before she latched onto the last part of the orc's remark—Wargs! She stiffened in the shadows. She thought about Eledhel's warning to seek protection in the dead forest if being chased…but she was not under pursuit yet. Before she could decide, orcs sprang into view, and Miredhel felt the quick flight of arrows pass her by as her horse leapt into a full gallop.

"There's one now! An elvish wight—bring it down," the orcs screamed with delight.

"Call the wargs!"

Her options lost to her, Miredhel had but one choice—to ride for her life. She chased through the graying shadows of the Brown Lands, at times the thick reedy clumps of prairie grass slowing her speed. The wargs and riders gained on her; she could hear their heavy padded footfalls closing in. She turned in her seat to see five behind her. With the dead forest long behind her, Miredhel's only real hope was to reach the company before the wargs caught up with her.

The closest orc was a low-browed, bulbous nosed villain, and to Miredhel's dismay, he pulled out a heavy-looking black crossbow.

"Fly, Fly away little bird!" he crowed, "Fly for all the good it'll do—I'm gonna stick you like a roast hen!"

"Not if I stick you first," Miredhel whispered and drew her silver bow, pulled tight by a green and gold Mirkwood arrow.

She aimed for his neck and missed, and then quickly reloaded to miss again. This was quite different from firing at targets in a tournament—those did not shoot and curse at you. Miredhel figured she had one more shot before the orc could reload, and she could not hope that he would miss again, being as close as he was. She pulled her arrow and fired, striking his hand. The orc yelped and dropped his bow.

"Quickly now," Miredhel urged her horse, and she rolled to the right of his back, leaning into the horse's neck. As she did so, one of the other warg riders charged forward.

Her horse squealed and careened, nearly causing Miredhel to lose her seat. Her torso jerked to the front, and a good thing too, for she just barely missed the swing of the orc's rusty scimitar.

He laughed wickedly and swung again, but his blade fell short. Before he could try a third time, a golden-shafted arrow ripped through his throat. She aimed her next arrow for the front forelimbs of the snarling warg chasing behind her, with the dead orc still hanging in the saddle. She thought there was precious little chance that she could actually kill one of the wretched things, but perhaps she could disable it. At least, she hoped so.

Miredhel narrowed her eyes and turned to fire. One arrow in the upper leg, the monster stumbled. Then two, he yowled and fell, writhing and scratching at his wounds. A success, small—but a victory nonetheless. She still had four more wargs and riders giving chase.

She strained her eyes to the horizon and saw the other elves. Her friends, Belegil and Sulindal, and Legolas… "Ithilien, Ithilien," she cried against the wind.

But the orcs were simply too close, and her friends, too far away.

Two more had pulled almost even with her, brandishing their black jagged blades high above their heads, bellowing all sorts of vile insults. Miredhel did not even carry a sword with her. All she had was the long knife from Thranduil. She certainly could not fight them blade to blade. She pursed her lips and decided it mattered little.

"Foolish orcs!" She smirked and brought them down in one, two shots, each falling with a look of astonishment on his face.

Still, two more orcs remained—one of them being the chief whose hand she had shot earlier. He charged with unbridled fury gleaming in his pale-slitted eyes as he yanked her arrow from the blackened flesh of his hand.

"I'll have you for that, little bird!" he bellowed, sliding a serrated dagger from his belt.

Miredhel gasped and looked ahead. The other elves flew toward her, but the did not seem close enough. She would have to save herself.

"Just a little more," she said through clenched teeth. Miredhel quickly pulled another arrow from her quiver. She turned to aim, but before she could settle her bow, the orc leapt from his warg to Miredhel's horse.

His sinewy fingers stretched for her shoulder and when he could not quite reach it, grabbed a clawful of hair and pulled her down across his lap.

"Said I'd have at you," he snarled and closed his fingers around her neck with the very hand she had shot only seconds before. His own blood, black and hot, oozed from the torn wound and ran down her neck as the orc tightened his grip and began to squeeze.

Meanwhile, Miredhel's horse, maddened by the orc's assault skidded and bucked, causing her enemy to close his fingers together even more.

"Tell that beast to stop," he ordered.

"Noro, noro lim," Miredhel choked out. Stopping was the last thing she wanted to happen. She lay still in his hold, while her mind raced. She knew not what to do. One hand held her bow, and the other dangled at her side. Her knife still hung at her belt, but could she really grab it to stab him, before he did worse to her? She shuddered, her eyes drifting to the dagger in his hand.

"You're afraid-" he gloated, angling his head and body over her as he licked his lips, "you should be." He hissed so close to her face that she could feel and smell his wretched breath.

Miredhel grimace and tilted her head away, but the orc dug his nails into her neck and mashed his face to hers in what could only be described as a horrible kiss. His black cracked lips were on hers, and then his teeth, and then, his tongue.

Rage snapped within Miredhel, and her bow arm became like a god's hammer, and she rammed her silver bow into the side of his head. He jerked back, his fingers uncurling from her neck.

"I am NOT afraid," she seethed and swung her bow back across his head, and then again and again, driving the butt repeatedly into his temple.

"Die, you miserable wretch!" she cursed and shoved him to the rapid flight of hardened earth below. Miredhel drew her sleeve across her mouth, wiping her lips clean, and she grimly smiled to herself in the dark of night.

She did not see the warg quickening his pace behind her.

With sheer malevolence and bloodlust lending unnatural speed to the beast, his terrible, swift paws tore the earth with each fell stroke as he gained on the horse and elf. He rounded a large boulder and then leapt upon it, arching his back in anticipation of his prey.

Miredhel only saw the fast approach of her kindred, and hope welled up in her chest for deliverance. She did not see the warg, not until it was too late.

Her horse balked, and then she spied the great wolf, his shaggy coat edged by moonlight, ready to pounce. He sprang down from the rock in a splintered second. Miredhel fumbled for her knife, her eyes wide, and she flinched as his claws closed in.

Only they never reached her.

A shower of gold and green fletched arrows struck the warg in midair, and he fell short of Miredhel and her horse. She gripped the handle of her knife, her other hand flew up to steady her heaving chest, her posture curved and shrinking. Another volley of arrows sailed over her head. The other wargs and orc abandoned their hunt and high-tailed away in the opposite direction. The elves had come.

Belegil, Sulindal and a great many others flew past her, bows and swords ready, in deadly pursuit of the enemy. They rounded the land, finishing Miredhel's handiwork, killing the wargs before they could return to their masters.

Legolas stopped at her side. "Miredhel, are you alright?" he asked, and then, "Where is your brother?"

Although she still fought to breathe, Miredhel straightened her posture. She put away her knife and hung her bow at her back, pausing for a deep breath before she answered. "I am not hurt, but Eledhel is still out there."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. He had been terrified to watch the orcs' assault from a distance, not being able to help her, save her, strike down the enemies that chased her; although he had to admit, she had held her own. At the moment, however, he very much wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her, make sure she was really there before him and perfectly well, but…he could not. He was, after all, the Lord of Ithilien now, and his responsibilities took precedence.

"What of the orcs?" he asked, "how many?"

"120 or so, and wargs—they had all stopped to rest when Eledhel and I saw them. They are well within our reach, my lord, if we move now."

"If we move now…" Legolas repeated to himself. He turned to Farothin behind him. "Call the others back, for we ride into battle. Make haste!"

The young elf took off, and Legolas turned back to Miredhel. "You are not injured in any way, are you?" he asked, gently picking up her hand. He peered at her closely.

"You already asked that," she reminded him.

"I know," he said, "but I just wanted to be sure." He squeezed her hand in both of his. "What happened back there?"

"Eledhel went in for a closer look. When he did not return, I rode back," she simplified her story.

"With some extra friends," Legolas added. "You did not have to do that, you know," he said. "Why did you? You should have stayed with the group, with me." Accusation edged his tone.

"I wanted to do my part for Ithilien," Miredhel claimed in a soft whisper, leaning in closer to the prince, placing her other hand on top of his. "That is why we are here, why I am here, isn't it?" She stared at him.

Legolas lowered his voice. "You are here, because I could not bear the thought of leaving you behind, because I-"

"Legolas, quick. Over here!" Belegil shouted, waving his arm.

The prince cast his eyes down and sighed. He gave Miredhel a stern look and said, "All I ask is that you be careful. When we ride into this fight, you could hang back, out of harm's way, if you wanted." He dismounted from his horse and ran to Belegil.

An orc lay prone in the dirt, wheezing with a single bloody fist balled across his chest. Belegil hunched over him, knife in hand, and beckoned Legolas to draw near.

"Repeat what you said!" he demanded. "Tell me where your troops are going." He glanced over to his friend, "This one is a captain or leader, I think."

The orc's eyes rolled back in his head, and he coughed and then spat at Belegil's boots. "The little gold bird flew away," he rasped.

Belegil and Legolas exchanged confused looks.

"Miredhel?" mouthed Belegil silently.

"Would her blood taste sweeter than her lips?" the orc asked through a fit of coughing.

Legolas' eyes darkened, and at once he was on his knees, pointing his long white knife at the orc's throat. "What did you do to her?" he growled, and the orc chuckled mirthlessly.

Legolas drove his fist across the orcs' temple and then wrapped both hands around his neck, pulling his head up in a vicious shake. "Tell me!" the elf demanded.

"Heh, heh, heh," the orc choked out, "her lips…"

Legolas snapped his neck.

"Legolas!" Belegil admonished in shock. "He could have told us their plans, their leader, everything!"

Legolas stood and dusted his hands off. "I doubt that."

"He would have, with a little persuasion…he kept muttering big boss, the big boss. Why did you kill him like that?"

Legolas' eyes drifted to rest upon Miredhel. "I should have never let her come with us," he muttered, walking back toward his horse.

Belegil suddenly smiled in understanding. "Oh ho!" he said, sheathing his knife and following the prince. "Oh, Legolas. You and Miredhel? Great Valar, she's a fireball," he laughed.

Legolas glared at him.

"Well, she is," he excused himself. "I would not worry too much for her in battle. She is every bit as tough as her brother, had to be, growing up with him. She can fend for herself."

The elves mounted their horses, and Belegil smiled slyly at Miredhel. "Prince Legolas here just killed a nasty orc for you, sweetheart," he called and winked. "Nothing says love like snapping someone's neck!"

Miredhel groaned and buried her face in her hands.

Legolas glared at Belegil again, and then called the elves to attention. "Listen! We will spread into three flanks and force the orcs toward the dead forest. Shoot to kill, let none escape, and take no prisoners!"

The elven riders plunged into the darkness. Across the desolate land they rode. All was still save the soft clip of horses' hooves in the hard-packed earth and the rustle of elven cloaks against the wind. One of the company, a Mirkwood elf, began to sing in a low voice a song of old, of war and battle, of death and glory:

Across dark fields, flew elves in haste,

In night's grim hour, they would lay waste,

To deadly foes and battle's throes.

Morning's glory, they yearned to taste.

The moon was dark, the hour late,

Hidden enemies lay in wait,

To spring, to kill, their greatest thrill,

And feed in orcish lust and hate.

At last both clashed in mists of red,

The quick, the fearless, and the dead,

Their elvish lord threw high his sword,

And all orcs learned anew to dread.

In killing orcs, they found their quarry,

Elves fought and died, all tasted glory.

Remember well, this tale to tell,

Dagorlad, so ends their story.

Miredhel did not take much comfort from that song. She rode uneasily, her eyes darting about, expecting at and moment for a pack of wargs and horrid orcs to appear. She glanced behind her; she had fallen to the back in shameful accordance to Legolas' suggestion. To the rear of the company, the Brown Lands were even more still and silent. With satisfaction, she turned to the front, but her eyes caught something as she moved—some glint of metal, like a ring or the tip of an arrow in the distant grey. With care, she turned her head to look again. Someone rode behind them, covered in the gloom of night and a dark cloak. When she turned to look again, the rider was gone.

Up ahead rode Legolas, so cool and calm, with bow in hand, grim eyed and stern-faced, to all who looked upon him. The dead forest loomed on the horizon, and the scattered orcs' lights glimmered across the shadows like fallen stars. Not far from the approaching elves, a warg waited, crouched down, his shaggy coat blending into the faded land, his yellow eyes ever watchful. At last, he caught a scent.

"Spies! Elves!" he howled in his own tongue, and the whole of the orcs ran to join him, dreaded weapons in hand.

The elves faltered not in their course.

Their lord raised his bow. "Ithilien, to arms!" he cried, and the warriors drew their arrows as one arm, releasing a golden swarm of deadly might. The arrows smote the orcs' black shields, necks, thighs, and chests. Some shrieked and fell, but most kept running, swords and spears held high, toward their foes.

The gap between the two forces narrowed until orcs and elves collided in a thundering clash of steel and iron. And from the back, Miredhel watched her kinsmen transform in swift and terrible vengeance. Her eyes were drawn to Legolas as he charged into the horde, firing one arrow after another in a seamless perfect sweep of motion. His eyes blazed, for fury shone in his face; she had never before seen him so.

Following his lead, the elves swept through the orcs and wargs, forcing them toward the dead forest as planned. Belegil and Sulindal led the second flank, wielding their swords as deadly as any foe hammer of old. These elves were not the kinsmen or friends Miredhel had known. They were utterly foreign to her—the deadly gleam in their eyes, the lethal certainty of their skill. They were terrifying—

They were warriors.

Miredhel followed their lead, plunging into the fray. She dodged orc blades as she circled the outer edge, training her eye and bow on any target within striking distance. Meanwhile, Legolas and the captains had led the rest of the warriors deep within the pulsing mass of a hundred bodies. Driven wild by the scent of elf flesh and insatiable blood lust, the enemy assailed the company, but to no avail. For the elves had formed a wedge through the heart of the orcs, fighting them from inside their own ranks while skilled archers shot from the outside, picking off the leaders one at a time. Slowly the elves pushed the dwindling mass of orcs closer to the dead forest.

Wind stirred in their favor, and the clouds broke momentarily. A pale slice of moonlight burst from cover, illuminating a brief crack of battle. Among the vague thorny silhouettes of orc bodies, Miredhel perceived a face she knew as well as her own—it was Eledhel. He lived! But the joy welling up inside dissolved as she caught a gruesome body rise from the ash and slime of the battle plain and stagger toward her brother's open back.

"Eledhel! Behind you!" she shouted.

He did not turn. He could not hear her above the din and roar of open battle. Miredhel cursed her foolishness for even hoping that he might. She guided her horse frantically to push her way toward him, at least close enough that she could get a clear shot to fell the orc. She reached in her quiver. Her hand found nothing. All her arrows were spent.

Now the slowly creeping orc pulled a scimitar from a fallen comrade.

"Eledhel," she screamed again, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Eledhel, watch out!" Her hand fell in frustration to her belt, and her fingertips curled around the hilt of her knife. She slid it from its sheath in desperation, and flung it with all her might at the orc. The blade struck him in the neck, and he gurgled a choking cry as he crumpled to the earth.

Her brother turned, his eyes lingering on the jeweled hilt embedded in oily skin. He quickly pulled out the knife and looked up to see his sister upon her horse standing tall above him.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Now clear out of this mess before you get hurt."

"Before I get hurt?" Miredhel scoffed. She took her knife from his hand and pulled some arrows from his quiver. "Nice of you to show up, by the way."

"At your service," Eledhel said and mock-curtsied, turned and then thrust his blade through a charging orc. "Now get out of here!" he warned her, as he ducked under the swing of a broad-ax. With a smirk, Miredhel shot his assailant.

Eledhel glared at her and then slapped her horse on the side. "Go!"

But the tide of the orcs' fleeing was such that Miredhel was drawn into their current, pushing toward the blackened forest. It was then that she saw the cloaked rider again, heading for cover under the eaves of the woods, and Miredhel broke away to follow him.

She dismounted from her horse at the woods' edge. She could slip under the trees virtually unseen this way. Miredhel armed her bow and followed the tracks under the trees. The orcs had also sought refuge in this dark tangle of long dead branches and twisted thickets. Miredhel could hardly believe she was doing this, as she silently swung up into a tree branch so she could better look for the rider, and she would have an open range on orcs as they ran past. 'If only Annariel could see me now,' she mused sadly as she lay in wait. Every orc she faced, every orc she killed was penance for her friend's death, penance and revenge all wrapped up into one neat package. Miredhel checked her quiver; she had five arrows left. Five more chances to better Middle Earth. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them at the quick approach of running feet.

It was the rider, still swathed in black, upon his horse. Orcs had cornered his steed into the razor-sharp tangles of a spiny thicket. The horse jolted and bucked, and the rider swung a curved sword, desperately trying to beat back his foes while staying mounted. If Miredhel had any doubts about where the rider's allegiance lay, they dissipated with her spotting the sword. It was clearly elvish in make and design.

She shot one of the orcs, giving away her hidden position. Now they were on to her. She edged to the inside of the dead tree trunk and shot another one of the nasty brutes as he ran for her. More orcs swarmed the horse and rider, and the rider did very well to keep them at bay with the tip of his sword. Miredhel watched in astonishment at one of the orcs latched onto the rider's cloak, trying to pull him off his horse. The cloak ripped from his shoulders, and behold! The rider was not a he, but a she! A fair blonde maiden with clear blue eyes-in fact, the very maiden Miredhel had seen in Legolas' embrace before they had left.

"Lierwen!" Miredhel gasped, and the girl heard her voice. Her eyes darted up to the tree branch where Miredhel had been hiding, and the orcs seized this moment to knock the girl from her horse.

She rolled to her right to miss the blow of their spears. She quickly pushed herself to her feet and slowly inched back, sword in hand. The orcs leered at her and then almost simultaneously all converged on her at once with dagger, axe, spear, and sword.

"Help!" she cried as they surrounded her.

At that very moment, Miredhel could have walked away, of course, and left the girl to a horrible demise at the hands of orcs. Legolas would be heartbroken, but time heals such wounds, and in the end he would find comfort in her arms. To Miredhel's credit, that thought never even crossed her mind. She softly swallowed her surprise at the rider's true identity, and used her last arrows to pick off the orcs surrounding her. The girl deftly swung her blade and beheaded or stabbed the remaining two. When the last orc had fallen, the girl sunk to her knees and dropped her sword, pressing one hand to her side. Dark red blossomed from beneath her hand, over her tunic, and her face paled as she looked down to her hands and saw them covered in her own blood.

Miredhel swung down from her tree branch and ran to the girl, who drooped amidst the clutter of slain orcs.

"Tell Legolas that I am sorry…and that I love him," she said breathlessly, curling her arm around her side.

Miredhel gently brushed the fine blonde hair away from the girl's eyes. "No, no. You can tell him yourself," Miredhel insisted. "I can help you. You'll be just fine." She helped the girl to her feet, so she could lean on Miredhel's shoulder. "Careful," she said and picked up her torn cloak and handed it to her. "Keep applying pressure to the wound."

Howls of more orcs echoed through the trees as the elves closed in on the remnant of their army, and a green fletched arrow whistled right past their heads.

"Mirkwood arrows…Legolas…" the girl moaned.

"We can not stay here. It's worse than a shooting range! We have to move," Miredhel decided. The girl's horse had long since run away, so they would have to clear the woods on foot. She wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulder, and together they hobbled through the slain, the chaos and fighting, and the dark twists of spidery branches and trees. The dead forest transcended into a forest of the dead. Everywhere sprawled gruesome bodies, torn and wide-eyed, a dark carrion feast.

And somewhere, an ember, in fiery orange, drifted from a forgotten torch, of which the possessor had fallen with three arrows in his back. The ember danced in the night air like a firefly in midsummer, and then fell away into a heap of dry under brush, cackling, hissing, and then burning.

Miredhel smelled smoke before she saw actual flames, but the fire spread quickly through the old, dry wood. Soon the entire forest was ablaze, trapping the two elves deep in its cauldron.

One look back told her that they would soon be caught like kindling, if they did not get out soon. Flames licked the bases of the trees all around them.

"Come on, we are almost there," she reassured the girl wilting at her side, and Miredhel then all but dragged her past the flames, past the trees, and into the clear night, where she could even see faint stars in the sky through the smoke and ash.

"At last, we've made it," Miredhel sighed. Not far ahead, she could see some of the elves piling corpses into mounds. Legolas stood among them, quite unscathed, still glorious with traces of his battle-hardened countenance lingering his eyes. Unseen, she gazed at him, her mind playing back to those moments of sweet confession they had shared together in his tent. The way he had danced with her at the feast. His eyes when he had asked her to keep his ring. The memory of tasting his lips, the feel of his arms, so strong around her.

"It was but a dream," she whispered to herself, and all of her reserve and self-control could not ease the ache in her heart or stop the steady stream of tears from rolling down her sooty cheeks. And in her wretched state, Miredhel glanced to the girl at her side. Her face was drawn and white, and she began to slide away from Miredhel's shoulder. She had fainted. Miredhel carefully lowered her to the ground. The girl's eyes dimmed and her lids drooped shut. Her breathing slowed.

"No! Awake! Awake!" Miredhel called, "You must not sleep, not now!" She cradled the girl's head in her lap and firmly patted her pale cheeks.

The girl's lashes fluttered briefly.

"Please, for Legolas. I would not have him lose the one he loves so dearly," she said, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she meant them. Grief crippled her heart in waves of searing pain, but she knew the truth of her words, and perhaps, that is what hurt the most. Miredhel cupped her face in her hands and wept anew as the girl in her lap drifted away into a dreamless country. The night grew cold, and ash from the forest fire spun softly around them like winter's first snow.


Chapter 30 - Sisters and Brothers

Cold night had long since swallowed the land, deepening the shadows of battle and ruin. The elves had decisively destroyed their enemy and now picked up the remains; their first battle brought victory. Many of the company sang softly as they sorted through the ravaged field, searching out arrows that could be reused, piling carcasses. Steam curled from the ashen bodies, an image of spirits fleeing the dead. Grey, and shade of grey, tinted everything: dull, dark, lifeless.

Eledhel frantically chased the perimeter of the battle scene and smoking forest, looking for any sign or trace of his sister. He had seen her enter the woods but not return, and now he feared the worst. At last he rounded the woods' eave and saw her there, crouched among corpses.

"Miredhel-" he called excitedly. She did not answer right away, only turned to push away a heap of tangled curls from her wet, smudged face and liquid eyes. Another tear spilled over her lashes. His sister was crying. Eledhel quickened his pace to a full-on sprint and shouted as he ran: "Miredhel, are you hurt? Are you? Answer me!"

She woefully shook her head, and when he grew nearer, he discerned that she held another, whose body hung limply in her arms. Eledhel collapsed at his sister's side.

"Miredhel—look at me. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head and then forced the words to come, "Eledhel, look at her—"

"I don't care about looking at her!" he snapped. "I want to look at you! Are you hurt in any way?" His eyes darted over Miredhel, widening at a smear of blood across her waist, and her brother pointed to the dark red stain and immediately began to lift her tunic's hem to check for a wound.

Miredhel pushed his hand away. "Stop it! I'm not injured, Eledhel," she vehemently protested, and she was not, at least not with any physical wound. "But she is. We have to hurry. Can you carry her?"

Eledhel turned his attention to the elf maiden in his sister's embrace. Pain marred her delicate features, and he wondered what color her eyes were. "She's beautiful," he breathed. "Who is she, so fair and lost?"

Miredhel bit her lower lip, willing the tears not to fall anew. "She followed us from Mirkwood…" She glanced at her brother, and her chin quivered.

"What? You can tell me, sis." Eledhel asked, placing his palm against his sister's cheek as he comfortingly smoothed away the grime from her cheekbone.

"I'm pretty sure she's Lierwen," Miredhel said and with a deep breath, added, "Legolas' intended."

"His intended?" asked Eledhel incredulously, as he carefully scooped up the girl into his arms. Miredhel stiffly rose from the ground, and they both began to walk to the area where all the elves had congregated.

"You know, his lover…" Miredhel said, her voice trembling.

"No," Eledhel shook his head. "No," he stated firmly, "not Lierwen. She left him right before he came to the Golden Wood. He told me so himself."

"I saw them, Eledhel, together in the woods. She said she loved him, and he fully returned her affections!" Miredhel said and cringed, as if saying it aloud made the truth worse, or perhaps even more real, if that was possible.

Eledhel looked down at the girl in his arms and then scrutinized his sister beside him. She looked completely wild and battle ravaged, but her eyes haunted him the most. Eledhel uncomfortably averted his eyes and quickened his pace. He had seen that look before—when their parents left and when she had learned of Annariel's death—sheer anguish, a specter of the grief plaguing her heart. His sister suffered, and once again, he stood powerless to ease her cares. He did not even know why she was so upset, unless…

"Miredhel, you're in love with him," he said suddenly, and his statement caused both brother and sister to stop and stare at each other.

"No," she whispered. "I was in love with a dream," she said and gestured to the land, blackened and slimy with bodies, "and I awoke to a nightmare, Eledhel. Yet even in the midst of all this, death still seems a warm smile."

"Miredhel, no," Eledhel protested, but she turned and walked away from him.

"I just want to be alone, El. Take her back to the prince. Stay with her."

At this point, Eledhel wanted to run to his sister and drag her back with him as well, but he could not. His arms were full, and the girl stirred restlessly. He glanced behind him to the retreating form of his sister, and then hurried toward the other elves, his eyes narrowing in anger. He could remember nothing of the friendship that he and the prince had shared, only the lost look in Miredhel's eyes. Legolas had done this. How dare he? How dare he!

Eledhel first ran into young Farothin, who sat with a watchful eye across the expanse of the ruined stretch of Brown Lands.

"Farothin, go and get Legolas."

"Who is she?" Farothin asked, as he rose silently from the wet grass.

"Now!" barked Eledhel. His eyes burned with a wrath that drew chills, and away Farothin went. He would ask no more questions that night. Eledhel hurried to Colmaethor, an elf he knew well from the Golden Wood, who could dispense bandages as quickly as he could arrows. Many times before had Eledhel sought his aid; only tonight, it was not for himself.

Most of the elves had taken pause to clean the filth of battle from themselves and their weapons, fletch new arrows, sharpen blades, or tend to injuries. It was thus occupied that Eledhel found Colmaethor—wrapping a strip of cloth around a fellow warriors' upper arm, laughing that he would live to see another day.

"Colmaethor? I need your aid. Not for me, but for her," Eledhel asked anxiously, gently setting his charge on the ground before the healer.

Colmaethor's smile faded. "Oh, Eledhel," he said, his fingers drawn to the crimson stain across her side.

"My sister found her. Can you help her?"

"It depends on how severe this is," the healer despondently replied. He carefully peeled away her tunic to see a hand's width gash down her ribs. "Eledhel, did Miredhel see how the girl received this cut?" he asked, cutting a length of bandage.

Eledhel did not answer. He had left. The prince had arrived.

With a startled moan, Legolas sank to his knees beside the girl. He turned to look up at Farothin who still stood beside him. Farothin, who of anyone, held the prince in the highest regard, had never seen him falter in battle, believing him to fear no man, beast, or dark lord, had all such illusions torn down this night. Worry, grief, fear—all pooled within Legolas' eyes, and Farothin shrank away from the sight, leaving the prince with his beloved.

Legolas did not speak, but he reached for her hand as Colmaethor sponged away the grime and blood and bound the wound anew. At last, Legolas exhaled and squeezed her hand. "Will she be all right? Should we not wake her?" he asked, and his voice shook.

Colmaethor smiled softly and said, "She is strong. Her ribs protected her from a more serious wound. She will live." He placed a comforting hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"It is well that she rest for now, my lord. Her body will heal faster, and for the time being, she will be spared the pain of her injuries," Colmaethor advised.

Legolas dully nodded in agreement, and he continued to stroke her hand. "I wish to stay with her."

"Who is she?" Colmaethor asked quietly, hoping to ease his leader's grief.

"Someone who should never have been here," Legolas said and leaned over her, placing a light kiss on her forehead. When he first saw her stretched across the earth, open and bleeding, Legolas feared the worst. She was dead, and he had caused this somehow. His choices had done this to her. If he had stayed in Mirkwood and been the prince his father had wanted him to be, then none of this would have happened. She would be safe in the Great Hall at this very moment, whole and happy. Instead, she lay beside him, stricken and dirty with the ugliness of battle. "Foolish, foolish, girl," he murmured, sweeping his fingertips across her pale brow.

"Who brought her in?" Legolas asked suddenly.

"Eledhel did, but he said his sister saved her," Colmaethor replied and added, "I haven't seen Miredhel return yet."

Legolas stiffened, and his eyes darted to the girl prone at his side.

"Lord Legolas, I can stay with her if you like and call you when she wakes. I know you have duties to attend to," Colmaethor offered kindly.

Legolas nodded and rose. He bowed gratefully to the healer, and then made his way over to the other elves. He had to find Eledhel.

Legolas called everyone to attention, "Warriors! Make camp. We will stay here. Rest for now. At dawn, we must ride." His eyes scanned the group several times over before he finally spotted Eledhel on the outskirts, gazing into the dark. Legolas hurried over to him.

"Eledhel! Where is your sister?"

His friend turned slowly, and anger smoldered in his eyes. "Why do you care?" he asked, taking a step toward the prince.

"I must speak with her at once," Legolas said and studied his friend. Eledhel seemed so very angry, and the prince could not understand why. "Eledhel, what is wrong, my friend?"

Eledhel took another step forward. "Your friend? That is a laugh, Legolas. You, who pretend to be my friend, never once spoke of your intentions, carried on a love affair with my sister—behind my back?" He snorted. "And you wonder if something is wrong?"

Legolas swallowed. Clearly Eledhel was upset and spoiling for a fight. Legolas knew he should have told him right off from the very beginning that he wanted to court Miredhel. Then all of this unpleasant business could have been avoided. He would just have to hear Eledhel out, choke back his pride, and ask for his forgiveness.

"I am sorry, Eledhel. I should have told you. I will say that I treated her with only the utmost respect and did nothing to darken her honor."

Eledhel rolled his eyes. "Oh, you are so noble, Legolas," he scoffed. "You would never 'darken her honor,' but you would play with her heart."

Legolas bit down hard on the insides of his mouth. He had never responded well to false accusations or having his principles called into question. "I did not 'play with her heart,' Eledhel!"

Eledhel took another step forward, and by now most of the other elves had gathered protectively around the two. Lorien elves took the side of Eledhel, and the Mirkwood elves hovered behind their prince.

Eledhel laughed like Legolas' last statement was completely outrageous. "Didn't you though?" he said, pressing his fingertips into Legolas' shoulder in a light push. "What was it that you wanted, Your Princeliness? To teach her a lesson for standing up to you? To see if you could break her spirit? Or how quickly you could bed her without my knowledge?"

All of the wood elves leaned in, waiting for Legolas' response.

"How dare you imply—" Legolas closed the gap between the two. His hands balled into fists. Silent rage emanated from both their eyes.

"Imply what? The truth?" Eledhel retorted and gave Legolas a hearty push backwards, quickly pulling one of Legolas' long white knives from its sheath to point it at him. All of the Mirkwood elves instantly pulled their bows to aim at Eledhel, and the Lorien elves followed suit to defend their old captain.

Legolas took a deep breath and looked around him. "I understand that you are upset, Eledhel, but don't do something that we will both regret," he coldly advised. "Drop the knife."

"I should kill you for what you have done to her," Eledhel growled. He stared down at the white knife in his hand, seeing his dark grey eyes in the cool reflection, and in them, Miredhel 's eyes. Frightened. Weary. His little sister. He had tried so hard to protect her, and he had failed.

Eledhel shook his head. His eyes narrowed. Just then Belegil and Sulindal broke through the ranks of armed warriors, disbelief hanging on both their faces.

"What in Valinor's name is going on here?" asked Sulindal, agape at the two sides pitted against one another, and then more so at the sight of Eledhel pointing a knife at Legolas.

"Everyone put your weapons away! Away!" shouted Belegil, and he began to disperse the lot of the elves, though many of the former Mirkwood warriors refused to leave Legolas' side, still feeling that he might require their protection. Adrendil hung closely behind Legolas, absolutely declining to put his bow away. Instead, he trained his loaded arrow on Eledhel, whom he had never liked anyway, ever since that unfortunate scene at the council meeting.

"This is ridiculous, you two. Both of you should know better," Sulindal fussed. "How can we defeat the enemy if we fight amongst ourselves?"

Neither Eledhel nor Legolas had an answer and continued to scowl at one another.

Sulindal directed his gaze at Legolas, whom he knew to be less hot-headed than Eledhel. "Legolas," he said softly, "rise above this. This is not a good omen for Ithilien's success. Eledhel has been one of your most influential supporters to this date."

Legolas quickly glanced at Sulindal. In his heart, he knew his friend spoke the truth, but Eledhel had crossed the line. Friend or not, he would not let his words and actions go unchecked, unpunished. "This is personal, Sulindal. Leave us."

Sulindal did not leave. He simply stood there and crossed his arms over his chest.

Eledhel glanced at Sulindal and then back at Legolas. His shoulders sagged, and he turned Legolas' knife in his hand to offer the hilt back to the prince. "Miredhel is dying, Legolas. I saw it in her eyes. Take your knife and go finish what you've started—that would be a kindness compared to the suffering she'll face before the end."

Sulindal responded first, "Miredhel? Dying? Eledhel, no." He shook his head and reached for his friend's shoulder. "Is she injured? What happened?"

Eledhel did not answer. He barely heard Sulindal's words, for his whole being focused on Legolas' reaction.

The prince blanched, stepping back to rake his fingers through his hair. It could not be true. Not her, not Miredhel. He should never have asked her to come with him, and now she would pay the price for his foolishness. His mind raced, wondering how she had been injured, if she could be saved, and why had Eledhel not brought her into their camp; and over all of these—that he must get to her, see her, save her—make everything right. He dully sheathed his knife. "Where is she, Eledhel?" he asked.

The tremendous shock on the prince's face almost made Eledhel believe him to be sincere, but no-he had carried in the very proof of Legolas' duplicity from battle.

"You've done enough! Leave her alone," Eledhel commanded.

"I cannot make that promise," said Legolas. "I must see her." Desperation bound his voice, and his deep blue eyes looked past Eledhel into the inky night. He then shouldered his way past Sulindal, toward the open land and battlefield, but Eledhel blocked his route. His fist struck squarely across Legolas' chin, and the prince staggered back only for a second before he returned the punch. The two squared off, only an arm's length apart, both rigid, determined.

"Move out of my way," hissed Legolas.

"You'll have to kill me first," Eledhel said stubbornly.

"Then you leave me no choice," Legolas shot back, and both elves drew their blades.

"Have you both gone mad?" Sulindal protested and looked helplessly to his twin brother. Belegil could only shrug, not from indifference, but because the whole situation had left him feeling completely dumfounded.

Legolas twirled his knives in his hand, and Eledhel tightened his grip on his sword. A breeze stirred. The elven camp grew silent, watching, waiting. The two warriors leaned in toward each other, their muscles taut with anticipation, their eyes keen for that first tick of movement, and somewhere in the grass, a cricket began to chirp. All drew a silent breath.

Neither elf moved.

Their blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Legolas painfully remembered their fight on the bridge. Only this felt so much more evil.

The prince lowered his knives.

"I cannot do this," he said in resignation. "I place myself in your mercy, Eledhel. I have never had to beg for anything in all my years…but I will now. If I could see Miredhel one last time—please," Legolas' voice broke, "I love her."

As soon as the words had flown from his mouth, he knew of their worth and truth. He loved her! Miredhel, with all her faults and temper and sweetness, had claimed his heart. Somewhere from the Golden Wood, following their dangerous road, to the eves of Mirkwood, through darkness and light, somewhere along the way, in the midst of all their troubles, he had fallen in love with her.

The twins exchanged gleeful looks, but Eledhel remained untouched. "Have you no sense of decency?" he asked through clenched teeth. "How can you say that with her over there!" He pointed to the injured girl. "Miredhel saved her. She knew! She saw you fawning over each other in Mirkwood and still saved her!"

"What!" Legolas exclaimed, snapping his head toward the girl. Colmaethor caught his eye and waved.

"My lord," the healer called, "the young lady is awake and asking for her brother."

"Her brother?" repeated Eledhel dully, his mouth falling open.

"Yes, her brother-" Legolas replied waspishly. "I don't even want to know who you thought she was."

Eledhel shook his head and sheathed his sword. "Oh, Miredhel…" he muttered.

Legolas looked at him seriously. "Is she really dying, Eledhel?"

"I think her chances of recovery just improved dramatically," he said dryly.

Legolas' eyes brightened as swift understanding met with hope, and neither were found wanting. And with that in mind, Legolas quickly left to attend to his sister.

Legolas knelt at his sister's side. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, making her face seem pale and tired, but she still looked sweet and lovely to him. Celeril, his little sister. He took her hand in his once more.

"Legolas?" she said, her voice rasping as if in want of water. She tried to turn on her side to look at him, but the pain, and probably the tight bandage on her side as well, prevented her from doing so. She grimaced and tilted her head back to see him.

"I am here, Celeril," he answered anxiously and held a water-skin to her mouth so she could drink.

"You're not very angry, are you?" she asked in a small voice.

"I'm furious," he softly answered, "but not nearly as angry as our father will be."

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I know. But I could not stay."

"Yes, you could have."

"You didn't," she pointed out, and the corners of her mouth pulled up into a tiny smile.

"I know," Legolas conceded tiredly. "But at least I told him up front that I was going to leave."

"Oh, Legolas, please don't scold me. Not now," she said to her brother, pressing her hand to her se. She bit down on her lower lip, and a small tear escaped from the corner of her eye.

Legolas sighed and comfortingly rubbed the top of her hand. He offered her his water-skin again, and she eagerly drank.

"I could see if Colmaethor has something for the pain," he offered.

She nodded appreciatively and then stopped. "Wait," she said, "did you ever take anything for pain when you were injured?"

Legolas smiled to himself. This was more like the Celeril he knew. He raised his eyebrows in mock offense. "I? Injured?" he asked.

She snorted and then gripped her wound with a frown. Apparently laughing would be off-limits for the time being, which was most unfortunate, for she dearly loved to laugh. No one was better at making her do so than her favorite brother.

"Please, Legolas," she said earnestly. "I suppose you are forgetting the time you came in from the eastern patrol with two arrow wounds and a broken leg. Oromer had to carry you in after you passed out."

"I was sleeping…and it wasn't broken!" he protested.

She grinned.

Legolas lowered his voice. "If you tell anyone that…" he warned.

"Don't worry, big brother. Your secrets are safe with me," she said and smiled sweetly, "for now."

Little sisters. Legolas rolled his eyes. He took off his cloak and tucked it around her.

"So did you?" she questioned him.

"Did I what?" he asked blankly.

"Take anything for the pain?" Celeril said, giving him a pointed look.

Legolas thought about it for a minute. He supposed having Miredhel doctor his back with those herbs when he was burned would count…but he was definitely not bringing that up. He smiled to himself and gently brushed the hair from his sister's face. He picked up another blanket and covered her with that as well.

He said, "No, but I think you ought to, Celeril. We will have to ride in the morning, and I imagine you will be very sore."

She groaned. "Why would you not take anything, Legolas?"

"Because I would have wanted to stay sharp for battle," he answered.

"Me too," she agreed, nodding sleepily.

Her brother shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "No more fights for you, little one."

She pouted. "Not little! You should have seen me, Legolas. I did everything just like you showed me," she murmured, burrowing down into her pallet.

"I wish I would have seen you," he agreed. "You know, your surprise appearance caused much confusion."

"Hmm?" she said, her eyes growing distant and dreamy.

"Never mind," Legolas said. He patted her arm, stood, and then walked to find Colmaethor, who had left to give the brother and sister some privacy. He was not far.

"Colmaethor?" Legolas hesitated. Celeril was not going to like this. "Do you have some sort of herb or draught that you could give my sister to help her sleep? To ease her discomfort?"

Colmaethor nodded. "I was thinking just the same thing, my lord."

"Something…robust," Legolas suggested and left. He rounded the small ring of their makeshift campsite, making inquiries and reassuring his company that his young sister would mend nicely. For by this time word of her identity had spread quickly, and everyone knew by now who she was; of course, the former Mirkwood elves recognized her once they saw her. There was still the issue of Miredhel and Eledhel.

Legolas wanted to make things right with both of them. Of course, Eledhel knew, but did Miredhel? Would she know by now? His whole being wished that she had merely come to him. She must have seen him with Celeril in Mirkwood before they had left. That would explain much of her distant behavior. She thought he had played her false, and what little trust they had built together had been broken. He hoped that once she knew the truth, they could begin anew.

Perhaps Eledhel had found her and told her after he had discovered the truth of the matter for himself. Legolas was doubly glad that she had not been there to witness the ugly scene between himself and her brother. He hoped that she would never hear of it. The prince alone could hardly believe how close he had come to fighting Eledhel, his good friend. His trusted ally. Only Legolas had breached that trust. He knew he deserved Eledhel's scorn, the full measure of his anger. What if someone had behaved that way to his little sister? Legolas knew he would have reacted exactly the same as Eledhel, if not worse! Even though Eledhel had some misconceptions about Legolas' intentions, the prince knew he had avoided mentioning his interest in Miredhel to her brother, and purposefully so; there had been many opportunities where he could have divulged his interests and had chosen not to for selfish reasons.

Legolas found Eledhel in the same place he had found him earlier, now sitting low upon the ruined brown earth, and his eyes were distant and cold.

"Eledhel?" Legolas said, keeping his voice low.

Eledhel did not turn or blink or even flinch a single muscle in response. It was like he had been awaiting Legolas' arrival all along as inevitability of fate in motion.

Finally, Eledhel sighed and spoke. "How long?" he asked quietly, clasping his hands together.

"What?" Legolas said, drawing up beside him.

"How long have you been involved with her, pursuing her?" Eledhel added, but there was no need for him to say whom he meant. Legolas knew he spoke of Miredhel, and his friend's question left no room for polite avoidance. He could only answer the question directly.

"Ever since that first night I saw her—" Legolas admitted.

"And I told you she was my sister. Didn't I warn you to tread lightly where she was concerned?"

"I know."

Eledhel shook his head. "When I first heard about your plans for Ithilien, Legolas, I knew I wanted to be a part of it…a new start in these last days for our people, for me, for my family. I supported you from the very beginning, trusted you," Eledhel paused to take deep breath, "and you could not even show me the courtesy of telling that you wanted to court my sister?"

"I am sorry, Eledhel," Legolas said honestly. "It was wrong of me."

Eledhel looked at the prince directly, the first time he had done so since Legolas had sat down.

"I would have told you 'no,' Legolas. Despite how much I value your friendship or have come to respect you, even-I would have asked you to stay away from her."

Legolas frowned. "But why?" he asked.

"You should know why, Legolas, if you care about her as much as you claim to," he said frankly.

"Because of her grief?" the prince asked, and Eledhel nodded savagely. All elves feel emotions to an extent that few men could comprehend, and although this can bring great joy in their lives, their emotions can also visit upon them tremendous pain. Grief is deadly. Few recover, and most, once stricken, seek the peace that only the light from across the western seas can bring. Even if an elf possessed strength enough to recover from grief, its haunting effects would linger on indefinitely, devouring all peace from restful dreams. Elves once touched by grief became vulnerable, fragile in the face of any emotion.

"She nearly died last time," Eledhel said in a low voice. "Her heart could not endure more sorrow, another onset."

"She told me about Annariel," Legolas admitted.

"Did she?" Eledhel sounded surprised. "I do not believe that she has told me the entire story yet. She trusts you, Legolas. Even though I know it does not seem that way tonight."

Both elves fell into an awkward silence. Legolas stared into the dark, hopeful of seeing his lady, and Eledhel longingly looked toward the stars' dim light. Finally, Eledhel spoke.

"Did you mean what you said when we were fighting earlier, Legolas?" he asked.

"Which part?" the prince asked.

"The part where you said you loved her—"

Legolas' eyes unwaveringly met Eledhel's dark grey ones. "Yes. Yes, I meant it. I love her," he said simply.

Eledhel nodded thoughtfully, and he pushed his thick hair back from his face, his eyes brightening. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That is well," he said. "Because if you had said 'no' then I would have had to fight you again, and…both of you are so very dear to me. I would rejoice in you and Miredhel finding happiness in each other."

"May I see your sister, Eledhel? Court her?"

Eledhel unfolded his hands and stretched his fingers out before reluctantly responding, "I suppose so—"

Legolas smiled brightly, perhaps too brightly for Eledhel's liking, because his friend saw him and frowned.

Eledhel placed one hand on Legolas' shoulder and looked him squarely in the eye to say: "But I swear to the Valar, if you hurt her in any way— Lord of Ithilien or not, I will kill you. And please, for Miredhel's sake, be mindful of her heart, for grief still shadows it in ways that we cannot know."

Legolas did his best to look solemn. "I will take the best possible care of her," he promised. Then he stood, all the while trying not to appear too hasty, and left to find her, Miredhel, to soothe her cares and mend her heart, and somehow, make her his own.


Chapter 31 - Love and Grief

Author's note:
There is much in The Lord of the Rings that deals with death. You could write an extravagantly long essay on it to be sure. Even more important is how those characters in LOTR react to the deaths of people they love. Grief plays an integral role throughout the trilogy: the fellowship's mourning the loss of Gandalf, the fall of Boromir and Denethor's subsequent demise, Theoden's burial of his son Theodred, the ents' rage over the destruction of their fellow trees by Saruman, the death of Theoden and Eowyn's time in the House of Healing, Frodo's inability to recover his life after the destruction of the ring, Aragorn's eventual death and Arwen's quiet retreat to forgotten Lorien. These are just a few examples that jumped out at me. Grief: the mourning of loss and death, intense anguish and sorrow.

Tolkien alludes to the fact that grief can be a destructive force for elf kind, but he never clearly states this. There are reasons to believe, however, that this is true. For example, Elrond's wife has to sail to Valinor after a horrible orc attack. Arwen 'fades away' in the woods of Lorien after Aragorn dies. There's nothing really clear cut. In Building Ithilien, I have taken the creative stance that grief is fatal for elves. I have fashioned it into a disease, a cancer, of sorts.

Of course, I explain all of this in this chapter, but I just wanted everyone to know that I'm straying (gasp!) from true cannon and using a healthy dose of imagination for what grief might be like for the elves of Middle Earth.

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Light played across the room in quiet angles. She could hear the gentle drop of rain through leaves and tree branches, from the eaves of the flet. She found no succor in the firm weight of the blankets across her bed, no warmth. They were oppressive, bearing down, confining, and despite the many layers upon her, she still shivered as grief's icy fingers squeezed her heart and set upon her flesh, feeling 'cold' as mortals say. The pain was immense; the sensation, unbearable. So this was mortality—an absence of warmth.

All felt dull. All felt heavy- her head, arms, legs, not even her fingers could she suffer to lift, and the walls seemed to press around her. The days ran into nights, but the restful dreams of her kind had forsaken her. Neither peace, nor comfort did she find in sleep. Time ticked by, and each second seemed an agony, an eternity as her spirit dwindled to naught, for the light in her eyes had nigh extinguished.

Nearly a fortnight had passed since the news of Annariel's death. Eledhel stayed by her side, from the very moment she had fallen in hearing the reports of the dead. No tears had she cried that day. Still none had been shed. It seemed to him that her soul had fallen asleep, and none of his pleading or prayers could wake her. He had begged leave from his position within the Guard, so that he might stay with her.

On the tenth day, he sat with her as he had before, holding her cold hand and talking to her with the hope that she still might hear him.

"Miredhel?" he asked softly, rubbing her hand to warm it. "Will you eat some of this broth? Lady Limaer brought it for you earlier."

Her eyes strayed from staring at the ceiling to meet with his.

Eledhel firmly squeezed her hand, and then let go to pick up a steaming bowl resting upon a side table. "Miredhel. Come now, you must eat," he said, dipping a spoon into the soup. Her gaze drifted back to the ceiling, and he sighed. He was running out of options. Many friends and neighbors had already urged him to depart with her for the havens. He had not.

Eledhel eyed the soup and then dipped the spoon into the bowl to taste it for himself.

"Blech!" He gagged and spit it back into the bowl. "That's horrible. You were right not to want it, Miredhel!" he said, and his exclamations were met with soft laughter from the door. He turned at the sound, and his heart gladdened at the visage. A lady in white leaned through the doorframe. Her laugh was like a child's, all innocence and light. She had survived the last age, and now in her final days in Middle Earth, would bring hope to those who had none.

"Ah, look who's come. A visitor," Eledhel said lightly and rose to meet the figure at the door. It was the Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel. "Thank you for coming," he murmured and nervously wiped his soupy fingers on the hem of his tunic. He guided her to his sister's side, only then to hang back, biting his lower lip, waiting.

"Miredhel, Miredhel," she called, and the whole of the forest seemed to hang on the breath of her words. Hope and the waking sounds of the wood resonated in her voice, an echo of wind rushing, the rustle of green leaves among many trees, or the whispered melody of the Nimrodel. She leaned over the maiden and touched her cheek. Lady Galadriel's eyes held the wisdom of ages past and the dream of things to come.

"Miredhel, Miredhel," she softly called again. "Do not linger here. You still have much to do…"

Legolas' eyes picked through the cover of mist rolling in from the river. Past the piled dead and smoke, he went with one purpose guiding his steps—to find Miredhel. There was so much he needed to tell her, wanted to tell her, and yet the matter of her grief weighed heavily upon his mind as he pushed through the haze.

Obviously, he must first enlighten her to his sister's true identity. But what then? Legolas knew what he wanted to do, and that was to show her within all his ability and faculties exactly how he felt for her, so she would never need to doubt him again. He figured that had been his mistake in Mirkwood. There, he had her all to himself in his tent, in his bed even, and he had not been plain enough with his feelings to let her know what she had done to him, with her mysterious power to heat his blood and speed his heart, the way one look could crush the air from his lungs so that he could scarcely breathe. He loved Miredhel; of this, he was now certain. He had fancied himself in love before, but none of these affairs had dominated his every fiber in the way he now felt. He was elated. He was frightened. He knew what love could drive an elf to do.

He was an elf consumed. Indeed, no comparison existed. From his first taste of her when she had then denied him a second, Legolas had known with the utmost certainty that she meant trouble. In all his youth and long years, seldom had he been denied any favor or courtesy, and yet she had done so. She was infuriating. She was sweet. She had refused and resisted him, and to a wood elf, a hunter at heart, the call of pursuit had been intoxicating, delicious, and all together enticing—and all in the name of a second kiss, to prove to both parties that he was indeed worthy of such a chance. Legolas had never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted her, if only to be near her once more and hear her voice or touch her skin. So now the dilemma was not in discerning his own emotions, but in how he must present those feelings to his lady.

Legolas did not find Miredhel at the point where Eledhel had said he left her. Instead, she had wandered a while, away from the scene of battle, away from the low melodies of her people, into the blank wilderness of the so-named Brown Lands. Finally she rested beneath the wide dome of stars on a peculiar flat rock, born of ancient ice and the slow rift of time; there, her old wounds re-opened, deepened by Legolas' rejection. There, she wept. She had loved and lost again, and this time, she welcomed the oblivion her affliction would bring.

It is always slow at first- the way grief spreads through an elf's body. The pain of loss rends the heart like a swift cut from a lethal blade; that is the quick part, and most elves, truth be told, could summon strength enough to endure it. But it never ends there. Torturously slow, grief seeps from heart to veins, crawls agonizingly across the skin, leaving all in its path bitterly cold.

The emotional and the physical, inexorably knitted together, interlocked, and as one fails, so shall the other. Once strong hands begin to tremble, the heart stutters, the light in the eyes fades. The chill spreads and each laboring breath becomes a struggle. Every waking thought turns toward the aching loneliness of a life now empty. Days and nights lengthen into ages of silent oppression, a cage, and Immortality, their jailer. Few break free to regain their lives, and live in strength again, and even fewer leave their grief behind them; it hides in shadows, waiting for another hurt to feed on, another chance to dominate. No herbal remedies can fight it; no healing words can break sorrow's spell. Such is the way with elves. For them, only one force can truly reckon with grief, to challenge its ravaging appetite, and just as grief can freeze and torment, the other lies in places unlooked for, subtle and unexpected—love—to fire the blood and even burn in its fiercest intensity. Love and grief, both powerful, consuming—one with the might to revive and the other to rape—make no mistake, both are dangerous, ravens of desire and possession, and of the two, love is the grander.

The elven camp watched the night and the lonesome plains with a certain sense of grim satisfaction. For the first time they had fought as one, as Ithilien, and they had also won that battle, sweeping the field and tasting victory together. They had struck a common purpose, but had also splintered again, choosing old loyalties over new when Legolas and Eledhel had nearly fought. Now the very same argument pulled the two sides together again as all heard Legolas' declaration of love for a certain irrepressible Lorien maiden. The elves of the Golden Wood, who knew and loved Miredhel as dearly as their own sister, smiled secretly for her with the singular wish in their hearts that she might now only know joy, and grief, nevermore. The Mirkwood elves hoped very much the same sort of thing for their prince, though perhaps tinged with the satisfying notion that finally he might settle down.

The elves who knew and loved Legolas and Miredhel best openly grinned at one another, triumphantly giving voice to old suspicions:

"I knew it!" Belegil crowed. "I knew it for sure when Legolas snapped that orcs' neck. I saw the full wrath of the legendary Thranduil when he did that!"

"I certainly suspected a little more than friendship, let me tell you, when I saw them dancing at that bonfire in Mirkwood—the way my sister would look at him when she thought no one was watching…" Eledhel admitted and shook his head.

Sulindal merely nodded in agreement and smiled to himself, saying nothing as he watched the misty horizon.

Belegil took a swig from a slim flask and passed it to Eledhel. "You know, Eledhel," he said carefully, "my brother and I quite consider Miredhel as our sister. The first time we saw her after…you know...her grief…" he looked hopelessly to his brother.

"She pledged to be a sister to us now that Annariel could not," Sulindal softly supplied.

"It was just a little thing," Belegil said, "but it meant much to us, and that night we decided not to leave for the Havens as we'd planned."

"I never knew this," Eledhel said and took another drink from the flask before passing it to Sulindal.

Sulindal did not heed Eledhel's gesture. The wine fell open-ended on the parched soil, staining it morosely dark red. Sulindal paid little attention to its fate, for his sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement in the distant south.

"Something draws near," he said, and the three elves stood and reached for their bows.

The fog broke, and Sulindal lowered his weapon first. Farothin swept in at a full gallop. He hastily slid off his horse and did not observe the usual pleasantries of elvish greetings, but made his point directly.

"The forward orc battalion sent riders back. The group we attacked must have gotten a scout off to warn them. We must raise the camp and leave immediately. We do not have much time. Where's Prince Legolas?"

As Legolas picked through the misty plains, his sharp eyes finally beheld a slim figure draped across a flat, smooth stone. Miredhel. He sprinted towards her, his fear escalating as she did not stir at his approach. His heart could have beaten him to her from the way it raced in his chest. For someone usually so fearless, he did not feel that way now.

She lay on her side with her cheek resting against her forearm. He could not see her face. Her hair covered it completely. As he stood over her silent form, he noted with relief the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. With an unsteady hand, he lifted the tangled curls from her marble cheek to see her eyes, open and unfocused. She dreamed yet. He whispered her name softly at first, and then more insistently when she showed no signs of waking.
"Miredhel," he said again firmly, this time shaking her shoulder.

She blinked and then turned a sleepy eye towards him.

"No," she murmured and covered her face with her arm. "No soup, Eledhel. Just let me be."

'Soup?' thought Legolas, and he reached for her open hand. Her fingers were cold to the touch, and he drew back in bewilderment. He remembered her brother's accusing words, "she is dying, Legolas," with the implication that she suffered due to him. Legolas had never really borne witness to grief's cruelties, but as he looked at Miredhel, he understood Eledhel's anger and his despair. Somehow, he had caused this. Could he then also make it right? Save her? Her brother had apparently hoped so. Legolas did not know what to do. The feelings fighting inside his own heart frightened him. There was no return from this path he had chosen. He loved Miredhel, and now his fate was bound to hers. He reached for her hand again and this time did not let go.

"Miredhel, it's Legolas," he said.

She moved her arm. "Legolas? That sounds familiar…" she mumbled, groggily shaking her head and then looking up. Her eyes darted to the landscape: the open sky and desolate earth.

"It's me, Legolas. We're in the Brown Lands, remember?"

She shook her head again and now became aware of the fact that Legolas held her hand. She looked down at their entwined fingers and then back at him. He released her hand, and she pressed it to her forehead as if trying to remember.

"I must have dreamed," she murmured. "It was so real. I was at home in Lorien. I remember feeling so cold…"

"You are," Legolas observed. "Your hands are like ice." A shiver from her punctuated his words. "Miredhel, tell me what happened in battle."

"Battle?" she repeated. She slowly pulled herself up from the rock, to sit upright, and both elves gasped to see a tell-tale crimson stain running across the front of her tunic.

"Miredhel, are you injured, bleeding?" Legolas asked, but she did not really hear his words. Her eyes lingered on the jeweled knife at her belt, and then she looked up to meet his concerned gaze. Memories flooded her mind. She remembered the orcs, the smoking forest, the cloaked rider, the one who had fallen, bloodied and torn, the girl with the bright blue eyes.

"That girl…she said she loved you," Miredhel remembered aloud, and a great pain seared through her flesh, and she did not understand why she hurt so, nor why she felt so cold. The world and heavens spun wildly around her, and her discomfort must have shown, for that elf Legolas reached out to steady her. She leaned against him, and the history of her days past reeled in reverse, a blur of images against her mind—Legolas leaning over her in the pink morning rays, the glint of sun on his ring as he held it out to her, the darkness and light battling in his eyes when he spoke of the flowers in her hair, prince's love, purple blossoms swimming in a sea of white awning and candles' glow. She felt his arms against her body when they danced at the bonfire. She saw moonlight reflecting in his tears the night she spoke of Annariel, when all walls crumbled between them; all the images whirled furiously to one instant. She wore white in a garden of star-flowers and mallorn trees, and he was there with dangerous eyes. She turned and kissed him. Everything changed.

Miredhel looked at Legolas again, and bit her lip, remembering the taste of pain, to love and lose. "Please leave," she said at last, dropping her eyes. This was no dream; the pain, the cold—her grief was real, and she remembered why and felt ashamed before him.

Legolas sat down before her. His eyes were bright, shining even. "Miredhel, that girl, the one you rescued—she is my sister," he stated simply, taking both her hands in his, pulling them to his lips to kiss her palms, to blow warm breath on them, like a spell calling her to wake. His sister.

She tried to speak, but the words turned into a sob that caught in her throat. Whatever she might have lost, perhaps she could still preserve her dignity. She slid her fingers from his and turned away, tucking her hands into the folds of her arms and shivering despite herself. "Please just leave, Legolas," she whispered, and her voice was tight.

"Miredhel, do you honestly think I am just going to leave you here? You're not well!"

"Do you think I want you to see me like this, trembling like some great fool in the dark?"

Legolas moved to the other side of the rock to face her. "You never looked more beautiful to me," he said, and he meant it. Merely to see her again was enough to take his breath away.

Her eyes were darker than usual. Her face had paled to deathly white, but her mouth was set and resolute, and only an occasional tremble or the curved shimmer of a blue vein running across her wrist or neck belied her calm.

When she said nothing, Legolas knelt beside her. His breath came quickly now and hung in the dark like airy feathers only to vanish seconds later. He was nervous, nervous about what he must say to her and how she might respond, worried for her grief, a condition that he did not fully understand; but for this future lord of Ithilien, one thing was certain. He could not deny his feelings. He would not.

Legolas took a deep breath and shyly reached out to cup her cheek with his hand. "There's no one else, Miredhel," he said. "Only you. I cannot leave you now, even though you ask it of me."

"Please don't say that," she begged him. "It makes it harder for me to tell you this—that I am weak, Legolas…and I fear that I've deceived you, and..."

He cut in between her words to reassure her, saying, "I already know about your grief, Miredhel. Eledhel told me."

"He did?" Miredhel asked. 'What did he say?"

"He blamed me…for making you suffer," Legolas said quietly. "I never wanted to cause you pain, I—"

Miredhel interrupted him. "No, Legolas. I saw you with your sister and drew my own idiotic conclusions. But it matters not. Even if what I had seen had been true, I knew well the risks of becoming involved with another."

Legolas tilted his head, his eyes worried. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning," he said.

She nodded and continued to explain, reliving memories of her darkest days and unfolding them in quiet tones, "Galadriel came to my brother's flet where I rested. She had been summoned, I suppose. I heard her voice. She pulled me out of my grief, but the effects, the chill, the pain, lingered on.

"An aged healer came at Eledhel's request. He had seen much in his lifetime and told me how it would be. My brother was there, and the old healer mostly talked to him, in front of me, like I was some elfling, that I wouldn't understand his words. The grief had weakened my heart, he said. I was fortunate not to have completely faded away." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Then he warned me against getting involved, not to open myself up to possible rejection…to guard my heart, he said. It was just too risky and the chances of relapse were too great with the highs and lows of emotions."

"To not fall in love," Legolas concluded glumly. He had a miserable feeling sinking deep inside him.

"I did not speak after he left. I just lay there, thinking. When I got stronger, Eledhel would walk me to that garden…the one we both like," Miredhel stopped and looked in his eyes.

"How could I forget?" Legolas said, amused, and he smiled at her in return, and the faintest of blushes bloomed on her cheeks.

She took his hand, the first time that evening that she had made a move to touch him of her own accord, and her simple action doubled the prince's hopes.

"It was the wrong place for me to go, Legolas," she said. "How many times had I sat on that garden bench, dreaming of nights when I might meet my own lover there?" She blushed again. "But I still went there every day. The leaves turned from gold to green, flowers began to bloom anew, and Eledhel happily rejoined the Forest Guard, convinced of my recovery.

"I had watched the world pass me by," she said. "I had lost practically everything dear to me, but I decided that I was just so tired of being sad. I was angry too. About everything and everybody. I've told you this before."

"The night before we came to my forest, I remember," he said.

"But I left out the part about my grief—on purpose. I didn't want you to know, Legolas, and I'm sorry for that."

"I wish you would have," the prince said. "It would have saved us both some trouble," he concluded bitterly with a sigh, his eyes darting away to the unforgiving landscape. "You should have told me."

She grabbed his wrist, and he slowly turned his head to stare at her blankly. She knew her actions had hurt him, and that was precisely what she had been trying to avoid. For all her talk about him being more open with her, she had completely failed to do that very thing with him.

"Eledhel should have kept his mouth shut," she said.

"What?" Legolas exclaimed. "You never planned on saying a word about this to me, did you? And that's why you didn't want him to know about us, because he would bring up the subject of your grief with me!"

"Legolas, no," Miredhel protested and then drew her hands together. "Well, yes. He wouldn't have allowed it—us being together. He's very protective."

"Oh, I can vouch for that," Legolas sarcastically interjected.

Miredhel glared at him, and then her expression softened. "I cannot change what has happened," she said. "Please listen, Legolas."

She reached for his hand, and her eyes were still dark and vulnerable. He could never refuse Miredhel anything when she looked at him like that.

'Such power could definitely prove a threat to Ithilien security,' the prince mused and turned back toward her.

Miredhel took a deep breath. "I avoided telling you because I wanted to feel normal again, and not be treated like some fragile thing—I felt so cheated by life, by grief. And then I'm given this second chance, only the healers tell me if I want to survive, I must guard my heart? Not get involved?" "I watched spring turn to summer, felt the days grow long and warm. I made a decision, Legolas." She paused and bit her lip.

"If the healers' idea of my new life was to sit idly while the whole of Middle Earth passes me by, not to know friendship, not to know what it is to love…then I did not want to live."

"Miredhel, you can not mean that," Legolas objected and frowned. "You are not one to give up so easily."

"Do you think any of this is easy?" she replied in a strained voice. "I promised myself this, Legolas. Before I met you, even. I made that decision a fortnight before you arrived. In the solitude and shade of that garden. I vowed to live life to the fullest. For me, there is no other way. Not sitting idly on a bench gathering moss."

She smiled tiredly and added in an elvish whisper, "Only recklessly forward, and if that brings my death, then at least I shall perish having truly lived. I would welcome such a death."

"So this is what you've chosen for yourself?" Legolas said, angrily gesturing to her prone figure and pressing his hand to her cold forearm. "Look at you! You're so weak you can hardly move. Pain and a slow death hardly sound like living life to the fullest, Miredhel."

He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened and then straightened his fingers out before pushing them through his hair. He looked away. He had to. He could not bring himself to look at her. Legolas did not know whether to smash something or cry. How like his fortune! He hoped that somewhere, Fate or the Valar themselves were enjoying his predicament, for he certainly wasn't! Legolas had never been more miserable. To realize love and its impossibility all within one startling night would be enough to defeat any elf, even the most gallant hero.

Legolas decided that he should leave, and then immediately decided against it. He simply would not accept losing her. He would have sparred the worst orcs and beasts, even a balrog, to save her; certainly he could overcome her grief as well. With brave eyes, he faced her and said, "Forgive me, Miredhel, if I don't agree with your 'choice!'"

Legolas had failed to understand that his battle had been won all along.

Miredhel touched his sleeve and smiled.

"You don't understand. I chose you," she said timidly. "I chose love."

That was all Legolas needed to hear. His fingertips glided up to her temple to behind her ear, and he kissed her forehead and her cheek before brushing his lips against hers.

"You shall not regret it," he whispered against her mouth. The chill of the night still clung to her skin and hair, and he deepened their kiss. His arms protectively wrapped around her, pulling her toward him. So much of his time with her had seemed like some tempting illusion that Legolas wanted to know this moment was real. She was safe. She could be his, and he knew that she was the one he wanted and none other.

A quiet peace stirred within Miredhel that her grief had long ago lulled to sleep, and she kissed him back meekly at first but then more boldly. She found strength in her arms again and hugged him to her, glorying in his warmth. She slipped one hand into his hair to rest at his nape while the other ran the length of his back. Finally both her hands rested on either side of his smooth sculpted face as he hungrily kissed her. All his emotions poured freely from him into that kiss, and Miredhel felt and knew his heart: his private insecurities, his worry and relief, his desire…his love.

Miredhel broke the kiss. Legolas' eyes shot open, and although they spoke of confusion as to why she had pulled away, they held no secrets. Hazel eyes stared undaunted into blue, and both brightened as a slow smile crept across her face.

She hesitated and then reached for him, and he leaned into her on one arm while his lips found hers to tell her of all he knew and felt, of all he had hoped and dreamed. Certainly it was ravenous, a demanding kiss, and both Legolas and Miredhel lost themselves to each other. Legolas lowered Miredhel gently down to rest against the smooth, gray stone all the while tasting her lips, her neck until finally she rested beside him. Their legs tangled together, and when he pulled her closer, Legolas could feel her heart thrumming against his chest.

Moonlight streamed off her hair, her cheeks. Her eyes mirrored the starry night; her eyes brought forth memories long forgotten—of songs sung in the Great Hall or by firelight in the woods of his sires, haunting songs fit for trysts in the dims of dusk. These lyrics of faith and love eternal echoed in the prince's mind, words that for so long he had been at a lost to comprehend their passion, the commitment of only one and forever. He understood now. With one glance into her eyes, he understood.

He whispered and kissed into her ear, longingly tracing the line of her body as she held onto him. Legolas knew that Miredhel's grief had weakened her, that she was vulnerable…that they were on a rock in the Brown Lands, on their way to stop a large number of orcs from wreaking havoc in Gondor. Now was not the time, nor the place, but oh, how he wished it was. To be so close to her, to touch her skin and feel her body next to his and not act on his emotions was nearly more than the prince's courtly sensibilities could handle.

"But when we get to Minas Tirith…" he murmured, smoothing his hand down her arm, down her side again.

"What'd you say?" she mumbled, and then shivered again as he touched her.

Legolas yanked his hand back as though he had burned her somehow. He sat up. "You're still feeling cold, Miredhel?"

"It's not you," she said, propping up on her elbow. "It's from earlier."

"But I thought we had worked all of that out," Legolas said. "Why would you still—"

"Legolas, this is not a negotiation in your father's hall or a battle to be won on the field. It's my body. It's grief."

"I know that," he insisted.

"Do you? This is not going to go away just because the Prince of Mirkwood wants it to go away."

"What about if the Lord of Ithilien wants it to?" Legolas joked.

"Legolas," Miredhel reproached him, "I was being serious. I feel like this is beyond both of us now. It's not something we can control. I hope that my grief will leave me…but it might not."

Legolas put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head against him. "So whatever happens, happens?"

"Yes," she agreed quietly.

"Does that frighten you?" he asked, running his hand over her hair.

"No…a little…yes," she admitted.

"We're together," he said and laced his fingers through hers. "Of this you should have no fear, only joy," he assured her. "Fold your cares away in velvet, Miredhel. You will not need them again. I promise you." He touched his forehead to hers and then lifted her chin to kiss her softly, only pulling away when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

"If this is Sulindal interrupting again when I'm trying to kiss you, I swear I'll cut both his legs off," the prince grumbled. He stood up, pulling his knife from his belt, and started toward the noise of intruding footfalls.

Miredhel frowned and whispered after him, "If it was Sulindal coming, we wouldn't have heard any footsteps, Legolas. Be careful!"

He stopped in mid-stride. "You are right. Lend me your bow, Miredhel."

"I'm out of arrows."

Legolas muttered a low curse.

"What did you just say? Was that dwarvish?" she asked.

Legolas did not answer but pulled her to her feet. "Do you have enough strength to follow?"

She nodded, and he smiled grimly. "Good. Then stay close behind me," he said. Together they crept toward the vague horizon. A night wind stirred behind them, and Miredhel turned to feel it blow across the tips of her ears, whispering echoes of dreams and hazy memories.

"Miredhel, Miredhel," she softly called again. "Do not linger here. You still have much to do…"


Chapter 32 - Out of the Mist

Fog hung heavily across flat lands. Neither Miredhel nor Legolas could really see beyond a few feet, but they heard plenty: the constant thud of heavy shod feet, the sleek hum of arrows, and a low familiar bird call.

"Eledhel?" mouthed Miredhel silently to Legolas, and he shrugged. There was no way to know for sure. It certainly did not sound like an orcish signal to him, but Miredhel remembered such a birdcall from her distant youth, of her father and brown, slick feathered woodland thrushes. Her father had said, 'such birds call their young back to its nest, and so shall I call you.' Miredhel remembered, and she whistled back, one long and two short.

She whispered, so quietly that only another elf could hear, "He's looking for us, but I cannot tell where he is, can you?"

"No, let us keep moving toward camp," Legolas returned, and following his lead, Miredhel also slid her knife from her belt.

Legolas led the way, and he traveled so quickly that Miredhel could hardly keep up. She was not sure that he even knew where he was going, and especially at such a deliberate speed, but she trusted him. When he looked back and saw that she had fallen several paces behind, he reached for her hand so they would not be separated.

A low throaty snarl broke the silence, and a broad shadow loomed before the elves. Though he tried, Legolas could see nothing beyond barely two arms' lengths. Letting his fingers slide from Miredhel's hand, he gripped his knife and pulled its mate from his belt. He hung back for a moment, remembering to breathe, his ears pounding, his mouth feeling wickedly dry, and then he charged toward the unknown.

With a feral gleam in his eyes, Legolas rushed forward, his muscles tensed and honed for pursuit, for that first strike and battle: a quick slice and a rush of warmth, followed by the acrid stench of winning, of killing your opponent, of death. He found none of these things however, for his opponent had vanished before he could act. The prince skidded on his heels and turned.

"Miredhel, did you see?" he started, but she was gone.

"Miredhel?" He raced back to where he had left her, panic gnawing through his gut. Then he heard her gasp, followed by the shrill screech of metal scraping against metal.

"Legolas, watch out!" she screamed, and his head snapped toward the sound of her voice, and he chased in that direction. The orcs had better watch out for him.

"Legolas, duck!" she yelled. "Get down!"

"Miredhel?" he shouted, hoping he could find her, help her. He frantically pushed through the swirling walls of fog, quick footfalls of a heavy force pounded behind him, but he cared not. He had to find her.

So focused he was on the path before him, Legolas failed to notice the assailant on his left, who sprang from the darkness, tackling him to the ground. The world bloomed red as the back of his head collided with the earth, and then all faded black in the hush of night.

Out of the darkness leapt a blaze of flames, brilliant, burning. Then through the midst of the fire, a sleek, black beast pierced the darkness with wings outspread, his myriad scales glittering like embers in the dead of night. His yellow eyes gleamed as he rose to rival even the moon's height then dove down toward the earth, his great malice lending him speed to crush his foes.

Legolas watched quietly. His eyes had roamed the land, for the mist and fog had cleared from the desolate plains. All was empty, a dry and bitter wasteland. He was alone, utterly alone. Desperation consumed the elf, and he reached for weapons but found none. He was alone, utterly alone.

Without friends, without love, without family, he faced the dark night and foe. So many times he had leaned on the strength of others to pull him through pain and conflict; even if he would not admit it, this was true! Now he stood without defense, all by himself, and the great dragon soared toward him. The heat of its breath licked his face, his eyes watered and squinted, but he would not look away, nor would he run. A great flame billowed before him, and he thought, 'here is my end…"

When he came to, his head ached, which Legolas took as a good sign to mean that he was, in the very least, still alive. He gradually became aware of someone patting his cheek.

"Legolas?"

He propped open one eye and looked up. He saw dark eyes and a blur of golden hair. "Miredhel?" he croaked.

"Can you not heed the simplest of instructions?" she lectured smiling, and helped him to sit up. "I told you to duck!"

"I didn't care. I was going to rescue you."

"Me? You were the one who needed rescuing! You had four orcs chasing behind you!"

"Well, apparently they caught up to me. One of the savages knocked me down…" he rubbed his head and groaned.

"Legolas?" Miredhel said in a small voice. "That savage was me. I pushed you down. Eledhel and the twins could not get a clear shot at the orcs, otherwise." She pointed at three bodies laying a yard away, each with several green shafted arrows protruding from its back.

"And I thought I was trying to save you," he concluded, shaking his head.

"You already have," she answered and girlishly kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled and rubbed his head again. Mist still shrouded the world around him. There were no fires and no dragon. Still he could not shake off how real his dream had felt. 'It was a dream,' he reminded himself. Anglachur had died. Legolas had seen him fall. Nothing had changed, and nothing had happened. Of this, he should be confident.

"How long was I out?" he asked, painfully trying to stand.

"No more than a couple of minutes," Miredhel answered and added slyly, "So much for never having passed out!" She smiled sweetly at him.

Legolas smirked at her and then dusted himself off. "There is a distinct difference between 'passing' out and being 'knocked' out, Miredhel, if you catch my meaning."

"But Legolas, I think that most people would find the two very much the same," Miredhel countered.

"Most people?" the prince said and winced. "You know, you really don't have to tell anyone about what happened."

She pretended to be hurt by his suggestion. "As if I would do such a thing. For you even to suggest it….like I'm some Lady Limaer or another old gossip, who would run off and tell Eledhel or the twins the first chance that I get!"

Her eyes flashed, and Legolas shifted uncomfortably next to her, and pressed his hand to his head, which felt dangerously near to pounding again. He gave his lady a worried look and said rather tiredly, "Miredhel, I didn't mean it like that…so where is your brother anyways?"

"Don't try and change the subject!" she accused, fighting a grin.

His eyes widened at her, and she laughed. "Oh, Legolas," she exclaimed, "I was only jesting!" She paused, and her dimples deepened with her smile. "Of course, if you want my silence on this matter, I'm sure we can come to an agreement."

"An agreement?" he said hoarsely.

"I will not tell anyone about you fainting…" she began.

Legolas shuddered.

"In exchange for…a kiss, from the most charming elf on this side of the Anduin," she finished.

"Now for that, you need never ask," he replied, breaking into a boyish grin. He took her hands in his and drew her close for a kiss. Her face was smudged and her clothes, a mess, but he cared for none of those things. She had asked him for a kiss. To be entirely truthful, Legolas could scarcely keep himself from breaking into a jig right then and there. Then a thought occurred to him, and he pulled away from her with a puzzled look in his eyes.

"…the most charming elf, but only on this side of the Anduin?" he inquired, arching a single brow.

"Well, you know those sons of Elrond…" she joked, but was silenced when Legolas pulled her back to him, his lips meeting hers for a lingering kiss that would leave both their hearts smoldering for the next few hours.

"I am so glad to have found you," he said tenderly when they finally separated. His fingers glided down her cheek and away, and the moment faded and was lost unto the night as the other elves joined them from out of the fog.

Eledhel was there first. "Legolas and Miredhel, thank the Valar that you are both safe!" he said, a little out of breath. He clapped Legolas on the back and then looked curiously at his sister.

"Miredhel, your eyes!" Eledhel exclaimed.

"What's wrong with them?" she returned.

"They're shining," he returned and folded her into a hug. "It eases my heart to see you so." He stole an uneasy glance at Legolas. The prince had helped her when Eledhel could not. He was glad of her improvement, but felt with it the tiniest shred of envy that Legolas Greenleaf had done more for his sister than he had managed to accomplish over the whole summer. Eledhel sighed and leaned onto his bow. He would not think of such things now; more pressing matters required his attention.

"Ill news, my friend," he told the prince. "The orcs are moving more quickly than we anticipated, and now, well, they must know that we follow." He paused and ran his hand down the arc of his weapon. "We should leave now."

"Rauros will slow them down, for they will not know of the pass," Belegil advised. "We should still have time to reach Gondor and its first settlements."

Sulindal came in after Belegil, dragging the fourth dead orc by the heels behind him. He lumped it next to the others and casually joined their conversation. He spoke in low tones, and his voice was earnest.

"Something greater drives these creatures," he said carefully. "More than mere bloodlust. I could feel their hatred ere I ever saw them. There is a malice, a cunning vengeance that sets them against us, and I know not its origins, nor its depths."

"I felt it too," Legolas agreed somberly.

"By the time they pass the wetlands, their appetite will be insatiable. They will look for an easy target," Sulindal concluded.

Eledhel spoke up, "According to our charts, there was a village of men on the edge of Nindalf."

"Rilmost…farmers," Legolas supplied. "Then we must hurry."

At camp, all waited for their arrival and were heartened to see their prince returning with Miredhel at his side. The elves had left no trace of their campsite; the land was spotless as if no one had ever been there. Next to their horses, they stood silently in wait for Legolas' command, all save Colmaethor, who tended his lord's sister.

"She still sleeps, my lord," Colmaethor said apologetically.

"It's as I requested, but now we must ride."

Legolas and Colmaethor decided that Celeril should ride with her brother until she woke, so the prince mounted his horse and then had his sister handed up to him. With a whistle and a great shout, the elven host departed the Brown Lands.

Ill fortune not withstanding, they would reach Rauros and the pass by mid-morning to early afternoon; there, they would rest and then press on through the ancient lines of Emyn Muil, through a narrow canyon winding amid stone-ragged giants.

They traveled through the dawn until the sun rose to meet them, crimson and casting the air pink. Legolas and Miredhel rode together now, side by side, her curls whipping in the wind, her face bright and flushed in the morning light, and both their eyes were as radiant the songs they sang of hope and grace and even love. Despite the grim road before them, they laughed and talked as the twins and Eledhel flanked their sides, and all their merriment caught in the wind and stirred the spirits of those traveling behind them.

Even Legolas' sister still sleeping heard their words as one can hear the distant murmur of the sea or the rumble of rain and smell the fresh change in the air; she heard their songs and quiet laughter and dreamt of an easier time when she and Legolas made fun of and in the world. Celeril felt the warm morning sun on her cheek, and she woke up smiling.

Legolas felt her stir and ruffled the top of her hair with his hand. "Good morning, sleepy head!" he exclaimed.

"Ai, Legolas! Stop it, or my hair will look like an orcs' nest!" She turned and looked at him indignantly as she smoothed her hair down from where her brother had mussed it. Celeril then noticed the curious looks of those who could only be Lorien elves riding along side her brother.

"Erm, hello all," she said, taking them all in with bright blue eyes which looked very similar in appearance to her brother's.

Legolas made the introductions to her: Belegil, Sulindal, and Eledhel. When he introduced Miredhel to his sister, Celeril's eyes widened.

"I remember you, I think. You helped me in the forest last night!" she guessed excitedly.

Miredhel nodded, and a smile played across her face, for she was pleased that Legolas' sister should remember her. "Yes, and I am glad we are able to meet again now, under more pleasant circumstances."

Celeril laughed and then grew more serious. "Thank you for what you did, Lady Miredhel," she said. "I think I would have been lost if not for you."

Legolas joined in, "And I thank you as well, Miredhel, with all my heart. You took a great risk to save her, and I will be ever in your debt."

His eyes melted into hers with such longing and emotion, that Miredhel felt the tips of her ears grow warm, and of course the twins and her brother were privy to the whole scene. Oh, how they would tease her later.

Celeril looked slyly at her brother, and then at Miredhel, and then back at Legolas again. She smiled to herself. She would definitely have to come better acquaintances with this lady from Lorien.

When finally they reached their stopping point, Rauros steamed in the midmorning light as the lake fell away to a brave, gaping horizon. They would water and rest their horses here before cutting through the forgotten pass of Emyn Muil that would take them to the edge of Nindalf and to Rilmost, the farming village.

Legolas' mind was a jumble of thoughts and questions as he filled his waterskin, his fingers relishing the cool water. His fingers found a smooth stream stone, and he flung it across the lake—one, two, three, and plop, the stone sunk beneath the surface. The prince sighed. There was so much more on this road to Ithilien than he had bargained for: dragon, orcs, family problems, more orcs. Would it always be this way, one thing after another, never ending? Legolas splashed some water onto his cheeks and forehead. He would definitely have to consult Aragorn on this matter once he reached Minas Tirith. Legolas wished they were there already. He was not entirely convinced that they were making the right decision in terms of stopping at Rilmost. There was no way to know how the villagers would respond to seeing a large party of elves show up on their doorstop. They might not have even seen elves before, and through distrust, not accept their offer of help. He picked up another stone, and flicked it toward the water—one, two, three, four, five, six…

"Legolas?" It was Celeril.

"Yes?" He turned from the lakes, shaking the water from his fingertips.

"I did not want to speak of this in front of your friends, but—how come you just let me sleep like that? In front of everyone, too!"

"You lost a lot of blood, Celeril. You were weak," he stated matter-of-factly. Legolas decided to omit the fact that he had told Colmaethor to give her a heavy sleeping draught. If she asked him directly, of course he would admit the truth. He would not lie.

"It was really embarrassing!" she exclaimed.

"Something you should consider, perhaps, the next time you act completely irresponsibly, putting your life and others' at risk," he advised her.

"How quaint," she said, narrowing her eyes at her brother. "I thought that I'd left my father back in Mirkwood."

"Celeril," Legolas said in exasperation, "our father is probably going mad with worry over the fact that you've disappeared."

"He'll know that I went with you, Legolas," she retorted.

"And that will make him worry even more. This is not some social call!" Legolas said coldly.

"I know that," she stubbornly insisted.

"I really don't think you do, Celeril. Everything is a game to you. You could have died last night, and you still don't understand. We're not in our father's halls anymore, nor are we in Mirkwood. This is real. This is Middle Earth," Legolas shook his head in disgust. He loved his sister. She reminded him of himself, but her naiveté was going to get someone hurt, or worse, killed.

"Try not to get into trouble. I have duties to attend to," he said and brushed past her, pretending not to notice the hurt expression on her face or the tears welling deep in the corners of her eyes.

He had not walked very far when he ran into none other than Captain Adrendil of Mirkwood.

"Lord Legolas, it's a pleasure to see your lovely sister doing so well," he said smoothly.

Legolas inwardly groaned. Of all the people, he did not want to speak with Adrendil at the moment or listen to him complain about some minor injustice. He cleared his throat and said, "Thank you for your concern. Now if you will excuse me?" He walked past the captain, but Adrendil persisted in following.

"I wanted to voice some concerns I had with Captain Eledhel's plans," he said.

"Adrendil, I'm well aware that you and he are not on the best of terms, but our route is of my choosing, also. Considering our circumstances, it is the best possible choice," Legolas said over his shoulder to him.

"My lord, there used to be a time when you valued council from your Mirkwood captains," Adrendil objected.

Legolas stopped and turned. "And I still do, Adrendil. I'm listening." He eyed him patiently.

"I have my doubts about this 'secret pass' we are to take through Emyn Muil. What do we really know about it? The whole thing could be steep-sided and treacherous, or even caved in at some point, if its as narrow as the charts described." He leaned toward Legolas and lowered his voice, "There is only one way in and one way out. If we met trouble, we would be utterly trapped."

"I know, but it's a risk we must take."

"An unnecessary risk," Adrendil countered. "Why not take the longer route and be assured of safe passage?"

"We discussed all this in Mirkwood, Adrendil," Legolas said, frustration creeping into his voice. "You were there when we held this debate, and my answer still remains the same! It will take too long, and we will condemn the people on the edge of Nindalf to slaughter at the hands of orcs."

"Better them than us. Think of your own people, my lord."

"If we have even the slightest chance of saving those villages, then we must take that chance."

Adrendil's eyebrows lowered into a frown. "With all due respect, where is your loyalty to your homeland, to Mirkwood? Between these Lorien elves," he said and glared at Eledhel, "and your love for humans, I think you've forgotten who you are."

"My loyalty is to Ithilien," Legolas said sternly, "and that includes you, Adrendil. Your concern is noted." With that said, he walked away.

Between conversations with his sister and Adrendil, Legolas' mood had quickly shifted from bad to worse. The source of his discontent could be summarized in one wretched word—leadership. His position in the group required him to be strong and decisive, and Legolas felt that he grossly lacked these qualities at the moment. He surveyed the elves around him and wished that he could just be another member of the party for Ithilien with no responsibilities, no cares, only to fight and ride when instructed, that he could be sitting with Miredhel at the water's edge holding her hand or braiding her hair, but leadership called him to be more. He was Legolas Greenleaf, Lord of Ithilien. He was their leader, bound by duty to make the difficult decisions that carried the weight of life or death.

His conversation with Adrendil had unnerved him. The captain had made some valid points that Legolas could not deny, and though he had chosen to travel through the secret pass, he certainly had his own misgivings, his own self-doubt. What if Adrendil was right, and the Emyn Muil pass proved a faithless trap? Legolas decided that he would feel much better about the whole situation after he heard the scouting report from Farothin.

"Where is Farothin?" Legolas asked Eledhel. "I wanted to hear from him the lay of the land ahead."

Eledhel looked surprised. "He's not back yet? He would have gone to you first, Legolas, if he had returned from scouting." They both scanned the area for any sign of him or his dapple gray mare. Belegil and Sulindal were nearby, saw them looking about, and joined their conversation.

"He's not back yet?"

"He knew to meet us here."

Now Miredhel came up behind her brother. "Are we leaving soon?" she asked.

"Yes, but Farothin has not returned."

With a sharp intake of breath, Miredhel dropped her eyes. "Do you think he is in trouble?"

"Undoubtedly, Miredhel. Otherwise, Farothin would be here," Belegil replied and turned to Legolas. "He may be young, but he's a good tracker and scout, Legolas. Haldir trained him in the field, and both my brother and I would vouch for him."

"I know," Legolas said resignedly. "We cannot linger, though. We must go forward. Farothin knows our plans and our route. I only hope that he will meet us further along our trail."

Miredhel's head snapped up. "Legolas," she said, "we can't just leave him. Something might have happened to him. He could be hurt or attacked by orcs!"

The other elves exchanged grim looks.

Legolas spoke up. "Eledhel, Belegil, Sulindal—ready the group to depart at once." The captains nodded and left, but Miredhel merely stood there, rooted to the ground.

Legolas touched her shoulder. "Come, let's get you to your horse," he said. She followed, but as they walked, she caught his sleeve.

"Legolas, this is wrong. Is there not something else we can do?" she asked desperately. "He's so young! Send out riders to find him or let us wait a little longer."

Legolas knew that he could not let emotion sway his decision, and he tried to explain that to the sweet maiden waiting beside him. "Miredhel, time is of the essence. The longer we tarry here, the further we risk our own party and many innocents of Gondor to open attack. We must trust Farothin to look after himself."

"What about riders then?"

Legolas stopped and gently placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "I will not send out more riders into this labyrinthine pile of rocks than is necessary, especially if we may be pursued by orcs. It's far too dangerous, and I would not command it of anyone." His voice was firm and calm. He hoped she would understand.

She did not. "Then I volunteer," Miredhel announced seriously, staring into his crystalline blue eyes.

Legolas actually laughed. "No," he objected. "Absolutely not!"

"Legolas, please. He is so young. Please, we must do something."

He took her hands in his. "Believe me when I say that I wish we could help him, Miredhel. I like Farothin as much as you do, but I have a responsibility to the rest of these elves and a loyalty to Gondor that I cannot ignore."

"What about your responsibility to Farothin?" she hedged, and his eyes darkened.

"I already told you 'no' once, Miredhel, and I meant it the first time," Legolas charged her. He put his arm around her shoulders and firmly marched her to her horse.

She looked away from him angrily and bit her lower lip in dismay, before saying, "And what if I leave without your permission?"

Legolas guided her chin with his finger back so that she faced him. He leaned in closer and told her, "You are far too dear to me, and I simply won't allow it, even if I have to put you over my shoulder and carry you to Gondor."

She peered at him. "You would not dare," she said as he helped her onto the horse.

"Try me," he said, followed by a bow, and he was gone before she could make any further objections.

Eledhel watched Legolas mount his horse and give the signal to ride. They began to talk softly as the horses moved out.

"I take it my sister does not approve of your decision."

"To say the least," Legolas agreed. "She did not understand, and I did not have the heart to tell her my deepest suspicions."

"—That Farothin is probably dead," Eledhel said. He frowned and pensively rubbed bridge of his nose. "He left the Brown Lands so much earlier than we did. He had plenty of time to go beyond the lake and then come back to meet us."

"I know. In all truth, I expected him to be waiting for us when we arrived."

Eledhel drew a long, unsteady breath. "Legolas, I cannot even bear to imagine his fate, if the orcs did catch him," he said quietly.

The prince did not respond immediately. Images of the War of the Ring and battle flashed through his mind—death on the Pelennor fields, at Helm's Deep, in front of the Black Gate. "Too many times have I seen the handiwork of orcs in the remains of their victims: the cruelty, the abuse…"

"He is so young—half our age, and it maddens me to think that we abandon him to such a fate."

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut. "I did not want to mention this earlier when we were talking, in front of your sister, but do you think that Farothin could be pressured to reveal information? He knows all of our plans, the route we mean to take, how many people we have, and the list goes on."

"—he would never give us away, Legolas."

"Even to the pain of death?" Legolas asked, hating himself for saying such words aloud.

Eledhel winced and sorrowfully shook his head. "No, he may be young, but he is strong, and of a proud line of warriors. No nephew of Haldir's would ever betray his friends," he said, trying to sound confident.

"I hope that you may be right, Eledhel, or that we might both be wrong about his fate," Legolas said as they approached the shores near the edge of where the Anduin plunged into a mighty falls, and Gondor's snowy range and verdant vales loomed in the distance.

The elves wound their way past the sarn to the very brink of the falls and turned into the forest toward the craggy peaks of Emyn Muil. The woods opened into a rocky climb of stone and grass. If their charts held true, they would meet the secret pass through a slender fold of shale, which cut away to an unseen canyon with width enough for a single horse and rider. Legolas and the captains had looked along their trail for any sign of Farothin. At first they had spotted tracks leading away from the lake, but even those dwindled to naught. The young hunter had vanished.

When Legolas reached the opening to the secret pass, he waited there for the last members bringing up the rear of their party to arrive. Indecision still plagued his heart. Was he making the right choices? He met Miredhel's gaze as she appeared; her eyes were sad and distant. He guessed that she had marked Farothin's disappearing tracks as well, and guilt consumed him. Legolas had repeatedly told himself that his decision to move on was the best possible choice, but his emotions continued to rally against him.

He kept seeing Farothin's bright, expectant face in his mind. Farothin, who had been so eager to please, had been the very first elf that Legolas had encountered upon his return to Lorien. It had been Farothin that had begged the prince to compete in an archery competition against Haldir. Legolas felt a lump rising in his throat, and he looked toward the slanted opening of the canyon pass. His mind told him to go forward, that it was the logical thing to do. The rest of the elves looked at him expectantly, waiting. Leadership, his position, his heritage, meant having to make the choices that no one else wanted to make.

Legolas swallowed back the lump in his throat and quietly signaled for Arod to move ahead into the canyon. In the back of his mind, he could still hear Adrendil's warning: "There is only one way in and one way out. If we met trouble, we would be utterly trapped."


Chapter 33 - Unwanted Visitors

The elves fell into a hush as the canyon walls loomed ever higher over them. No one had ordered silence, but all fell quiet. The air thickened, closed in around them; no wind or summer breeze teased this lonesome corridor, and the sky above narrowed to a bright blue sliver. Every so often a few small rocks skittered down in a cloud of dust from the edge of the rocky incline.

Legolas and the elves snaked forward in their single file line, and the gorge tightened around them. Once earlier Legolas had craned his neck around trying to catch a glance of Miredhel to check on her, but the curving walls and slim passage hid her from sight. He knew she still rode with the group and that she was safe, but still the prince worried for her. She had not taken Farothin's disappearance very well, to say the least. If anything, merely to glimpse her eyes alone would prove enough to satisfy him, to see her eyes, clear and rich, as they had been earlier, the color of a thousand rippling leaves across a forest canopy.

In his heart, Legolas feared for her, that she might succumb to her grief once more, or that she would blame him for what evil might befall their young friend. She had called on the prince to help Farothin. Miredhel, who had never demanded anything of him, had finally made a heartfelt request, and Legolas had denied her. His responsibility to the safety of the group had forced his hand in the matter, but he still felt horrible about it. He thought back to the time in Mirkwood when he had begged her to allow him to give her a gift, and now he could not bestow on her the very thing she wanted.

The deeper he traveled into the pass of Emyn Muil, the worse he felt. The passage way constricted more and more, and Legolas felt as though he were being swallowed. How like his life, he mused. For his dreams also seemed to close around him. Somehow his plans for Ithilien had become just like this road, and every decision he made led him deeper into a binding path from which he could not break free.

Legolas nudged Arod to stop so that he might try again to spy Miredhel among the line, to win a glance from her. When the procession slowed to a halt, the prince became aware of a peculiar noise echoing faintly from the stone walls around them. The sound was not like a constant hum, but more inconsistent, a pulsing, rustling noise. Before he could turn to Eledhel to ask him if he heard it as well, the cause of the disturbance soared into view from above the confines of the passage.

A black-winged cloud thickened in the distant sky and hurtled toward the elves with alarming speed. A dismayed murmur ran among his people before the shrieking swarm drowned out their voices, and Legolas strained his eyes to make out the cloud for what it was. Birds. His keen eyes discerned a glossy crop of midnight-hued feathers, wings edged in violent red, and shrewd dark eyes staring soullessly toward him. Carrion birds, birds of war and death, corpulent from the blood of the slain, looked to feast again.

Legolas hoped the flock would turn before their paths crossed. He had seen the shade of their darkness before, like a deathly shadow on the battle grounds before attack: blotting out the sun over the Lonely Mountain in the Battle of the Five Armies, roosting upon the sharp stone walls at Helm's Deep, scouring the skies over Pelennor Fields, and then before Morannon, like shards of the Black Gate come viciously alive. Legolas hated them. He hated what they represented. Seeing them now only confirmed his suspicion that the orcs' battalions prowled nearby, and he fervently hoped that these foul creatures would not compromise his group's position.

The flock sunk into the ravine, flapping and screaming, a blur of quick feathers, and raced between the elves, nipping at their hair and clothes. The birds' cries became so deafening that Legolas almost clamped his hands over his ears between spells of fighting away talons and eager beaks, but amidst all the racket he heard something else—a shrill screech of metal and a deadly cry, "Yrrch!"

The carrion-fowl raged among the elves like a maddening storm but Legolas only heard the alarm in his warriors' cries—"yrrch!" His every musle tensed at the word. Their safe way had betrayed them.

His people's anxious cries grew louder, "Orcs! Go! Hurry!" In less than a heart-beat, their leader slid off his horse and slapped him on the rump.

Eledhel was aghast. "Just what exactly are you planning on doing, Legolas," he asked, watching his friend slide past him.

"I am going to kill some orcs," Legolas called over his shoulder. "Get our people out of here!"

"But Legolas, should you not…" Eledhel shouted to no avail. Legolas was gone.

The prince squeezed and pushed his way to the back of the line, his long sleek bow in hand; his eyes, a sheer blue fury. At some point he passed his sister, and she thought for a moment that she beheld her father's spectre until Legolas flashed her a grim smile and warned her to take care.

Legolas did not see Miredhel until he had reached the very end of the line, and the prince scolded himself for not making her ride up front with her brother. Miredhel's horse trammeled wildly beside her. She had fitted an arrow to her bow, but it hund loosely in her hand. Her lips trembled in a silent 'o,' and her eyes fixed themselves, not on the enemy, but on the trampled bodies of the two elves who had formed the rear guard of their line.

The prince's heart twisted to see them lying there with many black arrows cruelly piercing their sides and back, but where Miredhel could not act, Legolas could. He squeezed her hand, telling her to hang back and to help cover him. He reached for arrow after arrow, and his long bow sang in retribution against the foul cries of his enemies. One by one, he smote them deep inside the canyon walls, pushing them back until he stood protectively over the bodies of his slain kindred.

He glanced down and realized in horror that the fallen elves' blood pooled around his boots—blood that should never have been spilled—and rage smoldered within his heart, not at the orcs, but at himself. He had done this. He had led his people to their deaths, and his chest burned furiously in desire to right this wrong, to avenge the fallen on the deadly edge of cold blades. He drew his knives and charged toward the remaining orcs, dodging their spears and arrows until he was upon them.

Fighting, killing, battle—these he knew well, and he felt more in control here, as a warrior, than he ever had as a leader of his people. Here, he knew what was required of him, what to do, and when to act. Here, he was judge and executioner, life and death itself; this was where he belonged.

When he had driven his long knife across the throat of the last orc, and the blood of his enemies darkened his hands, he stood there panting amid the tangled work of his knives and wept. Given the chance, he could have killed thrice as many, but no amount of dead orcs would bring new breath to his fallen comrades' lips, or bring Farothin safely back to his friends. He wiped the blood from his knives and sheathed them, and then carried each of the bodies of his archers to rest upon one of their horses where Miredhel stood waiting.

"Legolas, let's go," she said quietly, unsure of what else to say, not knowing what to make of the wet, hot tracks streaking down his cheeks. She handed his bow to him and mounted her horse, waiting for him to join her.

He anxiously eyed the skies and the canyon walls and waited. The carrion birds still plagued the air, frenzied by the scent of blood. Their eyes bulging greedily, they sunk lower into the deeps, eager to feast on orc flesh. Legolas spotted a brilliant flash of silver among them. One of the birds carried something peculiar in its claws, and the dark-winged creature soared past the elves, shrilly cursing them in its native tongue, and flung its token into the open air.

Legolas stretched out his palm and seized it. When he uncurled his fingers, he beheld a silver and green enamel leaf pin with a single rune engraved upon it, 'F.' Farothin.

"They've found us," Legolas said under his breath and shuddered as he looked warily at the dead heap of orcs laying a few feet away. Those were just the beginning, the first few drops before the deluge.

"Legolas, what is it?" Miredhel asked.

He stuffed the pin into his pocket. "Miredhel, ride now and catch up with the rest of the party. Tell your brother not to stop until he reaches Rilmost."

Miredhel eyed him strangely. "Legolas, I'm not leaving you here..."

"I said for you to go!" he insisted. His eyes drifted to the top of the canyon.

A shadow crept over the edge, and they heard a scream and then another, and then many. The rim of the gorge darkened into a jagged silhouette of orcs and spears. Too many to count or separate, all were black and moving at once, legs, arms, bodies, heads, like a swarm of insects across parched soil blending into a single, hideous mass. Stamping their feet, they shouted and waved their wicked weapons until the roar proved almost deafening. Then a hush fell over them all as the orcs peered down at the pile of dead bodies and the elves before them.

"Get out of here while you may," Legolas whispered to Miredhel. "Quickly!"

"What do you think you can do against thousands, Legolas?" she hissed back at him. "Don't be a fool!"

Meanwhile, one of the orcs high above them shouted and raised his spear, and the rest of the enemy followed suit in a blackened wave that ripped across the outline of the wall. Then the siege began. The orcs streamed down the crevassed stone in dark rivulets like hot tar that spills over battlements to scorch the enemy. They moved quickly across the stone without ladders, without ropes, and every furious movement focuses toward one goal—elves.

Legolas took an involuntary step backward. He looked to Miredhel. "Ready to leave now?"

"Not without you," she replied.

"As my lady wishes, then," he said and firing some desperate shots at the leaders, he jumped onto the back of her horse.

Now the entire face of the north wall crawled with the enemy, pulsing, shouting, and scrambling down the rocks. In less than a minute, the horde would overtake them. They drew closer and closer.

The enemy's malice, their hate so profound, scorched in its intensity, making Legolas' flesh burn. He knew that Miredhel felt it too and that she must be afraid, despite her valiant effort not to show it.

"Valar be with us," he heard her murmur as the gloom of the orcish host threatened to consume them. Both elves leaned in close to the back of Miredhel's horse, Legolas shielding her body with his, as they raced pell mell through the narrow passage. The orcs were almost upon them.

The nearest orc leapt off the wall in a cloud of white dust and tackled Legolas to the ground. Miredhel screamed, and the orcs shouted in delight, with even more springing down from the walls. A fine white dust filled the air, rocks from above began to slide and tumble to the base of the canyon, and under the weight and movement of the orcs, the walls began to groan.

Miredhel lost Legolas' lithe form in the dusty haze and confusion. He shouted to her as he fell, "Fly, Miredhel! Go!"

He strained under the orc's weight as he twisted against the stony ground, desperately trying to work his knife free with his right hand and to stay the orc's blade with his left. He heard Miredhel scream his name—she had not kept riding after all. In that moment, Legolas let his guard down, and the orc plunged his knife into the elf's shoulder.

The prince's eyes watered, and he gasped for air as the orc fiendishly dug the serrated blade deeper into his flesh.

Legolas heard Miredhel shout again, "Legolas! The walls…the walls are coming down!" She still lived, and he found new strength within him.

He rolled left and rammed his knee into the orc's groin. The beast yelped, and Legolas freed one of his hands, which he thrust toward the orc's neck and began to squeeze. The orc gurgled and flailed; his eyes began to bulge. Legolas squeezed all the more tightly. The creature stirred vainly once more, his tongue wildly lashing between his teeth, and then finally the orc fell with a thud beside the prince. Legolas relaxed his grip from the beast's neck and then dared to peek at the dagger wound in his shoulder, with the blade still firmly lodged in his skin. Oh, the sight of it made him sick.

He heard Miredhel call his name again above the din of the orcs, and he looked up through the swirling dust to see the enemy retreating eastward down the canyon passage and back up over the canyon heights. The stones trembled under their vile touch, and an enormous face of rock cracked and split beneath them.

Legolas' eyes widened at the sight. The whole of the wall, orcs included, lurched above him. He pulled himself up from the ground and with much loathing and discomfort, wrenched the blade free from his body as he ran toward Miredhel and her horse. Blood poured freely from the wound, and he pressed his hand to stanch the bleeding. As soon as he flung himself onto the back of the horse, they were galloping at full speed, away from the orcs, away from the carrion birds, away from the falling rocks, tumbling boulders, and clouds of dust. As their horse neared a turn in the passage, both elves looked back to see the canyon ledge, where stood many an orc, high above them crumble away in a tremendous avalanche. The canyon walls slid hectically to the base of the narrow passage, swallowing its trespassers in a violent roar of flying debris and plumes of dust. The cave-in had sealed the pass forever more, and fortune trapped the remainder of the orc battalion haplessly on the other side.

Legolas smiled grimly. Perhaps the Valar had heard Miredhel's earnest plea. Perhaps they still looked toward the remaining elves of Middle Earth with a benevolent eye, but even in the orcs' demise, he could feel no joy when the bodies of two slain elves hung across the back of the horse next to him.

"Come," he said to Miredhel, "let us hurry to join the others." Fatigue worried his voice, and Miredhel knew his heart grieved for the fallen. She grieved for them also. In their first quiet moment together since they had entered the passage, she turned and looked at him, seeing a side of this elf, this warrior and prince, that she had never before witnessed.

Chalky dust and grime smudged his fair features, but she had seen him look simply dirty before. His eyes bothered her the most; they seemed inconsolable, defeated. She did not know what to say, and usually Miredhel always had something to say. This side of Legolas confounded her. He was supposed to be the strong one, the fighter, and now he seemed so lost. Without speaking, she wet her handkerchief with some water from her pouch and smoothed it across his face.

"Legolas? We can get to that village now in time," she said comfortingly. "We can save those people from the orcs. Our journey hasn't been…it hasn't' been in vain."

"I know," he said tiredly. "I know." He weakly smiled and then swept his hair behind his back, revealing the gash in his shoulder. Miredhel gasped.

"You've been injured!" she observed, displeasure written in her voice. "Why did you not say so?"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Because I knew you would fuss over it, and frankly, my petty wounds can wait until we catch up to the others."

"Legolas, no. The wound still bleeds. At least allow me to wrap it," she said and had already begun to pull a strip of fabric from her satchel to bind the wound. "It looks ghastly," she said.

"I hadn't noticed," he answered dryly as began to wrap the bandage across the torn flesh.

Miredhel frowned and pulled the bandage under his arm and then back over his shoulder. "What if the blade was poisoned?" she scolded, thankful for the fact that at least her tending to his wound distracted him from his earlier melancholy mood.

"Could you do anything about it if it was?" he asked sardonically, wincing as she tightened the wrap.

"I might," she replied, her voice aloof.

Legolas snorted.

"Well, I might!" she defended herself and tied the bandage off. "That's not too tight, is it?"

"Is it supposed to make my arm turn purple?" he asked.

She loosened the knot a little with a smile and gently smoothed the rest of the hair away from his face. "Your shoulder will have to be sewn up later, if it is to heal properly. Well, you should really have Colmaethor look at it when we catch up with the others. He is much better at field wounds than I am."

"Nonsense," swore Legolas boldly, but then his voice softened. "You have done more than you can know, Miredhel. I would have none other. Only you."

She blushed in his gaze and slowly turned away from him, but Legolas' hand found her shoulder and stopped her in mid-movement. Miredhel looked down at the mare's flanks, at her hands, at the ground, suddenly feeling more nervous around him than she had felt in a while. She knew that he only spoke of his injury, of her healing, but it felt like so much more when he looked at her that way; there was something in the tenderness of his words, and she knew that it was because of her own heart's desire. She wished for more.

Legolas' hand trailed from her shoulder down her arm and found her hand which he brought to his lips. Then satisfied that she offered no protest, he leaned slowly toward her and gently kissed her cheek. His eyes were so close to her own, and she could still see weariness, the residue of defeat, in them.

"I am sorry, Miredhel," he whispered. "I feel as though I've let you down, you of all people whom I should like to please most."

"My lord," she said, "do not despair. Let us cling to hope instead, for it is a kinder master." She entwined her fingers through his and sympathetically squeezed his hand.

"Hope?" asked Legolas, bitterly eyeing the bodies of his fallen archers.

Miredhel looked down at their hands and his long, fair fingers against her skin, before she carefully said, "You, of all elves, have taught me that such a thing has not yet deserted this world, Legolas. You have brought me hope so many times in these last days of our dark journey. You were my strength, when I had none."

He could feel her warm breath on his cheek as she spoke, and he took comfort in the feel of his hand in hers. She still trusted him; at least he had not lost that. Legolas drew an uneasy breath and nodded.

"To hope, then," he said and brought his lips to hers, and his spirit and faith rekindled in her embrace, his heart gladdened by her company.

"Besides, there is much we may hope for: that we may save that village from the orcs, warn Gondor and Minas Tirith, and find that Farothin waits for us on the other side of Emyn Muil, that he lives yet," Miredhel said encouragingly.

But Legolas fingered the leaf pin in his pocket and said nothing. Nor did he speak, until they caught up with the rest of their party outside the canyon passage.

Legolas and Miredhel met the Ithilien elves along the now widening trail at the roots of Emyn Muil as it curved down toward the wet edges of Nindalf. As they traveled farther south, leaving the mountains behind them, the land brightened and dipped into verdant valleys of long, wet grass.

Miredhel spotted their companions first, and she joyfully exclaimed, "There they are, Legolas! They are safe and wait for us to join them." She scanned their ranks, finding her brother, the twins, but not Farothin. "He is not with them," she added disappointedly.

The elves were silent when their leader arrived, for they had seen the other horse bearing the stark remains of their friends' bodies. Legolas dismounted and pulled the group in toward him. Quietly, he told of bravery and death, the orcs, and the subsequent cave-in of the canyon's narrow walls. They lacked the time for a proper elvish burial ceremony, so the elves draped a cloth across the dead. With eyes red from tears, Celeril hugged her brother's side.

"You were right, Legolas. I'm sorry for not believing you earlier at Rauros," she said, her chin quivering from trying not to cry, again. "And I was so afraid for you."

"Shh, everything will work out," he said and put his arm around her, not entirely sure who he meant to comfort more, his sister or himself. He could not stay with her long, however; he needed to meet with his captains. He glimpsed Sulindal's tall figure on the edge of the group, standing with Eledhel, Adrendil, and Belegil, and the prince made his way toward them with disapproval written across his face.

"Didn't I tell you to go directly to Rilmost?" Legolas frowned at Eledhel.

"And so we are," Eledhel answered smoothly, "but that passage through the mountains was harrowing, so we stopped to rest…and I must own that I had hoped to see you catch up to us."

The prince rolled his eyes and fought the urge to smile. "We barely escaped," Legolas admitted, "and I am sorry that your sister met with such danger."

Eledhel nodded thoughtfully before he answered, "I knew she was with you. You two have a knack for ending up in trouble together."

Belegil chimed in, "And that's why they're so perfect for each other!"

Sulindal elbowed his brother in the ribs and spoke up, "Truly, Legolas, we are glad to see you return safely, and now we may all ride into Rilmost together."

"Perhaps, it would be best if we did not all go into the village at once. I do not want to cause unnecessary panic," Legolas thought out loud.

"We mean them no harm," said Eledhel.

"Most men have never seen an elf before, though," the prince informed them. "To them, we are merely legends, stories to please small children." He looked around the group and then lowered his voice. "Have you seen any trace, any sign, of Farothin?"

Eledhel and the twins shook their heads.

Legolas reached into his pocket and covertly showed them the pin he'd found. "It's as I feared…"

"He is dead then," Eledhel finished. "I cannot imagined Farothin willingly bestowing this upon one of those foul carrion birds."

"Nor can I," Legolas agreed somberly.

Sulindal bowed his head with great, liquid grey eyes, and his brother braced his arm. "Have you told Miredhel of this, Legolas?" he asked in a peculiar voice.

"No," he whispered to the circle. "She does not know. I could not bring myself to tell her, not yet, not with her grief the way it is."

Adrendil arched an eyebrow at the other elves. "Was she very good friends with him?" he inquired carefully.

Eledhel answered, "Yes, but Farothin was well-loved by all, having that happy disposition of youth that makes him endearing."

"Then she deserves to know the truth," Adrendil concluded, and Eledhel began to glare at the other captain a trifle unkindly.

"As her guardian, I shall decide when and what she knows," Eledhel growled. "You know nothing, Captain Adrendil, of her or her past."

His eyes an icy reproof, Legolas stepped in between them. "What Eledhel means to say is that it would be in Miredhel's best interest if we waited until we reach a more giving environment to tell her the ill news."

"Her best interest, or yours?" Adrendil scoffed. "I warned you about that canyon, Prince Legolas. When will you start heeding my council?"

"Probably when you stop acting like an ass," Belegil muttered under his breath.

Adrendil gave Belegil and Eledhel both very unfavorable looks and then stormed away.

"You don't really like him, do you Legolas?" Belegil asked after Adrendil had left.

"He was right about the canyon passage," Legolas admitted. "Come though, we must leave for Rilmost. I will ride to the village, and… Sulindal, you come with me. Eledhel, you and Belegil shall take our group within distant sight of the village. We will signal you if they welcome us." They checked their tack and weapons, and then the elves descended down toward the marshes, the Nindalf, and Rilmost, their hard-sought destination.


Chapter 34 - The Black Dragon

Author's note: This chapter contains some descriptions of violence and alludes to rape. Use discretion accordingly.

Building Ithilien

Chapter Thirty-three: The Black Dragon

She could feel the warmth of the sun on her back, the cool wet strands of grass clinging to her legs. She could hear the distant chatter of meadow larks, but all of these sensations became secondary as she watched Legolas ride away, across the rippling green horizon with Sulindal at his side. His gait was a little more unsteady than usual, ever so slightly stiff, and she wondered which bothered her prince more—his wounded shoulder or his frustration at the past events.

How strange his eyes had seemed to her! His eyes seemed so distant as if regret haunted his every thought. Of course, all of these musings in her mind were sheer conjecture. She did not know anything for certain, and there had been precious little time for talking in the past hours, or days for that matter. The most upfront Legolas had been with her was when he had apologized to her at the end of the canyon's secret pass. He had apologized to her, as if he supposed she blamed him for the horrifying turn of events—the ambush, the slain archers, Farothin's disappearance. Farothin.

She sighed as she thought of him. Surely Legolas did not believe that she blamed him for whatever had happened to Farothin. Miredhel bit her lip and looked away from the diminishing forms of the riders. She had not given Legolas that impression, had she? From the appearance of things, she had. Miredhel decided that when Legolas returned she would set his mind at ease and clear the matter with him. He had enough troubles without her adding to them.

All that was left to her was to wait. Miredhel very much wanted to improve her acquaintance with Celeril whom she had only spoken with briefly in their ride to Rauros. She walked over to where the princess stood, apparently good-humouredly enduring a conversation with Adrendil. Before Miredhel could even contrive a greeting, Adrendil spoke.

"Lady Miredhel," he said. "How kind of you to come speak with me!" He looked benignly at Celeril. "Will you give us a moment, princess?"

Celeril shared a look of confusion with Miredhel and then quietly stepped aside as Adrendil had requested.

"Captain Adrendil," Miredhel began. "I am not sure-"

"I think you know that I hold you in the highest regard, my lady," he interrupted smoothly.

"Well, I-" she said, a little uncomfortable in not knowing what he could possibly say next.

"And I know you share a special relationship with the prince," he said coyly.

She blinked. She certainly had not expected him to say that. "He and I are friends, Captain," she testily replied.

He smiled and leaned toward her. "Very good friends," he said softly.

Her face grew warm under his curious gaze. "I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself," she said smartly.

"It's quite obvious to everyone, my dear," he told her. "Prince Legolas, if not already, is precariously near falling in love with you." Adrendil stopped to gauge her reaction to his words.

Miredhel silently cast her eyes down and said nothing.

"Oh, didn't you know?" Adrendil said with mock surprise. "He is."

She lifted her chin and deliberately met his clever eyes. "Our business is our own," Miredhel said. "What can you mean by saying such things?" she asked with an edge to her voice, a careful warning to Adrendil that he had trespassed beyond the realm of polite conversation.

"You are charming," Adrendil said, his eyes glittering, "but I did not allude to your relationship with the prince to embarrass you. I mean to ask for your help, assistance which I know you can lend, because of your intimacy with our leader."

Miredhel choked back a denial, and Adrendil continued.

"You see, I had become rather well acquainted with young Farothin, and I am very fond of him," he said and swallowed slowly as if a lump caught in his throat. "I am so worried for him."

Miredhel eyed Adrendil curiously. His concern seemed genuine. She nodded her head. "I know how you feel," she agreed gently. "I worry for him also."

"Is there any more news concerning his disappearance?" Adrendil asked her. "I had hoped, given your closeness with the Prince, that you might have more information. It would be a great comfort in my sorrow." He piteously clasped his hands over his chest.

"On my honor, there is nothing I can tell you that has not already been said," Miredhel answered.

"Oh," Adrendil said disappointedly, his shoulders slumping. "I had hoped that the prince might have found a clue to Farothin's disappearance when the two of you were leaving the canyon." He paused and lowered his voice. "I wouldn't have even said anything, but… well, it matters not."

"What?"

"Never mind, my lady. It was foolish of me to waste your time so," he said and gave a slight bow, turning to leave.

Miredhel caught his arm and stopped him. "Captain, do you think the prince found some sign of Farothin in the canyon?"

"Why? Did he found something?" Adrendil asked inquisitively.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. Prince Legolas knows how worried I am. He would have told me."

"Are you certain of this, my lady?" he pressed her.

"Yes," she said firmly.

"Then there can be no questions on the matter. Again, I apologize for disturbing you," he told her politely.

Miredhel frowned as he walked away, not entirely sure of what exactly had just transpired. She glanced over her shoulder to catch one last glimpse of Legolas' fleeting silhouette on the horizon, but he had already passed from sight.



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Legolas followed the green curve of the valley dipping toward the small village that sprawled between the wetlands. He could see small neatly tended fields fanning out like bright patches of gold and noted a smallish wall, really more like a spindly fence, encircling the main part of the village. There were a few scattered buildings made of stone and wood, with walls and roofs of thatched grass whitened by the sun.

Sulindal spied a youth perched upon the wall next to a gate and pointed him out to the prince. "Look, Legolas. They have a look-out man."

"Look-out boy is more like it," Legolas countered. "I have always been ill at guessing ages of men, but I wager that he's not yet ten and five years."

"Do you see their wall?" Sulindal said, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't suppose that rickety fence would even keep pigs in, if pressed to do so," Legolas said.

"What chance have they against an attack from those orcs?" Sulindal asked, staring ahead at the boy.

Legolas shook his head and answered. "I must persuade them to leave and make for the fort at Calenfen on the edge of the Entwash. Aragorn keeps a garrison there, and at least they would have more protection than that fence."

"What if the orcs lay siege to Calenfen? A fort and a garrison would be no match for the numbers our scouts reported," Sulindal pointed out.

Legolas thoughtfully rubbed his forehead. He did not want to admit his doubts and indecision to Sulindal. He knew Sulindal could be trusted. Moreover, he was a loyal friend, but Legolas was a prince of Eryn Lasgalen, a Greenleaf, and with that name came an indelible sense of pride. He and Sulindal were friends, yes, but Legolas was still the leader, and he would act the part.

"No, you are right, Sulindal. Calenfen will need more protection. If the people of Rilmost are willing, we will escort them to Calenfen and then send riders to Minas Tirith to alert the king," Legolas planned.

"If the people of Rilmost are willing…" Sulindal repeated. "Their village is about to be overrun with orcs. Why wouldn't they accept our help?"

"You would be surprised, Sulindal," Legolas said slowly. "Men are such odd creatures—they are stubborn and proud to a fault. They may find it beneath themselves to accept our aid. We are elven kind. They may not even wish to speak with us."

Even as the prince spoke these words, the boy at the fence became aware of the approaching riders. The youth peered curiously at the elves, his eyes growing larger and larger as they neared. The shiny metal tackle trimming the elves' weapons and clothes gleamed in the sun; both Legolas and Sulindal's eyes were bright, and their long fair hair rivaled the burnished wheat in the fields. The boy slowly took in all these things, and then with a gasp, he nimbly leapt down from the wall and ran into the village.

Sulindal looked amusedly at Legolas. "It appears you may have not been too far off the mark, my lord."

Legolas nodded. "I have been around enough men by now to know," he answered wryly. Before the war, he had really only known one man, Aragorn, but the War of the Ring had changed all of that. He had been thrown headlong into a world of men—first through getting to know Boromir, man of Gondor, and then Eomer, Theoden and the cold lady of Meduseld, Eowyn, and that despicable Grima, and Hama…there were too many to name; Minas Tirith had been more of the same, men, women, and children all over and everywhere at once, thousands of tiny sparks flickering in the darkness. Their light burned and faded so quickly, for their mortality had seemed but a breath to him. Yet during his time with the Fellowship, Legolas had learned to care for these mortals. For all their eccentricities and weakness, they lived and loved passionately. Their friendship felt like Spring time. Aragorn was as true a friend and brother as Legolas had known, and he would honor and defend that trust until his dying breath.

The elves pushed through the swinging gate and entered the town. The few villagers along the dusty path stopped in their tracks to stare at them. Legolas and Sulindal only gained a few yards before a thick, burly jowled man, fairly bristling, met them in the road with the young lad from the wall trailing behind him.

"Here now, you two," he shouted. "Stop right there!"

They stopped, and Sulindal fought hard to conceal his amusement and curiosity under a serious expression.

"Who are you? From where do you hail?" The man leaned on his pitchfork and peered menacingly at the mysterious strangers on horseback.

"We mean you no harm," Legolas advised him. "I am Legolas, and my companion is Sulindal. We have ridden in great haste from the northern woods with a group of our kinfolk to bring you tidings of a most serious nature. Who is your leader here? I would bear this news to him first."

The man paid no heed to Legolas' question, but continued to gawk open-mouthed, his brows pushing together, until finally he sputtered, "Elves, that's what you are…elves."

The small cluster of villagers that had gathered around the elves murmured in agreement and some in fear. Legolas and Sulindal exchanged glances.

"Yes, we are elves," the prince said.

The man spoke again, his voice full of disbelief. "Elves…I've heard stories about you people." He inched closer to Legolas and Arod. "Bedtime stories to tell children…about heroes who did impossible deeds, killing giants and monsters…" He paused, and his eyes grazed across Legolas' immaculate features, his brilliant eyes and long lashes, the white-blonde hair falling past his shoulders, his silvery-green tunic, deceivingly slim frame, and smooth hands. The man's lips curled disapprovingly. "How disappointing!" he guffawed and drove his pitchfork into the ground. "These two puffed-up pigeons couldn't do any of those things, I reckon." He looked toward the tittering crowd for approval and continued. "-Ridden in great haste with tidings of a most serious nature—bah!"

More quickly than men could measure, Legolas was off his horse and standing before the burly man. The elf's great height dwarfed him, and in that slim frame which the man had marked only moments before as being weak, there was an undeniable strength.

"You would do well, man of Gondor, to censure yourself in strangers' company. Tell your leader we are here. I will brook no more delays from you," Legolas said resolutely.

The man's eyes narrowed at the elf who had spoken to him so. He turned away, and then whipped around again, pulling his arm back to strike the impertinent stranger with a thunder-fisted blow. His ignorance of elves proved his undoing. Elven reflexes being what they are, Legolas saw the fist coming before it ever struck him. He caught the man's hand in the air and closed his fingers around it.

The onlookers gasped. Sulindal muttered in elvish. The man huffed as he tried to free his hand from the elf's grip while Legolas stood there, assuming a look of incredible boredom. The man strained and flapped his free arm, trying to remove himself from Legolas' grasp to no avail, and the crowd fell silent as they learned first-hand of the control and strength of elves. It was awe-inspiring and belittling all at once. Eventually the prince pulled the man's arm in close and spoke to him in a low deliberate voice:

"I can trifle with you no longer. You have wasted enough of my time. Go now." He released the captive hand, and the man sprawled to the ground. Sulindal offered a hand to help him up, but he would have none of it.

"A curse on your mothers," he spat, pushing the kindly offered hand away. "Be gone and may death take you all!" He scrambled to his feet and glared at those who had humiliated him.

A new villager found the courage to speak. "Had you gone to Minas Tirith during the War, instead of hiding in Rilmost like a coward, Milreth, then you would have known to show more respect to these elves. They are not to be underestimated. In the battle of the Pelennor fields, I watched an elven warrior slay a Mumakil beast single-handedly."

Sulindal eyed his friend beside him. "All by yourself?" he whispered and mischievously elbowed Legolas as they swiveled to see the new villager.

This man wore a kindly expression on his face and was of medium height and build with dark brown hair and a full beard.

"I am Grimborn," he said. "Please forgive Milreth's impertinence, my lords. My father is the master of this village. I will take you to him."

They met with Grimborn's father, Grimlaf, and the elders of the village in a meeting hall of sorts that had a dry, swept floor and thatched walls of curving limbs and woven grass. Introductions were made, and Legolas told them of their plight.

The elders did not seem particularly concerned.

"Thank you for taking the time to warn us of this danger, but we are simple folk. We hoard no treasure or valuables of any interest to orcs. What reason would they have to attack our village?"

"They are malevolent blood-thirsty fiends! They don't need a reason!" Legolas cried out, his distress evident. "Your village lies between them and Gondor. I do not know what their purpose is, but they will move past this village in the dead of night and will not think twice of staining your doorsteps red with their vengeance."

One of the elders cleared his throat uncomfortably, and all of the old men shifted in their seats or where they stood. Finally Grimlaf addressed Legolas' statement, "You are elf-kind," he said, wrinkling his brow, "Never before have your people offered warning or protection to the men of the Nindalf. Why now, Legolas of Greenwood?"

"I am friend to your king, Aragorn Telecontar. I fought beside him in the War, and now I would fight for his people as my own," Legolas told him. "This is no small, roving band of orcs. You must leave your village before nightfall and head for the fort at Calenfen for protection. My people and I will see that you make it there safely, but you cannot stay here."

Grimlaf exchanged glances with some of the other elders. From his rustic seat, he could see the morning sun from the window. The elf had said before nightfall. "It will not be easy to convince our people that this action is necessary. We must discuss this decision among ourselves."

"Discuss it then," Legolas answered, growing impatient, "but there is only one decision to make. You must leave!"

Grimlaf pursed his lips and nodded. "We appreciate your counsel and your offer of aid. It is very generous," he rasped. "I will send someone for you at noon."

The prince's face grew flushed, and the knife wound in his shoulder throbbed. He had gone against his father's wishes in this matter. They had come so far, and three elves had died in order to save this village, this village which now seemed like it would rather be left alone. Pressing his hand to his shoulder, Legolas grimaced and looked down at the floor, and then Grimborn moved to escort the elves from the room. "I agree with you," he said in hushed tones, but old men find comfort in talking rather than taking action."

"If the elders choose not to leave, then your people's fate will be bathed in blood," Legolas said hotly. "You must convince them, Grimborn."

Sulindal reached for Legolas' arm to steady him. "We have traveled many miles to bear this news," he said, his gray eyes full of concern for his friend. "We will wait for your father's answer. May the rest of our company join us in your village?"

"Yes, of course. There is a tavern across from here where you may rest and find refreshment," Grimborn said. He led them to the establishment, a taller building with crude tables and chairs, and introduced them to the barkeeper, a short bear of a man named Berdwit. Then Grimborn excused himself and left to join his father.

"Did you see the sign above the door?" Sulindal asked with a small smile.

"No," Legolas said, falling into one of the closest chairs. "Why?"

"The tavern's called The Black Dragon, he answered. "Fitting, don't you think?"

"Spare me your ironies, Sulindal," Legolas groaned. "I suppose we should signal the others to meet us." He gripped the side-arms of the chair and pushed himself up.

Sulindal frowned and quickly answered, "I will go. You should stay here—in case the elders reach an early decision."

"Very well," answered Legolas, who thankfully settled back into the chair. He could not remember the last time he had slept, and his body protested this omission with his every move. Sulindal quietly left, and within moments, the prince was fast asleep.

He dreamed he stood on the open plains of Gondor at night, the White City behind him gleaming like a spectral beam of moonlight. Then without warning the sky erupted into flames, giving form to a terrible great shape pulling over the horizon. Legolas' heart clenched in fear as a pair of brilliant yellow eyes fixed on his. Ancalagon. Fire roared all around him, and he could distantly hear Miredhel calling his name. If that beast touched her… Hate washed over him, and Legolas ripped his knife from its scabbard.

He startled awake and found himself gripping his knife while Miredhel stood away from him with a confused expression on her face.

"Legolas!" she asked. "I tried to wake you, and…"

"I am sorry," he said and slowly resheathed his knife. "I must have been dreaming."

"Well, from now on I should let you sleep, if that is the measure of the response I am to receive," she teased.

"When did you arrive?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Not long ago. Sulindal mentioned that you were not feeling well."

"That traitor," the prince muttered.

"He is concerned for you," Miredhel said. "Does your shoulder give you pain?"

"I am fine," he answered stubbornly.

Miredhel looked at him as if she knew better, and Legolas sighed, gingerly moving his left arm.

"It does ache," he answered reluctantly, "and my arm feels…stiff."

"Can you lift up your arm, Legolas?" she asked gently.

"Only so far," he said, "but it is really not that bad, and I am sure that by tomorrow—"

"You will not be able to move it at all!" Miredhel finished for him. "I am going to go get Colmaethor right now."

"No, Miredhel!" he exclaimed anxiously and then added, "I would rather be at your tender mercies."

"He is a far better healer and much more experienced than I am, Legolas."

"But I trust you more," he insisted.

"No, my prince. It could be serious."

He loved it when she called him my prince. Legolas smiled feebly at her. "I have a hard time refusing you when you say that, but this time I must. I need the Galadhrim's unwavering support now more than ever. I cannot afford to appear weak before them."

"But Legolas, you were stabbed. Certainly that excuses you," she said firmly.

He lowered his voice. "Miredhel, I don't need excuses right now. I need strength. Will you help me?"

"Yes," she answered and sighed. "I should clean the wound and then close it." She removed the bandage which she had fixed in the canyon and then pulled out her new knife and set it on the table before them, and the barkeeper watched the elves with increasing curiosity.

Legolas frowned at her. "What do you plan on doing with that knife?" he asked worriedly.

Miredhel recognized his unease and patted him on the arm. "I just thought it might be easier to amputate," she answered casually and then began to sift through her bag, glancing at the prince out of the corner of her eye.

He paled for a moment and then wrinkled his nose. "You Lorien elves have such a cracked sense of humor."

She smiled mischievously at him. "Oh, I am only trying to get you to relax a little, Legolas. It simply will not do if you faint in the middle of the tavern while I am trying to stitch you up."

He artfully ignored the comment about him fainting. "No, really, Miredhel. What is the knife for?"

"To cut away your tunic and leather overshirt, so I can do what we've just been discussing."

"No, you should not have to do that. I will just take them off," he said and began to loosen one of his leather gauntlets.

"Well, I did not believe that you would care to disrobe, here in the middle of a tavern—"

"No one else is in here," he said, pulling off the second gauntlet easily enough and setting it on the table beside its twin.

"That barkeeper is in here," she said, and they both turned to see the man peering at them as he dried a tankard and plunked it on a shelf. "And I feared that you might not be able to lift your arm enough to remove your shirts."

"I shall if you help me," he answered and went to work on unfastening one of the leather straps running across his chest.

"Why does that barkeeper continue to stare at us?" she whispered, leaning over to help him push the leather end through a small silver buckle.

"You don't have to keep your voice down, Miredhel. He doesn't know Elvish," Legolas said teasingly.

"He might."

"I doubt it."

"He keeps looking over here," she said nervously as she slid off the first leather strap connecting to his weapons' brace and quiver.

"He has never seen elves before," he said and leaned toward her. "It is because you are so beautiful."

"Legolas..."

"You are. I haven't had enough opportunities to say that to you, but you are." He took her hand and kissed it. "This journey has been horrible, Miredhel. I have not been able to take care of you or treat you like I would, like you deserve." He let go of her hand and tentatively began to unfasten the other leather strap across his chest.

"Legolas, I do not…" she began to say.

He stopped for a moment with the buckle and shook his head. "When this is over, and we are safe within the walls of Minas Tirith, I promise you that we will have our long-awaited dinner, and I will take you to all the moonlit gardens you desire." He met her dark eyes and swallowed softly. "I mean to court you to the fullest meaning of the word courtship, Miredhel, for you deserve nothing less."

He undoubtedly had already captured her heart without such splendid tactics, but who could resist an offer made as thus? "I would be honored," she said and kissed his cheek.

Legolas smiled and then went back to the work of pushing the leather strap through the buckle, wincing when he lifted his shoulders to shrug off the rest of the brace. Miredhel eased off the quiver from his back and then carefully set it next to the mounting pile of the prince's hardware that now covered the table, noticing with unease that Berdwit the barkeeper continued to watch them intently.

On top of his suede overshirt, Legolas wore an elvish-tooled belt, and when he started to take it off, the barkeeper lunged out from behind his station.

"No, you musn't!" he heartily exclaimed, bustling over to their table. "My, yeh elves are a peculiar folk! I can't allow that in here. Not where anyone passing through could see yehs!" His eyes wandered to Miredhel, taking in the willowy length of her body and her roguish hazel eyes. "Not that I can blame yeh, with a looker like her," he said and conspiratorially nudged Legolas.

"I suppose privacy would be better," agreed Miredhel slowly, using the Common Tongue so the man could understand. "Do you have somewhere out of the way we could go?" she asked and added, "A place where he could sit down while I worked?—Or even better, somewhere he could lay down until I finished?"

The man's eyes widened at her suggestion, and he nodded with an appreciative, toothy grin. He took the elves to a door off the side of the main room. "You won't be disturbed in here, my lady," he told Miredhel and then pulled Legolas aside. "She's really something!" the man told him with awe in his voice.

"She really is," Legolas agreed and entered, shutting the door behind him. He heaped his weapons and possessions next to an empty jar on a smallish table beside the door and looked around the room. It was a curious room to be located in a tavern, being only large enough to be considered a small storeroom, but instead of housing barrels of wine and drink, or shelving glasses and mugs, the only furnishings were a shabby bed and a crate set up like a nightstand.

"This is odd, don't you think, Legolas? Do you think he lives here and sleeps in this room?" she asked, sitting down on the bed and opening her satchel.

Suddenly the Berdwit's lusty smiles made sense, and despite his fatigue, Legolas nearly burst out laughing. He quickly turned away from her and fought to regain his composure; he would not dare tell Miredhel of the man's licentious interpretation of what they were really doing. He was sure she would be mortified.

"Legolas?"

He cleared his throat. "Men tire more easily than elves, Miredhel. Perhaps he takes rest in here."

His suggestion seemed to mollify her curiosity, and he haltingly finished removing his belt and added it to the pile on the table. He reached for the bottom hooks on his suede overshirt, and Miredhel waved him over. He sat down next to her on the bed, and she nimbly unfastened the tiny hooks and parted the suede, gently lifting the torn part from his wounded shoulder.

"That orc ruined this beautiful embroidery," she said sadly, setting the doeskin on the bed.

"I am sure that was his intention, too," Legolas teased, "and gouging my shoulder with his horrible dagger was just an unfortunate side-effect."

"Very unfortunate," Miredhel agreed, reaching for the top clasp on his tunic. She separated the fabric, and her thumb brushed against his chest, grazing the smooth white skin just below his neck, and Legolas silently gasped. Both elves forgot to breathe. The playful mood that had pervaded the room vanished when their eyes locked, and the prince could not hide the intensity burning within his. He murmured her name, and she brushed her lips against his and then deepened their kiss. Reluctantly, she pulled away, and neither of them spoke as she released the intricate clasps down the front of his tunic, revealing the chiseled breadth of his chest and torso. He was perfection, sculpted living perfection. She remembered the night after they had fought the dragon, and she had applied ointment to the burns on his back; she remembered what it had felt like to touch his skin. They had been little more than acquaintances then, and now…

His eyes, a darker blue than usual, were so intense, and the desire there consumed her. That night in the field when she had looked upon him and touched him, they had only been acquaintances, but now, now she knew she loved him. Now, being this close to him was bliss and agony. He leaned toward her, and they kissed once more, her left hand sliding down his neck to rest between the fabric of his shirt and the warmth of his right shoulder. A sigh escaped his lips, and he trailed kisses from her mouth to her ear and then down the curve of her neck as she slipped the fabric from his uninjured shoulder.

With every nibble, every kiss, her senses abandoned her. "Mmm…this is another reason…why Colmaethor should have come…" she breathed.

"Exactly why he shouldn't have," Legolas countered, lifting his head to kiss her lips again and then again.

Miredhel felt like she had fallen into a dream, the best dream she had ever had. Grief had no place there, nor did pain, but when she opened her eyes, the dried blood on Legolas' shoulder reminded her that her prince was injured and of her duty to him. She longingly withdrew from his embrace and reminded him, "Legolas, your shoulder..."

"Then let's hurry and be done with it," he growled.

With the utmost care, she lifted and pushed the tunic away from his left shoulder, and he hissed as the fabric tore away from the dried blood around his cut.

She poured a clear liquid from a small bottle out of her knapsack onto a scrap of cloth and tenderly began to clean the edges of the wound. One moment it was soothing and cool against his hot skin and then stinging horribly the next, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not think about what Miredhel was doing to him. How could one who brought him so much pleasure also bring him so much pain? With one hand she pushed the skin around his cut together, and with the other, she began sewing a chain of tight stitches across the wound.

Miredhel kissed the side of his brow. "I know this must hurt," she said sympathetically. "Do you want to lie down?"

"No, I am fine," he answered, his eyes watering. He closed his eyes again and forced himself to think of happier things—the sound of hobbits laughing, the greedy bulge in Arod's eyes when he fed him an apple, the smell of the forest on a summer's breeze, Miredhel in his arms with flowers in her hair…

"I am finished," she said, and Legolas let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. He was very much disinclined to look at her handiwork, but look at it he did, and she had done a well enough job. With a great sigh of relief, he flopped back against the length of the bed and pulled her to him.

"That feels so much better," he pronounced.

"Really?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course not! It hurts like Mordor," he said. "But I feel better knowing it's been treated." He leaned toward her and moved a droopy curl away from her face. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You were brave, my prince," she answered and bent forward to place a kiss next to his stitches. "You even smiled before I finished."

"I was thinking of you," he said, running his finger along the edge of her ear and down her jawline.

He thought of how he should very much like to pull her into his bare arms and hold her for the rest of the afternoon, but that idea would probably not be the best call with a newly sutured shoulder, not to mention the host of elves that would be prowling the premises looking for their leader. More importantly, there were Miredhel's interests to consider, and she deserved more than he could give her right now. He sat up and pushed his fingers through his hair and then looked down at her with adoration in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said again, delivering a swift kiss to her cheek. "I suppose I should get dressed." He subsequently stood and cautiously pulled his tunic back over his shoulders and with Miredhel's help secured the toggles in place. She picked up the soft leather overshirt to hand it to Legolas, but when she did, something small and shiny fell out of the inside pocket and onto the bed.

"What is this?" she said and picked it up before Legolas could retrieve it. She slowly turned the object over in her palm. It was a metal piece of jewelry, an enamel leaf pin. Farothin's pin.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, her voice strange.

"Back in the canyon," he answered quietly.

Her face fell as she looked at the pin, then Legolas, and then back at the pin again.

"I see," she murmured and handed him the pin, lightly folding his fingers over it. Adrendil had been right. Legolas had found something and kept it from her. He had not wanted her to know, or he had not trusted her with the truth. The reason really did not matter now. Miredhel stoically picked up the leather overshirt again and wordlessly helped the prince into it.

Legolas hardly knew what to say or do. He knew she was upset, but he had expected her to be more vocal about it. That sort of response he could contend with. He feared for her grief, and he feared for himself if it should take her again.

Miredhel started to fasten the tiny hooks down his leather shirt front. Her hands trembled as she worked, but there was deliberateness to all her movements as if she were completely intent on fixing the prince's clothing.

"Miredhel," Legolas said, trying to get her attention, and then again, "Miredhel." He could not tell that she even heard him, and finally he grabbed both her arms above the elbows and stopped her.

"Miredhel," he repeated one more time. "I know you must feel angry, but believe me when I say that I only wanted to protect you. I didn't want you to lose hope, as I had."

"I never expected it to hurt this much," she said softly, finally lifting her eyes, and the prince drowned in the despair he found in her gaze. She pulled away from him and then resumed helping him put on the rest of his gear, and Legolas let her, hoping to find some words or wisdom with which to comfort her before they finished. He found none. All he could manage was a meek "thank you," and he followed her out the door.

They waited silently together in the main room of The Black Dragon with the man at the bar still favoring them with a suspicious glance every so often. Not very long after, Grimborn joined them, sullen-faced and weary.

"My father and the elders have reached a decision. Come with me," he said.

Legolas stood and then offered his arm to Miredhel, signaling that she might join him. They left The Black Dragon and crossed over to the town meeting hall where Eledhel and Sulindal also waited for them.

Together the elves and man entered the shade of the hall, and in passing, Legolas whispered to Eledhel, "She found out about the pin."

His friend's eyes narrowed. "What fool told her? I'm going to kill him! Was it Adrendil?" he hissed and pounded a fist into his palm.

"No, I told her," Legolas said.

"You what?"

"She found it. I had to."

"Was she really upset?" Eledhel said, sneaking a furtive glance at his sister.

"More like really quiet—All she said was, 'I see.'"

Eledhel winced. "She said that? That's the worst. Think of it as the calm before the storm."

"I can hear both of you, you know," Miredhel interrupted. She looked at her brother. "And Legolas isn't the only one with whom I'm upset."

That silenced both of them, which was probably for the best since Grimlaf stood up to deliver his conclusion.

He bowed to the elves and then announced, "Again, I thank you, Lord Legolas, for warning us of this imminent danger. I have decided to send the women and children away for protection to Calenfen as you proposed, but the men shall stay here to defend our farms."

Legolas bitterly shook his head. "Then you sentence your men to die," he said. "You must reconsider."

"And what if we did abandon our village? The orcs will destroy everything. This land is our livelihood," the old man told him.

"A summer's harvest is not worth the lives of your men!" Legolas argued. "There is nothing you will be able to do to stop this army. They will tear the flesh from your bones and burn your lands to ash for spite."

"The elders and I have made up our minds, Lord Legolas. Our decision is final."

"Your decision is wrong," said a small voice in the back of the room. This time Miredhel had spoken, and men and elves alike looked at her with surprise. With a pale face, she moved to stand beside the prince.

"How many more must die to feed their ravenous appetite?" She asked the room.

"Miredhel," Legolas reproached her.

She ignored him and continued to speak. "This elf lord you see standing beside me is a prince of Eryn Lasgalen. He was a member of the Fellowship that saved your lands, and your king is like a brother to him. Prince Legolas left his home out of love for Gondor. He has risked much to bring you these tidings. Two of our own have died so we might save the people of this village. One is still missing," she said. "For you to choose to stay and die a fool's death completely undermines their sacrifices. If this is your will, then they died for nothing."

The room fell completely still as the men eyed one another uncomfortably.

All avoided eye contact with the elves.

Silence. Utter silence.

"And this is why we don't allow women at our council meetings," Grimlaf chuckled, and the men in the hall laughed, some of them half-heartedly, for not all of Miredhel's words had fallen on deaf ears. "Escort the lady from the room," the old man instructed his son.

"If she is not welcome, then I shall leave as well," Legolas told Grimborn with complete seriousness.

"And I," said Sulindal.

"And I," said Eledhel. "Our business here is finished. Have your women and children ready to leave within the hour." He proudly offered his arm to his sister and the elves quitted the village hall together, their faces a perfect homage to dignity and forbearance.

Once outside, however, their solemn expressions gave way to mirth. Eledhel quickly cracked a smile. "Of all the audacious elf maidens—my sister—thrown out of the town hall!" he laughed and pulled his sister into a hug. Sulindal shook his head and kissed her cheek.

"Farothin would have loved to have seen that," he told her with a sad sort of smile.

But Legolas crossed his arms and said sternly, "Well, that just set human and elf relations back a hundred years." His eyes, however, said differently, and there was no mistaking the undeniable amusement sparkling within them.

Grimborn joined them on the sandy path and bowed to Miredhel. "I am sorry, my lady. I hope you will understand that not all men are of my father's opinion," he stammered and turned red. He had never seen a lady so lovely or daring and felt three shades of clumsy and ignorant in her presence.

"Of course, they are not," she said warmly, and he turned red again.

"Lord Legolas, I will prepare our people to leave and bring them to the front gate," he said. "I understand from your captains that you wish to bury your fallen warriors as well."

The prince affirmed his remark, silently wondering if he would ever have the opportunity to do the same for Farothin.

"I shall oversee their burials," Eledhel volunteered, and Sulindal offered to assist Grimborn in readying the villagers for their flight to Calenfen. Miredhel and Legolas were left alone again, and both decided that they would rather stay outside and wander the paths of the village than go back to The Black Dragon to wait. It did not take Miredhel long to bring up the subject of Farothin's pin.

"Do you believe he is dead?" she asked him.

"I think he must be," Legolas told her gently.

Miredhel bit her lip and glanced away, her eyes smarting. "I refuse to believe it," she insisted, "although my mind tells me you must be right."

Legolas glumly kicked a loose pebble along the walk. "I admire your hope," he confessed and reached to hold her hand. "I envy it. I think it must ease the pain of not knowing."

Miredhel let out a bitter laugh. "None of it's been easy, Legolas. I've known him since he was born, from the time I could pull him into my lap for a story to the time he got his warrior's braids. How could you not tell me about the pin, Legolas? When you knew how worried-how frightened I am for him!"

"My only thought was protecting you, Miredhel," he said, squeezing her hand, but that was the last response she wanted to hear.

Eyes flashing, she pushed her hair back and exclaimed, "I'm so ridiculously sick and tired of being protected! Eledhel has made it his duty to be my personal guardian over all things my entire life. I don't need that from you."

Legolas pulled her off the path. "You don't know what you need," he said in a low controlled voice that he used to win arguments. She looked away, and the prince drew her in close to him. "I'll admit you have some skill with the bow, but you're no warrior, Miredhel. You don't have the training or the experience, and you are stubborn and won't follow the simplest of directions. You do need my protection, more so than you want to admit."

"If I don't have the training or the experience which you deem so important, it's because my high-handed brother would never allow me to join the Forest Guard," she snapped. "How can I prove myself with the two of you constantly interfering?"

"'Prove yourself?'" Legolas repeated incredulously. "Who are you trying to fool, Miredhel? You've had Grief and have been given a second chance at life, but you're still so fragile. I see it in your eyes, and I can feel it when I hold you. Now is not the time for 'proving yourself.'" Never before had Legolas been so blunt with her. Never before had he been so scathingly honest.

"Is that why you wouldn't let me go look for Farothin?" she asked, trembling.

"I wouldn't—" the prince started to say, but he was interrupted.

A boy ran in between them. His face was flushed, and there were tears in his eyes. It was the same youth that had watched Legolas and Sulindal from the gate.

"My lord," he said breathlessly and caught the Elf by the sleeve. "Something's happened. A horse came in. I thought there weren't no rider at first, but…"

Legolas and Miredhel exchanged glances, their argument temporarily forgotten. "What is it?" he asked.

"There's…there's a body, sir. You must come quickly!"

Legolas looked questioningly at Miredhel, and the fear in her eyes held the answer. "I'll go see," he said.

"I'm coming with you," Miredhel insisted, and the prince did nothing to stop her.

When the village wall and gate drifted into view, both Legolas and Miredhel could see the horse of which the boy had spoken, his curly tan coat torn and bleeding.

"Farothin's horse!" she exclaimed and broke past Legolas into a run. A small crowd of elves and men had gathered by the wooden gate. Belegil saw them coming and caught Miredhel by the waist before she could join the pack of onlookers.

"No, Miredhel. Stay here with me," Belegil said and pulled her away to the side where Legolas' sister also stood. Celeril's eyes glistened wetly, and she covered her open mouth with a shaking hand.

"Is it Farothin? Is he alive? Let me see him," Miredhel begged and twisted away from him, but he held her fast.

"Believe me, you will not want to remember Farothin as he is now," he said and then added softly to himself, "I wish I would not remember him this way."

Meanwhile, Legolas pushed into the crowd where Colmaethor and some of the others had carried the body. It was indeed Farothin. Legolas could tell that much by the tangled whorl of hair spread across the wet grass. The similarities ended there. This elf's face was barely distinguishable; abuse had twisted his features into a mottled mass of purple and red. One eye was swollen shut, the other, closed, and his cheek sported a deep gash or claw mark. Legolas was not sure which. The elf's bottom lip was split, and blood trickled from his mouth down his chin to his neck which had a length of rope still tied around it, chafing the skin raw and pink. His clothing hung in crimson shreds, hardly concealing the physical truth of what Farothin had suffered.

There was no doubt in Legolas' mind that Farothin had been tortured. Repeatedly.

Stunned by the horrors written before him in the pallid flesh of his young friend, Legolas sunk to his knees beside him. He took one of his knives and carefully cut the noose from Farothin's neck. His mind turned to anguish as he wondered what they must have done to him, the mockery he must have endured in his final moments. The prince angrily drove his knife into the sod. His eyes gleaming, Legolas stared into the sun. Its stark brightness challenged every murderous feeling within him. At length, he looked away and resignedly said, "It is over, then. At least we may have the chance to bury his body now."

"We may have more than that," Colmaethor said. "Look!" He pointed to Farothin's chest which almost indeterminately rose and then fell. "He lives yet."

Hope washed over the Legolas' face. "Can he be saved?"

"I cannot say for sure until I see the rest of his injuries. We'll have to stop his bleeding first, and out here in the dirt is no place to try."

Legolas gently gathered Farothin into his arms with Colmaethor's assistance and lifted him up. The prince's injured shoulder cried out in protest, but his determination to see his friend take care of overrode all other feelings.

"Where will you take him?" someone asked, Legolas was not sure who, for everything had become a blur since Farothin's arrival.

"To The Black Dragon," he replied and hurried toward the tavern. Miredhel saw him pass with Farothin's bloodied form wrapped in his arms. She fought the urge to cry out and quickly buried her face against Belegil's chest.

"You were right. It's horrible," she sobbed, but she did not have long to test her misery. Colmaethor stopped and asked her to come with him, for he would need all the help he could find to pull Farothin back from death's greedy clutches.

One of the village midwives had seen their need and had met them at the tavern. She had spread a blanket across one of the tables and barked at Berdwit to go and heat some water. Legolas eased Farothin's body onto the table, and Colmaethor cut away the remains of his tunic. His eyes burned at the sight before him, and the prince placed a reassuring hand on Miredhel's back, whose shoulders had softly began to shake.

Farothin's chest was a maze of lacerations that curved across the entire extent of his torso and around his sides to his back. He had been beaten and whipped until they had literally torn the skin from his body. Slashes scored the length of the Elf's arms. His wrists were bloodied and bruised from being tied up, and one of his shoulders was dislocated as if they had stretched him out too far in their brutality. With trembling hands, Miredhel began to help Colmaethor wipe away the blood and foam from Farothin's spent body, and she could not fathom what the damage would be like on his back.

"You are with friends," she whispered softly. "It's over now, Farothin..."

The sleeping figure twisted on the table as if he had heard his name, and his face twitched.

"Farothin?" Legolas said.

The Elf's arm shot out from the table and seized Legolas' hand with surprising strength, pulling him closer to the table. Farothin's body convulsed, and his eyelashes fluttered. His one uninjured eye opened, yellowish and bloodshot.

"I have seen him," he croaked. "Blood, and rack, and ruin…they are coming…" His chest heaved, and Farothin coughed, the sides of his mouth stained scarlet. His eye bore into Legolas'. "He will not stop until all of Gondor is ash and flame…I saw it in his eyes, his yellow horrible eyes...I can still see it…"

Legolas took an involuntary step back from the table. His insides contorted with fear and loathing, and he remembered his dream. "Farothin, what did you see?" he asked, but the Elf had drifted into an unsteady sleep once more.

Miredhel's face paled, and her hands dropped loosely at her side. "He cannot mean—Legolas, we saw him fall—I shot him," she cried.

"Ai, I do not know. I do not know," the prince said, reeling from Farothin's revelation. The youth had been tortured, he had lost a lot of blood, and perhaps he was delusional. Legolas tugged on one of his braids in frustration. There was no way of telling when Farothin would wake again, and Legolas still had to try and evacuate Rilmost before nightfall if they were to have any chance of making it to Calenfen successfully.

The door to the tavern opened, and Grimborn quietly approached the table. "I just heard." His eyes wandered over the mutilated body of the Elf. "What happened to him?"

"He was caught and tortured by orcs, the same orcs that are moving on your village," Legolas said.

Grimborn blanched.

Legolas' eyes flashed at the man's discomfort. "Go and get your father. I want him to see this." He watched Grimborn leave, moved Farothin's arm back onto the table, and then reached across to straighten one of his legs that seemed oddly twisted.

"Colmaethor, I think his leg is broken," Legolas guessed, hating the fact that there should be another complication. There seemed to be no limit to the orcs' cruelty or to their sadistic genius. Farothin's once lithe strong body lay utterly ruined before them, broken and battered, and all the prince could do was watch helplessly as Colmaethor peeled away the tattered fabric of the elf's leggings.

His leg was indeed broken, if not crushed, but the elves' attention was drawn away by the fresh crimson streaks running down Farothin's thigh.

"Ai, what else could they do to him?" Miredhel wept aloud as she sponged up the blood.

When Colmaethor cut away the fabric from the Elf's hips, the bruises and the blood told all. Her eyes wide, Miredhel dropped the rag she had been working with, and shuddering, turned away from the body. Colmaethor averted his gaze and gripped the sides of the table until his knuckles gleamed white through the blood that stained his hands. Legolas could only stand there, stunned. A muscle twitched in his jaw, his wet eyes stared vacantly across the bar room. The orcs had assaulted Farothin, violated him; however one might phrase it, the dark meaning remained, carved in the ruin of the elf's flesh. A single-minded fury rose consumed the prince. With an anguished cry, he picked up a chair and sent it crashing into the table beside him.

Miredhel's head snapped toward the commotion. "I cannot do this," she said bitterly. "I cannot." She fled the room, passing the old man Grimlaf on her way out.

He looked at her distress and smirked. "This is why we shouldn't allow women-folk in taverns."

Once outside, she exhaled a long, shaky breath from lungs that seemed to have collapsed from the horrible truth she had witnessed. She could feel the comforting brush of grass against her ankles, and the sky was still deep blue. The sun was warm on her shoulders, and she imagined she could hear the song of meadowlarks as she had before, in the morning when she had watched Legolas ride into the village, when she would have given anything just to know that her dear friend still lived. She closed her eyes and wondered if death might have been a kinder wish after all. Miredhel heard the door to the tavern open and close and then felt two arms wrap firmly around her. Legolas.

"Miredhel," he whispered her name softly and rested his head against her shoulder. "I am sorry that you should have to see such things, such horrible things."

She opened her eyes and looked at him through unshed tears. "Legolas, how can we stay in this world that hates us so?"

He reassuringly rested his palm against her cheek. "Because we can hope to make it better, Miredhel—because we can believe in the worthiness of the innocence and beauty still left in this place." He smiled sadly and kissed her forehead. "I wanted to tell you that Grimlaf changed his mind after seeing Farothin. He has decided to evacuate the entire village."

"He has?" she asked, her voice hopeful. Perhaps her friend's sacrifice was not in vain after all. "What of Farothin? Will we take him to Calenfen?"

"We will leave soon, Miredhel, and he still requires much care and more skill than either you or Colmaethor possess, I'm afraid. I hope there may be healers at Calenfen who may help him."

Miredhel was adamant. "He needs elvish medicine, Legolas," she insisted.

"We are too far for anyone to try and take him back to Lothlorien or Eryn Lasgalen, and there is no one in Gondor with that kind of skill-," Legolas stopped, his eyes darting to Miredhel's.

"Estel," he remembered, the word hanging on his lips.

"Hope?" Miredhel asked confusedly.

"Aragorn," Legolas told her and then shook his head, "But no, he is many leagues away still, and I fear Farothin would not survive the race across Gondor on horseback or even in a wagon. Such a trip would endanger his life and the rider who would bear him."

"I will go. I will take him to Minas Tirith," she said, her eyes pleading. "Please, Legolas, let me to this for him."

He answered without hesitation. "No, Miredhel. I will send someone to do this, but it will not be you, my lady."

"Legolas, that is unfair," Miredhel protested.

"We have been through this before, Miredhel," Legolas said firmly, taking a breath before he was to launch into another detailed explanation of why he felt this way.

At that very moment, Grimlaf emerged from the doorway of The Black Dragon and joined them beside the step. He looked keenly at the she-elf beside Lord Legolas and extended his hand to her.

"Dear lady, I wanted you to know that my heart grieves for the tragedy of your friend. I realize now the truth of your words and the folly of my own." The old man said kindly and bowed his head. He continued: "I listened to your conversation from the door. There was much I confess that I did not understand, but know this—I would help you save your friend.

"If it is your desire to bear him to Minas Tirith with ease, there is a stream that drains into the Anduin not far from here. Some of our men fish from time to time, and there is a portage and several small boats. With them goes my blessing." He bowed his head again before them, and then left the elf prince alone with his maiden.

Miredhel's eyes brightened. "Legolas, boats! That way will be much quicker and safer."

"Miredhel, I have already given you my answer. You are not going to take Farothin to Minas Tirith all by yourself. I simply will not have it." Her excitement faded, and Legolas took her hand again and folded it in his. "If you truly want to help Farothin, then go back inside and help him now," he told her. "I will go and find a suitable escort for Farothin and send him to the tavern. Then I want to see you out by the gate on your horse, ready to go."

She bit her lip and nodded in agreement, surprisingly not offering any further argument against the prince's word. Legolas smiled and kissed her hand before releasing it, pleased that he had finally gotten through to her. She opened the door and watched him leave with a secret smile of her own on her lips. After all, Legolas had said she was not to take Farothin to Minas Tirith all by herself, and that she certainly would not do!


Chapter 35 - When One Must Go

After the War of the Ring, Legolas ventures to the land of Gondor to create an elven realm in the shade of its forests, but first he and his companions must brave peril, grief, and even love... before building Ithilien.

In the previous chapter: Miredhel binds Legolas' shoulder wound at the village of Rilmost. The prince tries to convince the people there that they must evacuate for their own safety, and Farothin finally returns, badly beaten and clinging to life. Miredhel asked if she might escort him to Minas Tirith, but Legolas refused.

Building Ithilien

Chapter 34: When One Must Go

Outside the sun shone brightly, and the entire day seemed to be fashioned in the praise of joy. The elves at Rilmost had little to rejoice in, however, for one of their youngest had suffered dearly at the hands of the enemy. They had brought him in haste to the nearest building, a tavern called The Black Dragon. The room was dark and cool, faintly lined with shadows born of candle light. Miredhel patiently tended Farothin's wounds. For the moment she was alone with him. Colmaethor had left the tavern to see about building a makeshift stretcher to ease the transportation of the wounded elf.

The longer Miredhel stayed nursing Farothin's many injuries, the more reservations she had about her plan to steal away to Minas Tirith. The adventurous part of her wanted very much to make the trip and face tremendous forms of peril, all of which she would then triumphantly overcome. She saw herself racing through rapids on the Anduin, skillfully guiding her charge to the walls of the white city, where the king himself would praise her bravery. Farothin would be saved, and those who doubted her would be made to see her merit, her true abilities.

She was no young girl. She had watched thousands of summers burn and fade, had felt the sting of winter on her cheek, and had gloried in the rites of spring with the rest of her kind. She had known love and laughter, the simple pleasures of friendship, but had also endured the many trials and hardships bought through countless centuries. Despite all of her long years, this last year seemed to outweigh them all. Grief had become a constant shadow in all her doings. Miredhel had learned to hate, but also to love and with a passion and intensity that was frightening in itself. So many things in her life had come so easily, so freely, but there had been little in the past months that could be considered easy or free. She had witnessed violence and malice inconceivable. She had felt the piercing gleam of a dragon's slick yellow eyes as Anglachur plunged deep into the Anduin. She had escaped death's own grip from black-souled orcs, more than once! She had faced certain doom in the canyons of Emyn Muil, but did not retreat so she might stay with Legolas. Legolas!

The prince did not think she possessed the fortitude to make such a journey to Minas Tirith. He had made himself very clear on the issue:

"You've had Grief and have been given a second chance at life, but you're still so fragile. I see it in your eyes, and I can feel it when I hold you. Now is not the time for 'proving yourself,' Miredhel!"

And as much as his words stung her, a quiet voice inside the maiden told her that the prince was right. Look what had happened to Farothin, and he was so much more skilled than she. It would be sheer folly to take such a risk, leaving the protection of the group, especially when she had been implicitly warned against it.

Miredhel's shoulders sagged, and she braced herself against Farothin's table. When she squeezed her lashes shut, she could see Legolas' blue eyes in her mind as plainly as if he were standing before her, so intense and tender, speaking of his concern for her safety. She could not dishonor his request that she stay with him. She would stay with Farothin until his escort came, and then she would meet Legolas by the gate. It was the sensible thing to do.

Her eyes blurred and knowing she was alone, Miredhel allowed her emotions free reign as she gently clasped Farothin's bruised hand.

"If only I were a warrior and could make them pay for what they've done to you…" she murmured.

A slight cough sounded behind her, and she quickly wiped her eyes and slipped into a blank expression.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Lady Miredhel," a familiar voice drawled. "I though you would be getting ready to leave with the others."

Miredhel turned with a sinking feeling to confirm the speaker's identity—Captain Adrendil. She stifled an inward groan. "And so I shall," she confessed. "The prince gave me leave to stay with Farothin until his escort arrived."

Adrendil's eyes roamed over the battered form. "It seems their villainy has no end," he bitterly concluded. "His injuries are far worse than I had supposed them to be. I shall be glad to help this young elf in his hour of need."

"You?" Miredhel asked in disbelief. "You are his escort? You barely know him!" she accused darkly.

Adrendil nodded, and his eyes glimmered at the indignant lady before him. "Yes, I know," he said carefully, "but from the moment I met Farothin, he accepted me as a friend without a thought to our different backgrounds or what others might say about me."

"Yes, that sounds like Farothin," Miredhel said recklessly. "He would befriend anyone."

"I won't pretend to mistake your meaning, Lady," he slowly replied, and his light brown eyes actually seemed hurt by her remark. "I've few friends with the Galadhrim. Your people's pride would not have it any other way."

Miredhel knew that he spoke of her brother. Eledhel was influential in his opinions. He could easily persuade other elves to think as he did. Adrendil never stood a chance in finding friendship with the other Lorien elves. Where her brother usually was a source of pride, she could only feel shame at the moment. Yes, Captain Adrendil could be obstreperous and annoying at times, but he did not deserve to be made a pariah from the group.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "If it's worth anything to you, Captain, know that you have another Lorien elf who would be your friend."

Adrendil's eyes gleamed at her offer, and he took her hand in goodwill as he smiled to himself. "Thank you, Lady Miredhel. You really are a wonder."

"Not enough of a wonder to help poor Farothin, though," she said sadly, pulling her hand from Adrendil's to brush it across the sick elf's fevered brow.

"Prince Legolas is making the right decision, you must see that," he told her. "The trip alone is far too dangerous for any elleth to consider."

Miredhel swallowed, and her eyes strangely burned. "So I've been told."

"Of course, it would not be nearly so dangerous if you went with a more seasoned warrior, I suppose," Adrendil thought aloud.

"It would not matter," she answered glumly. "The prince is very set against my having any more adventures for a while. And even if he weren't, my brother certainly would never allow me to leave."

The captain pensively nodded. "Yes, they mentioned you when I volunteered."

"Oh, they did, did they?" Miredhel asked rather viciously. "What exactly did they say?"

Yet the captain only shook his head in protest to her request, until Miredhel put her hands on her hips and gave him a very pointed look. "Now, Lady Miredhel," he protested, "you know I cannot tell you. It was not meant for you to hear."

"You are right, I suppose," Miredhel said, her ears burning with the desire to hear their words. She could only imagine, and that was perhaps worse than anything Adrendil could have actually said.

Adrendil calmly placed a hand on her shoulder, and Miredhel eyed it for a moment before searching his light brown eyes with her own. "I am sorry, my lady. I should not have ever mentioned the journey to you in the first place, a deplorable lack of judgement on my part," he said with a sense of deep disappointment in himself.

"No, no. I was thinking of it myself when you entered the tavern," she owned with a sad smile.

"Well, it is a horribly perilous, and you must not go," the captain asserted. His voice was firm, even if his eyes were not.

"I know…" Miredhel reluctantly agreed. She practically felt like she was talking to Legolas again. Was every elf in a plot to keep her from striking out on her own?

Adrendil continued on, pretending not to notice the maiden's indecision. "Besides, some elves would consider it improper for you to venture off into the wilds unescorted, unchaperoned with another elf…with me."

Miredhel scowled, and Adrendil knew that his words were not without effect. "People can never just tend to their own affairs," she said bitterly.

"Ah, but I can think of two elves who would very much consider you part of their affairs—your brother, Prince Legolas. They only want to protect you."

"Sometimes I think I don't believe I want to be protected," Miredhel countered with a toss of her hair.

Adrendil merely smiled at her in a small sort of way, as if she had just made an incredibly foolish comment. "It is a great honor to be singled out by the Prince of Mirkwood," Adrendil said proudly. "He would take prodigious care of you, Lady Miredhel. The house of Oropher has always worshipped their women-folk. Adrendil lifted his heavy golden lids to gaze at her frankly. "Your every need, every desire, would be seen to, and you would never have to face the dreariness of decision-making or have any wretched adventures again. It has always been so, for any Greenleaf elleth."

Miredhel choked back a protest, and then fell silent. She turned away from Adrendil and headed to the door. Halfway there she stopped and looked back at the captain. "Why did Princess Celeril leave Mirkwood? Was she running away?"

Adrendil's eyes glittered. "What do you think, my lady?" He did not wait for her to answer. "All I can offer is speculation as to the princess' motivations. I'm sure if you think long enough, you will reach the same conclusions as I have."

She did not have to think very long. Based on what Captain Adrendil had said it was obvious to her that Celeril had left to escape her father's controlling grasp. When Miredhel reached the tavern door, she turned before leaving. "May the Valar guide your paths," she said quietly to both Adrendil and Farothin, although the latter still slept.

"Farewell, Lady. And don't you dare think about sneaking off to that boat launch and stream on the other side of the village. You belong to…err, with the prince now. No more wild adventures!"

Miredhel nodded curtly and then blew an airy kiss to Farothin as she left the room. Her cheeks burned as each of Adrendil's condescending comments repeated in her mind. Insufferable elf! It was really just too much! He had sounded like a perfect echo of her brother and Legolas. The more she dwelt on his words to her, the more angry she became. Too often had she regretted being left behind, to watch those she loved ride away to adventure and uncertainty.

Adrendil's words riled her more than the elf could have ever imagined…or hoped. Adrendil had spoken proudly of his forest's royal family, but where he felt pride, Mirdhel could only muster resentment. She did not want her relationship with the prince to be the one-sided affair that the captain had described.

She brought one slim hand up to cool her cheeks and wipe her eyes, which peculiarly enough had started watering again, and sank against the tavern wall to collect herself. On the edge of the village, Miredhel glimpsed the people of Rilmost waiting, and at the front of the lines, Legolas astride his horse. As the afternoon sun played across his hair and cheeks, his eyes radiant and proud, he had never before seemed quite so noble. Miredhel momentarily forgot all about the elf who would patiently brush the hair from her eyes and kiss her hand with a mischievous smile. In his place, she could only see this new Legolas, an intimidating leader of men and elves, cool and kingly, descended from the royal House of Oropher. More than anything, the prince looked the very image of Thranduil, and the similarity bothered Miredhel in a way it never had before.

He would take prodigious care of you, Lady Miredhel…Your every need, every desire, would be seen to, and you would never have to face the dreariness of decision-making or have any wretched adventures again. It has always been so, for any Greenleaf elleth…

Adrendil's words taunted her. In Miredhel's defense, she really tried to be fair to the prince. She weighed every single one of her encounters with him against the captain's speech in hopes of vindicating Legolas from Adrendil's claims. When she finished reliving their conversations and quiet moments together, she realized with a sinking heart that Adrendil's account was not without grounds. Legolas did tend to be overbearing and controlling, used to having his way in every particular. While these qualities certainly afford an excellent leader, they are not as welcome in relationships.

The prince had gotten the better of her on a consistent basis. In fact, Miredhel could not think of one instance when they had disagreed, and she had made him see her way of it. This was not to say that Legolas was uproariously forceful in any way. In fact, he was just the opposite, so wonderfully persuading that she had wanted to agree with him or go along with his request! Miredhel was beginning to realize that she could not say 'no' to him, and that in itself was a terribly frightening thing. She remembered the way he had smiled at her when she had given into him during their disagreement about her going to Minas Tirith. He had smiled like he had expected her aquiescence! That thought alone rankled to the very core of Miredhel's core. She would not become one of those complacent, docile elleths of which Adrendil had spoken. The sooner Legolas recognized that, the better.

In seconds, Miredhel tugged off her cloak and hurried toward the long line of elven mounts. She had always been slightly impetuous when it came to making decisions. She pulled her horse away from the group and in towards the deserted buildings. No one had even noticed.

Well, almost no one.

Miredhel had pulled a young woman from Rilmost off the well-worn village path and was trying to convince the girl to wear her cloak and to take her horse.

"See? It fits you perfectly," she said and pulled the hood up over the girl's hair. "Only you must not take the hood off for any reason until the sun sets."

The girl nodded, albeit confusedly. "Thank you, milady," she said and bowed. The young woman's awe was evident, and her mouth dropped a little more when she saw another one of those beautiful elves approach.

"Lady Miredhel, what are you doing?" Celeril exclaimed softly.

Miredhel's eyes snapped toward Legolas' sister who had apparently followed her around the edge of the tavern. Inwardly, she cursed her luck. Of all the elves who might have seen her—Celeril had, and here she was, asking questions!

"Do not fear that I will run off and tell my brother," she reassured her in a whisper. "Your secrets are safe with me." Her eyes were so very much like Legolas'.

Miredhel paused and tugged on the end of her braid as she was wont to do when made suddenly uncomfortable. She wanted to like Legolas' sister but had hardly had the chance for improving her acquaintance with the princess. Could she be trusted? At the moment, Miredhel decided she did not really have a choice.

"I am leaving the group. I am going to follow Adrendil down the river," she said frankly, waiting for Celeril's reaction and half-expecting the princess' disapproval, shock, or even laughter.

None those things occurred.

Instead Celeril pulled off her long dark cloak with a determined light in her eye and said, "I'm coming with you."

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Legolas noted with a peculiar amount of self-satisfaction that Miredhel and his sister joined the van together. He thought it a bit strange at the time for both of said maidens to be wearing the hoods of their cloaks pulled up, but he attributed this action singularly to female oddity, and did not think of the matter again until much later. He supposed that Miredhel had begun to cry upon leaving Farothin and that she did not want anyone to see her in such a state. Regret struck the prince upon seeing her thus and knowing that he could not rush to her side bearing comfort. His insides knotted as he longed to see her face, to push those imagined wet streaks away from her magnificent eyes ever so gently, and then draw her into his arms.

She needed him, and he could not be there for her. Oh, if he were any other elf! Not for the first time, Legolas doubted his place. He looked at the string of weary faces behind him, some confused and many frightened. They looked to him to make things right, and he would do it. He had never backed out of any responsibility, but with one look back toward that forlorn cloaked figure, he wished that he might just this once. Could he really ever be so bold as to ask Miredhel to give all of herself to him, when he would be forever divided between love and duty?

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Miredhel and Celeril did not speak again until they had slipped away unnoticed from Rilmost and started their small boat along the narrow stream which drained into the Anduin River.

Miredhel's first words were: "Can you handle a boat?"

To which, Celeril nodded with a sly laugh, remarking "Does a wood elf love trees?" She then turned the small paddle deftly, marking her skill, and Miredhel allowed herself a grim smile.

"Your brother is going to have a fit when he discovers that you left with me," she cautioned the princess.

"When he finds out that we both left," corrected Celeril. "Stop me if I am wrong, but he did not exactly grant you permission to leave the group, did he?"

Miredhel scowled at the vague green horizon. "Not exactly," she agreed, mirroring the other maiden's words.

Celeril touched her shoulder. "Lady Miredhel, I do not blame you for wanting to go. In fact, I am fairly certain that I more than understand what you've been going through; that alone was enough to make me want to join you on this mad escapade."

Miredhel considered this for a moment. "I am so tired of having my life dictated to me," she said shortly and plunged her paddle into the water with a vengeance. "And part of me feels angry because I am the one who let it happen. I've let myself be pushed around by my family, even my friends. If I feel trapped, it's a cage of my own construction. But I am not going to let it happen anymore," she finished, with another vehement paddle stroke to the river.

"I know exactly what you mean," Celeril said kindly. She had a way about her, an easy disposition, that people often found themselves confiding their problems to her. "I must tell you that I had been standing near the captains earlier, and I overheard Legolas and your brother discussing the whole ordeal of taking Farothin down to Minas Tirith." Celeril's eyes gleamed, and she added with a mischievous grin, "Well, at first I did not mean to overhear, but your name came up, and I wanted to learn more about you."

"What did they say?" Miredhel asked greedily. "Captain Adrendil would not tell me anything about it."

Celeril stopped short of rolling her eyes at the mention of his name. "Oh, he wouldn't if it did not serve his purpose or benefit him in some way-Adrendil's frightfully clever in that regard." She shook her head at the thought of the scheming captain and continued, "So I listened, probably a wee bit more than I should have, to Legolas' and Captain Eledhel's conversation. I almost wish I hadn't. Both our brothers stood there congratulating themselves on the 'handling' of their sisters. They were so proud and full of each other, that I found their entire dialogue revolting." Celeril wrinkled her nose at the memory.

"And I," said Miredhel with a wicked gleam in her eye, "was almost feeling a little sorry that I had left them like that. I don't anymore."

"See here, Lady Miredhel. I know we've hardly been properly acquainted, but I like you already. Not to mention, I know that Legolas is very fond of you." Miredhel blushed, which delighted Celeril. The princess added, "You saved my life as a complete stranger, and I would help guard yours as a friend. Won't you let me?"

Miredhel reached for Celeril's hand and squeezed it. "We are in this together now, you and I, and please, call me Miredhel."

"And you must do the same for me," avowed Celeril.

They turned their paddles and followed the stream into the wide rolling Anduin. Celeril was every bit as handy at managing the boat as she had promised to be; in fact, Miredhel would later concede that Celeril's skill surpassed her own. With only the two of them aboard, their boat ran swiftly upon the water, and before sunset, Celeril and Miredhel could trace the dim outline of Adrendil's boat on the distant horizon.

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As Legolas and the elves led the humans away from their village, the prince still puzzled over his refusing Miredhel to leave, wondering if he had made the right choice. He quickly brushed the unhappy memory of Miredhel's tears away, and silently repeated to himself that he had made the correct decision, and Miredhel would eventually learn to appreciate it.

Colmaethor pulled along side the prince to inform him that Adrendil had departed with Farothin in relative ease. He had left the Captain with a hefty supply of soothing herbs and sleeping draught, should the need arise.

"Do you think he has any chance of surviving the trip to Gondor?" Legolas asked him confidentially, referring to his injured scout.

"He is still plenty strong, despite of all they did to him. It's Farothin's spirit that troubles me the most, my lord. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, might not have a cure for that type of malady, however much skill his kingly hands possess."

"Still, he knows much of elvish medicine. He is our best hope for saving Farothin," Legolas countered, wishing he could feel as optimistic as his voice sounded.

"Aye, that he is," agreed Colmaethor. "My skill alone certainly was not enough to bring him back. Did you…" he carefully eyed his leader. "Did you see his eyes, Prince Legolas?"

Legolas met his gaze and nodded.

Colmaethor continued, "They were Farothin's own eyes…yet they were not his own-as if some other creature stared through those bloodshot orbs and peered right into my soul." He felt foolish saying so, but even as Legolas answered, he shuddered at the prince's words.

"I fear that I have seen the like of this before," the prince replied uncomfortably. He would never forget the hatred pooled in Eledhel's eyes as they had matched blade to blade on the ancient bridge.

Legolas fell quiet to the turnings of his own mind, and oddly much of the caravan followed suit. The sunny roofs of Rilmost faded from sight, and the procession dipped into the mottled green-gold vales of the wetlands. Their pace was slow, and Legolas speculated that they would be most fortunate indeed, if they succeeded in spending only one night out in the wild without the protection of strong stone walls. And even then, the fort at Calenfen might not be enough to break the waves of the thousand-fold Orcish host originally spotted by Thranduil's spies. At best, the fort would only serve to buy them time before the regular Gondorian army could arrive.

Legolas had always been one for logic. He excelled at analyzing situations and delivering solutions. He could not, however, figure out why the orcs were on the move in the first place, what their motives could be, or who their leader was. That nameless foe which could bind such malice toward destruction posed the greatest threat, and Legolas wondered if the answer was perhaps locked inside the muddled strands of Farothin's mind.

As they rode onward and gloom settled upon all, Eledhel met the prince's side, pulling Legolas from his dark reverie.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked, hoping to share in his burden.

"Can't you guess?" Legolas posed to him bitterly.

"You are doing the right thing, Legolas. I've no doubt in my mind about that, and if Aragorn were here, he would agree," Eledhel said resolutely.

Legolas swept some loose strands of hair from blowing across his eyes. "I know," he agreed, "But I cannot shake the feeling that our road is more dangerous now than ever before. I…" he paused and carefully chose his words. "I cannot stop thinking about Farothin's message inside that tavern."

Now, Eledhel had not been present at Farothin's brief awakening, but he had heard all of what happened.

"That tavern-The Black Dragon," mused Eledhel. "Do you really think that name is just a coincidence?"

"Is anything really just a coincidence?" Legolas asked wryly. "Or are the Valar trying to tell us something? Ai, I do not know anymore."

Eledhel did not have an answer to that, and both elves quietly remembered the scene at the bridge: Anglachur perched atop the statues, the Anduin rushing below, the feel of the stone beneath their feet, and the howls of the dragon as he plunged from the sky with Miredhel's arrow piercing his side. Anglachur the Black, sleek and mighty like all his kin, possessed the ability to cloud men's minds with his own greedy desires, but fell to the single arrow of an elven maiden.

Legolas softly spoke first, "Eledhel, when I saw Farothin's eyes-they reminded me of yours when you suffered from the dragon sickness. A pallid yellow consumed the whites of his eyes just as yours had been."

Eledhel worriedly rubbed the side of his head above his ear and tugged on the ends of his hair, a gesture that Miredhel had repeated dozens of times when she was upset, and the brother-sister resemblance would have amused Legolas greatly if not for the serious context of the moment. Finally Eledhel spoke and in a whisper, "I can still see them, Legolas, when I shut my eyes. Those horrid golden slits tear at my soul. It haunts me. Something in them stirs within me the most wicked hate…toward you." Eledhel briefly hid his face in his hands from the shame of it all, and then bravely met the gaze of his friend and leader.

Legolas nodded, and to his credit, did not appear outwardly disturbed by Eledhel's confidance to make his friend even more uncomfortable. "I knew it on the bridge when you tried to kill me, Eledhel, and I saw that same hate in Farothin's eyes."

"Then Anglachur must live."

"That very thought frightens me the most for our people, for Gondor's," Legolas confessed, and neither of the two friends spoke again for many miles.


Chapter 36 - Virtues of Spontaneity

Chapter Thirty-five: Virtues of Spontaneity

The caravan of men and elves wound its way from the wet, clingy grass of the Nindalf toward the open plains of Gondor. They had left the village of Rilmost with the sun at its highest, and now Anor waned toward the west. So even though they had been moving for a relatively short time, the journey seemed to stretch on endlessly. The going had been slow and difficult at times. The villagers were not used to traveling at all, while the elves suffered from the malaise of having to go, for them, at a deadening, halting pace.

The prince led the front of the procession, and his captains patrolled the sides and the rear, making sure that their lines were safe.

Sulindal rode toward Miredhel. She had worn her cloak all day long with the hood pulled up, and Sulindal felt a trifle annoyed at what he considered to be very childish behavior.

"Look, Miredhel," he said as joined her side, "I know you are upset about Farothin. I am too. But Legolas is doing what he thinks is best. You cannot fault him for that. I know he blames himself, but it doesn't help matters to have you openly blaming him as well. He feels the weight of this more than any of us, I think."

She did not answer.

"Why don't you ride up front with us for a while," Sulindal asked gently. "I am sure the prince would like it."

She made no response.

"Miredhel." Still no response, and Sulindal's frustration with his friend mounted. She need not act like an elfling.

"Miredhel, did you anything I've been saying? And for pity's sake, take off that ridiculous hood!" Sulindal exploded and reaching over, pulled the hood back.

A peasant girl blinked at him, cowering from the obviously irate elf captain, and both individuals upon seeing each other turned a swift shade of white.

"Dear Valar!" The elf exclaimed, his eyes widening. Legolas was not going to like this at all. Not at all.

After a while, Sulindal rejoined the front where rode his leader.

"Prince Legolas, I think it would be well advised to stop for the night. I have ridden to the back of the lines, and many of the villagers are weary."

"Very well," said Legolas, and he signaled for the elves to come to a halt.

Sulindal looked at Eledhel and Legolas uncomfortably. He hoped that they had both heard the old adage, 'don't shoot the messenger.'

"Legolas, Eledhel?" he asked. "Can I have a word with you privately?" He summoned them away from the others-the less of a public commotion, the better. Sulindal would hate for the innocent villagers to see the leader of their expedition throttling one of his own. He knew how hot-headed Eledhel could be and well, suspected that even Legolas would not be his usual calm self.

"Legolas, Eledhel…" he repeated their names again, once he had pulled them out of shouting range from the rest of the group.

"Yes, what is it?" Eledhel asked rather impatiently.

Sulindal swallowed dryly. "I went back to talk to Miredhel. She's not there. Neither is Celeril. They're both gone."

"What do you mean, 'gone?'" whispered Legolas, the color draining from his cheeks.

"They gave their cloaks and horses to some women from Rilmost. I fear they never even left the village with us."

Legolas felt completely numb. "I can't believe she just left like that," he murmured.

"I can," Eledhel seethed, the tips of his ears glowing scarlet. "Foolish girl! There's no doubt in my mind she took off after Farothin and Adrendil."

"And my sister went with her," Legolas added, his voice gaining a frightful edge.

Sulindal at this mojment thought that it would be best if someone attempted to calm the two increasingly panicky elves down. He supposed that 'someone' would have to be him.

"You know," he said carefully "it might not be all that bad. Both your sisters are very capable, and they are bound to meet up with Captain Adrendil along the way."

Legolas gripped his arm, his eyes boring into the elf. "Sulindal," he said, "Eledhel and I think that the dragon is still out there. We think Farothin was still suffering from dragon sickness when he woke up in the tavern. What if he wakes up and tries to hurt Adrendil, or worse, attacks one of the girls?"

Eledehl sucked in his breath at the prince's question. "What—" he said with dark, anxious eyes, "What if the dragon sent Farothin back on purpose, to seek revenge on those who would have slain him—me, you, Miredhel…"

"If you are right," interrupted Sulindal who felt as though his two good friends were letting panic get the better of them, "why would the dragon not have shown himself earlier? It seems highly likely that he would wait until now to make his presence known." He put a hand on both their shoulders as they faced him. "While both your sisters have made an incredibly fool-hardy decision, I do not believe them to be in any real jeopardy."

Legolas and Eledhel did not seem the slightest bit mollified.

"How can you say that after what happened to Farothin?" Eledhel screeched. "They can't take care of themselves! And if they go down the river, they'll be open targets, totally exposed." His head snapped toward the prince beside him.

"Well, Legolas? This is Miredhel and your sister we're talking about. Are you just going to stand there?"

Legolas' eyes shifted to meet his friend's, and Eledhel opened and shut his mouth.

"If I have not spoken," Legolas said quietly, "it is because no words could justly capture my anger… or my fear." Truly, the prince felt incapable of neither language, nor action. He could scarcely breathe, let alone act rationally. Miredhel and Celeril, the both of them, unprotected and isolated in the wilderness with orcs and dragon moving toward Gondor, the thought paralyzed his entire being. Images of the two suffering as Farothin had flashed through his mind, and for a minute, he thought he was going to be sick. He gagged and swallowed, turning away from his friends and despising the fact that they should witness his weakness. He reminded himself of who he was, Legolas Thranduillion, and he would not dishonor that name—not now, not ever.

He faced his friends with a lordly countenance in check. "We will send a rider after them to make sure they reach Gondor safely," he said coolly. "That is all we really can do. We must trust that the Valar will protect them."

"I will go," Sulindal volunteered almost immediately.

"You," scoffed Eledhel. "Thank you, friend, but you are hardly the fastest rider among us. You don't even know the way to Gondor."

"Neither do you," Sulindal pointed out, his patience swiftly drawing to an end.

Both the Lorien elves glared at each other for a moment before their collective gaze turned to the prince.

"Legolas, you should go," said Eledhel.

"You should," agreed Sulindal. "You and your Rohan steed. Arod is matchless for endurance over long roads, compared to the other horses."

Eledhel snapped his fingers in agreement. "And you've covered this country before. None of us can claim that."

"These are all valid points," Legolas commented wearily, "but you forget that I am also leader to this group. I cannot go, however much my heart desires it."

"Legolas, you are loyal to your duties to a fault," Eledhel said. "The other captains and I can manage this. You should go."

The prince smiled grimly at his friends' insistence. But he could not so easily let go of what he felt was chiefly his responsibility. He countered Eledhel's statement by saying, "But if orcs attacked before you reached Calenfen… I could not forgive myself for not being there."

Eledhel's eyes flashed at the prince's stubborn devotion. "If orcs did attack, we could fend them off without your aid as equally well as if you were there, my lord," he pointed out.

Legolas appeared unmoved, although he wished that he might go. "I cannot," he said resignedly and shook his head. "Our sisters have passed beyond our reach, Eledhel. Let us prepare for the night watch."

Eledhel let out a frustrated sigh and left to take the horses to water, but Sulindal stayed with the prince to make one more plea. The sun faded on horizon in towering clouds of pink and gold as they spoke. Night would come swiftly.

Sulindal approached Legolas in his usual soft-spoken, persuasive way. His careful eyes had not missed the prince's quiet desperation. "Legolas, if this is your will, then let me ride on tonight to search for them," he said, pausing long enough to catch a glimpse of the anguish that Legolas had tried so hard to conceal.

"Legolas, if you want to go so badly, then why not leave? Ride out now, and we will manage here."

"I told you already, Sulindal," the prince snapped before easing his speech, "I would not be able to forgive myself if something happened to these people."

"But what about your sister and Miredhel? Could you forgive yourself if something happened to them? If Farothin's fate befell them?"

Legolas blanched, and Sulindal almost repented of his question's cruelty.

"I cannot, Sulindal," Legolas repeated mechanically. "Though my heart bids me go," he added softly.

"There are other reasons why you should head for Gondor, prince," his friend assured him, sensing that Legolas wavered even as he spoke. "When you reach Minas Tirith, you can tell Elessar of the dragon first hand, and then both of you can develop a better plan together. After all, you do have the most first hand knowledge of the beast."

"That's true," mused Legolas.

"My brother, Eledhel, and I can take the group on toward Calenfen."

Legolas massaged his temple, and squinting into the brilliance of the sun's last light, he asked, "Sulindal, why are you-"

"Because I feel it as you do. It's the right thing to do. Go to them. Go to her," he urged him. "Because I know what it is like to live with regret—and I would not wish that upon anyone."

Legolas' eyes darted to where the villagers and elves had set up camp, their small fires breathing smoky spirals into the deepening sky. He then eyed the west where the horizon seemed aflame in the last minutes of the sun's descent. His sister was out there, somewhere, and Miredhel too. Perhaps they had met up with Adrendil, but he knew that he could not cling to that hope.

The sun disappeared, and Legolas had made up his mind. He shouted to Eledhel to bring Arod back around. If Eledhel's face was any indication of his shock and heartfelt approval of the prince's actions, then certainly the elf was both surprised and pleased. Legolas was sure that his own face must have looked very much the same. The prince hardly ever acted spontaneously. His upbringing had systematically emphasized careful planning and decision making over impulsiveness; he had endured many a lecture on putting the needs of his people before his own wishes. As he mounted his horse and relayed last minute charges to his captains, Legolas thought there might be something in spontaneity after all.

He shouted farewells and a promise that he would join them at Calenfen, bringing Gondorian aid as soon as possible, and he shot away into the night, his retreating silhouette blurring like a hot, white star.

When Legolas reached the Great River, his hopes soared that he might come upon Miredhel and Celeril, supposing they had chosen to follow Adrendil down the Aunduin. The prince's keen elven eyes searched for any clue, any trace, that they had traveled so far. The Anduin told no tales, and Legolas rode on through the long, dark night, wishing vainly that he might stumble upon them as they camped. The more he thought about it, the more he could see them, as if their shadows by campfire might appear at any moment through the bracken and twisting wood of the river shore trees. In his own lonely dreams, he saw their sweet faces, Celeril's soft blue eyes and Miredhel's roguish hazel ones. His sister would be poking their small fire with a stick to make sparks jump in the air as she always did, and Miredhel would lie on the other side, propping herself up on her elbows and staring at the tumult of stars in the night sky. How he missed them, and his dreams achieved little but make him long for them more.

Yet as the sun pulled through the hazy sky the following morning, Legolas had uncovered no sign of his friends or evidence that they had stopped along the shores at all. In truth, Legolas' expectations that he might meet up with them plummeted the farther he traveled into Gondor. As expert of a woodsman and hunter as he was, he could not find any sign of his sister or Miredhel. Despair teased his heart that the elleth had never even made it out of the wetlands. As he was wont to do, Legolas blamed himself for the misfortune of their leaving, becoming convinced that had he been more forceful in his command, Celeril and Miredhel would not have run away to an unknown fate.

The sun set and rose four more times over the broadening plains of Gondor, and neither dark nor the light of day brought further counsel to Legolas as to the whereabouts of his loved ones. He clung to his elven dreams of that scene by the fire, sometimes including himself in the picture with his arm around Miredhel's slender waist. He would lean over and whisper in her ear, kissing her cheek and winding his hand through her hair. He would tease his sister as he had before the War of the Ring, before everything had grown more complicated. This scene and others like it brought him through that first lonely night, and he gladly returned to them when the shadows pressed inward, when the light of day failed, and clouds robbed the stars of light. Legolas was used to solitude. He had traveled alone before, on many occasions, but this time was wholly different. The fear for his loved ones hung with him always, like a lump in the back of the throat that cannot be swallowed.

Legolas cursed to himself, urging his horse onward, and Arod whinnied his admonish in return. The last days had been torturous, and Legolas' fear for the maidens' safety strove against his undeniable anger at their leaving. Their disobedience nettled him more than anything. He was their leader, after all, and certainly they had taken advantage of his good will. Legolas, for the life of him, could not figure out why they had left in the first place. Well, they could explain it to him when he found them…if he found them.

The only comfort was that he had not encountered any orcs or enemy tracks.

When at last Legolas beheld the White City on the horizon mirrored in the silver crests of the Great River, ever piece of him thrilled in the fact that he had not found any signs that his friends had been captured. He sped on across the open plains until he stood before the Main gate, which stood open with a series of guards and couriers to query outsiders. He smiled grimly at their amazement in seeing an elf. He gave them his name, telling of his urgent desire to see their king, and the young men eagerly offered to help him with his horse and gear; but when Legolas asked if any other elves had recently entered the city, the guards fell silent and would not say anymore. Despite their reticence, relief flooded his muscles, and for the first time in five days, he relaxed. As he rode upward through the many city levels, the people of Minas Tirith gazed at him with awe, for surely this traveler was one of the Nine Companions and friend to their king.

When their staring became too much, the prince pulled up the hood of his Lothlorien cloak. The elf was escorted to the main Hall of Kings where Aragorn presided and held court. Legolas' hands almost felt clammy from anticipation; all of his toil in the last few days became as nothing to him. All that mattered was that first glance at Aragorn, to see his eyes true and grey, and Legolas would know his friends' fate, whether they had found succor in the White City or had perished in the wilds. Success and failure spiraled down to this moment, and Legolas could hardly feel the stony walk beneath his feet as he followed the courtiers up the wide steps to the great doors, where the Kings' Guard waited in their dark garb bearing the single white tree. The doors swung open, and the prince's eyes darted to the end of the hall, to the high throne where upon presided the king. Now, he would know.

Only the king was not there. The seat was vacant, and Aragorn was no where in sight.

Legolas brushed past the guards and hurried into the hall. "Aragorn?" he called wistfully, as though his friend might suddenly appear from behind one of the statues that lined the room. He swallowed dryly, feeling that lump return to his throat once more. Hearing steps behind him, Legolas slowly turned to see a narrow-faced man wearing a feathered cap in green and black approach him.

"Young master," the man said haughtily, "you cannot see the king this way. I suggest you return tomorrow."

Legolas stared at him for a moment and realized that this man, most likely an advisor, was being serious. "It's urgent," he told him. "Please notify him of my presence."

"Notify him of your presence?" the advisor scoffed. "King Aragorn is at a very important council meeting. Come back on the morrow." He pursed his lips with an air of finality, and his face seemed even longer and thinner, if such a feat were indeed possible.

The prince pushed his hood back, and his blue eyes darkened as he gazed with full force at the king's advisor. "I will not be denied," he said. "I have journeyed many miles to bear this news."

The man sniffed, his bravado quelling a little under that intense elven stare. "If that is the case, then you can afford to wait a bit longer, can't you? His highness has a schedule to keep."

Legolas nearly rolled his eyes at this pretension. Obviously this advisor did not know whom or what he dealt with, but the prince did not care about that. All he wanted to know was if his loved ones were safe. He lowered his eyes and taking a deep breath, asked, "Can you tell me at least if three other elves arrived in the city in the last day or so?"

"Other elves?" repeated the man and curiously studied this visitor in his grey cloak, who looked no more important than an errand boy, elven or not. "Hmmph." the advisor snorted. "It is not my place to reveal information to strangers. Now if you'll kindly wait until the king's next audience, I have other more important matters to attend." He adjusted his feathered hat and made to walk past the annoyance before him.

Legolas had caught a gleam in the human's eye when he had mentioned the other elves. This advisor knew more than he let on. The elf stepped into his path, blocking the advisor's route. "Tell me what you know," he growled and caught a firm grip on the man's shoulder. "My wishes will NOT be ignored."

"That will not be necessary, Prince of Mirkwood," rang another voice, melodious, light and deep all at once. Such a voice could only belong to the Evenstar.

Legolas stepped aside, the impudent advisor forgotten, and he met the queen in the middle of the chamber, fearful and glad of the news she was sure to possess.

"Queen Arwen," he said breathlessly. "The sight of you eases my heart. Please, if you have any news of my friends…please tell me." Feeling as though every possible emotion pulsed through his body, Legolas waited in the deadly quiet hall to hear her much awaited reply.

"Oh, Legolas," she said and took his arm. "They are safe, and Aragorn has seen to Farothin. They arrived early last evening with a group of rangers patrolling the western borders past the river."

Legolas let out a breath that he did not know he had even been holding.

The queen turned her head and addressed the advisor, "Renmot, summon King Aragorn from his meeting. Tell him a much awaited friend has finally returned."

"Yes, milady," he said, rather disbelievingly. After all, what sort of princes went around clad in green and brown? And with no crown or entourage?

Arwen turned her attention back to the elf beside her. "Come, my friend. The Hall of Kings is no place for a reunion of friends. Walk with me to the gardens."

Legolas had been there before. The wedding supper of the king and queen had been held in the very courtyard to which they were headed, and Legolas had to admit upon entrance that he found the place very much improved since he had been there last. Gentle buds had began to bloom amid waving ornamental grasses, and a few creeping vines softened the edge of the stone walls. He could only guess this improvement had been Arwen's doing, and he said as much. The two elves both laughed, and Legolas reckoned it was the first time he had done so in a week.

He asked for details concerning the girls' conditions, and Arwen reassured him, "They are safe and well." Wishing to put him at ease, she teased, "Your sister is still quite the charmer. She reminds me of you more than ever."

Although the prince listened politely, he did not really hear her words. He still clung to her claim that they were "safe and well." Relief numbed his body, and the whole of the garden reduced to a mere buzzing to his senses. They are safe. As much as Legolas' heart relaxed at Arwen's confidence, part of him still held back, refusing to believe it. Until he held Miredhel in his arms, he would not know peace.

Almost as if the Valar wished him consolation, a breeze stirred from atop the bleached walls of the city. Legolas turned his head to the stone gate of the courtyard, and there she stood, Miredhel. Arwen glanced from the prince at her side to the maiden across the way and with a knowing smile, quitted the garden quite unnoticed.


Chapter 37 - Virtues of Spontaneity

Chapter Thirty-five: Virtues of Spontaneity

The caravan of men and elves wound its way from the wet, clingy grass of the Nindalf toward the open plains of Gondor. They had left the village of Rilmost with the sun at its highest, and now Anor waned toward the west. So even though they had been moving for a relatively short time, the journey seemed to stretch on endlessly. The going had been slow and difficult at times. The villagers were not used to traveling at all, while the elves suffered from the malaise of having to go, for them, at a deadening, halting pace.

The prince led the front of the procession, and his captains patrolled the sides and the rear, making sure that their lines were safe.

Sulindal rode toward Miredhel. She had worn her cloak all day long with the hood pulled up, and Sulindal felt a trifle annoyed at what he considered to be very childish behavior.

"Look, Miredhel," he said as joined her side, "I know you are upset about Farothin. I am too. But Legolas is doing what he thinks is best. You cannot fault him for that. I know he blames himself, but it doesn't help matters to have you openly blaming him as well. He feels the weight of this more than any of us, I think."

She did not answer.

"Why don't you ride up front with us for a while," Sulindal asked gently. "I am sure the prince would like it."

She made no response.

"Miredhel." Still no response, and Sulindal's frustration with his friend mounted. She need not act like an elfling.

"Miredhel, did you anything I've been saying? And for pity's sake, take off that ridiculous hood!" Sulindal exploded and reaching over, pulled the hood back.

A peasant girl blinked at him, cowering from the obviously irate elf captain, and both individuals upon seeing each other turned a swift shade of white.

"Dear Valar!" The elf exclaimed, his eyes widening. Legolas was not going to like this at all. Not at all.

After a while, Sulindal rejoined the front where rode his leader.

"Prince Legolas, I think it would be well advised to stop for the night. I have ridden to the back of the lines, and many of the villagers are weary."

"Very well," said Legolas, and he signaled for the elves to come to a halt.

Sulindal looked at Eledhel and Legolas uncomfortably. He hoped that they had both heard the old adage, 'don't shoot the messenger.'

"Legolas, Eledhel?" he asked. "Can I have a word with you privately?" He summoned them away from the others-the less of a public commotion, the better. Sulindal would hate for the innocent villagers to see the leader of their expedition throttling one of his own. He knew how hot-headed Eledhel could be and well, suspected that even Legolas would not be his usual calm self.

"Legolas, Eledhel…" he repeated their names again, once he had pulled them out of shouting range from the rest of the group.

"Yes, what is it?" Eledhel asked rather impatiently.

Sulindal swallowed dryly. "I went back to talk to Miredhel. She's not there. Neither is Celeril. They're both gone."

"What do you mean, 'gone?'" whispered Legolas, the color draining from his cheeks.

"They gave their cloaks and horses to some women from Rilmost. I fear they never even left the village with us."

Legolas felt completely numb. "I can't believe she just left like that," he murmured.

"I can," Eledhel seethed, the tips of his ears glowing scarlet. "Foolish girl! There's no doubt in my mind she took off after Farothin and Adrendil."

"And my sister went with her," Legolas added, his voice gaining a frightful edge.

Sulindal at this mojment thought that it would be best if someone attempted to calm the two increasingly panicky elves down. He supposed that 'someone' would have to be him.

"You know," he said carefully "it might not be all that bad. Both your sisters are very capable, and they are bound to meet up with Captain Adrendil along the way."

Legolas gripped his arm, his eyes boring into the elf. "Sulindal," he said, "Eledhel and I think that the dragon is still out there. We think Farothin was still suffering from dragon sickness when he woke up in the tavern. What if he wakes up and tries to hurt Adrendil, or worse, attacks one of the girls?"

Eledehl sucked in his breath at the prince's question. "What—" he said with dark, anxious eyes, "What if the dragon sent Farothin back on purpose, to seek revenge on those who would have slain him—me, you, Miredhel…"

"If you are right," interrupted Sulindal who felt as though his two good friends were letting panic get the better of them, "why would the dragon not have shown himself earlier? It seems highly likely that he would wait until now to make his presence known." He put a hand on both their shoulders as they faced him. "While both your sisters have made an incredibly fool-hardy decision, I do not believe them to be in any real jeopardy."

Legolas and Eledhel did not seem the slightest bit mollified.

"How can you say that after what happened to Farothin?" Eledhel screeched. "They can't take care of themselves! And if they go down the river, they'll be open targets, totally exposed." His head snapped toward the prince beside him.

"Well, Legolas? This is Miredhel and your sister we're talking about. Are you just going to stand there?"

Legolas' eyes shifted to meet his friend's, and Eledhel opened and shut his mouth.

"If I have not spoken," Legolas said quietly, "it is because no words could justly capture my anger… or my fear." Truly, the prince felt incapable of neither language, nor action. He could scarcely breathe, let alone act rationally. Miredhel and Celeril, the both of them, unprotected and isolated in the wilderness with orcs and dragon moving toward Gondor, the thought paralyzed his entire being. Images of the two suffering as Farothin had flashed through his mind, and for a minute, he thought he was going to be sick. He gagged and swallowed, turning away from his friends and despising the fact that they should witness his weakness. He reminded himself of who he was, Legolas Thranduillion, and he would not dishonor that name—not now, not ever.

He faced his friends with a lordly countenance in check. "We will send a rider after them to make sure they reach Gondor safely," he said coolly. "That is all we really can do. We must trust that the Valar will protect them."

"I will go," Sulindal volunteered almost immediately.

"You," scoffed Eledhel. "Thank you, friend, but you are hardly the fastest rider among us. You don't even know the way to Gondor."

"Neither do you," Sulindal pointed out, his patience swiftly drawing to an end.

Both the Lorien elves glared at each other for a moment before their collective gaze turned to the prince.

"Legolas, you should go," said Eledhel.

"You should," agreed Sulindal. "You and your Rohan steed. Arod is matchless for endurance over long roads, compared to the other horses."

Eledhel snapped his fingers in agreement. "And you've covered this country before. None of us can claim that."

"These are all valid points," Legolas commented wearily, "but you forget that I am also leader to this group. I cannot go, however much my heart desires it."

"Legolas, you are loyal to your duties to a fault," Eledhel said. "The other captains and I can manage this. You should go."

The prince smiled grimly at his friends' insistence. But he could not so easily let go of what he felt was chiefly his responsibility. He countered Eledhel's statement by saying, "But if orcs attacked before you reached Calenfen… I could not forgive myself for not being there."

Eledhel's eyes flashed at the prince's stubborn devotion. "If orcs did attack, we could fend them off without your aid as equally well as if you were there, my lord," he pointed out.

Legolas appeared unmoved, although he wished that he might go. "I cannot," he said resignedly and shook his head. "Our sisters have passed beyond our reach, Eledhel. Let us prepare for the night watch."

Eledhel let out a frustrated sigh and left to take the horses to water, but Sulindal stayed with the prince to make one more plea. The sun faded on horizon in towering clouds of pink and gold as they spoke. Night would come swiftly.

Sulindal approached Legolas in his usual soft-spoken, persuasive way. His careful eyes had not missed the prince's quiet desperation. "Legolas, if this is your will, then let me ride on tonight to search for them," he said, pausing long enough to catch a glimpse of the anguish that Legolas had tried so hard to conceal.

"Legolas, if you want to go so badly, then why not leave? Ride out now, and we will manage here."

"I told you already, Sulindal," the prince snapped before easing his speech, "I would not be able to forgive myself if something happened to these people."

"But what about your sister and Miredhel? Could you forgive yourself if something happened to them? If Farothin's fate befell them?"

Legolas blanched, and Sulindal almost repented of his question's cruelty.

"I cannot, Sulindal," Legolas repeated mechanically. "Though my heart bids me go," he added softly.

"There are other reasons why you should head for Gondor, prince," his friend assured him, sensing that Legolas wavered even as he spoke. "When you reach Minas Tirith, you can tell Elessar of the dragon first hand, and then both of you can develop a better plan together. After all, you do have the most first hand knowledge of the beast."

"That's true," mused Legolas.

"My brother, Eledhel, and I can take the group on toward Calenfen."

Legolas massaged his temple, and squinting into the brilliance of the sun's last light, he asked, "Sulindal, why are you-"

"Because I feel it as you do. It's the right thing to do. Go to them. Go to her," he urged him. "Because I know what it is like to live with regret—and I would not wish that upon anyone."

Legolas' eyes darted to where the villagers and elves had set up camp, their small fires breathing smoky spirals into the deepening sky. He then eyed the west where the horizon seemed aflame in the last minutes of the sun's descent. His sister was out there, somewhere, and Miredhel too. Perhaps they had met up with Adrendil, but he knew that he could not cling to that hope.

The sun disappeared, and Legolas had made up his mind. He shouted to Eledhel to bring Arod back around. If Eledhel's face was any indication of his shock and heartfelt approval of the prince's actions, then certainly the elf was both surprised and pleased. Legolas was sure that his own face must have looked very much the same. The prince hardly ever acted spontaneously. His upbringing had systematically emphasized careful planning and decision making over impulsiveness; he had endured many a lecture on putting the needs of his people before his own wishes. As he mounted his horse and relayed last minute charges to his captains, Legolas thought there might be something in spontaneity after all.

He shouted farewells and a promise that he would join them at Calenfen, bringing Gondorian aid as soon as possible, and he shot away into the night, his retreating silhouette blurring like a hot, white star.

When Legolas reached the Great River, his hopes soared that he might come upon Miredhel and Celeril, supposing they had chosen to follow Adrendil down the Aunduin. The prince's keen elven eyes searched for any clue, any trace, that they had traveled so far. The Anduin told no tales, and Legolas rode on through the long, dark night, wishing vainly that he might stumble upon them as they camped. The more he thought about it, the more he could see them, as if their shadows by campfire might appear at any moment through the bracken and twisting wood of the river shore trees. In his own lonely dreams, he saw their sweet faces, Celeril's soft blue eyes and Miredhel's roguish hazel ones. His sister would be poking their small fire with a stick to make sparks jump in the air as she always did, and Miredhel would lie on the other side, propping herself up on her elbows and staring at the tumult of stars in the night sky. How he missed them, and his dreams achieved little but make him long for them more.

Yet as the sun pulled through the hazy sky the following morning, Legolas had uncovered no sign of his friends or evidence that they had stopped along the shores at all. In truth, Legolas' expectations that he might meet up with them plummeted the farther he traveled into Gondor. As expert of a woodsman and hunter as he was, he could not find any sign of his sister or Miredhel. Despair teased his heart that the elleth had never even made it out of the wetlands. As he was wont to do, Legolas blamed himself for the misfortune of their leaving, becoming convinced that had he been more forceful in his command, Celeril and Miredhel would not have run away to an unknown fate.

The sun set and rose four more times over the broadening plains of Gondor, and neither dark nor the light of day brought further counsel to Legolas as to the whereabouts of his loved ones. He clung to his elven dreams of that scene by the fire, sometimes including himself in the picture with his arm around Miredhel's slender waist. He would lean over and whisper in her ear, kissing her cheek and winding his hand through her hair. He would tease his sister as he had before the War of the Ring, before everything had grown more complicated. This scene and others like it brought him through that first lonely night, and he gladly returned to them when the shadows pressed inward, when the light of day failed, and clouds robbed the stars of light. Legolas was used to solitude. He had traveled alone before, on many occasions, but this time was wholly different. The fear for his loved ones hung with him always, like a lump in the back of the throat that cannot be swallowed.

Legolas cursed to himself, urging his horse onward, and Arod whinnied his admonish in return. The last days had been torturous, and Legolas' fear for the maidens' safety strove against his undeniable anger at their leaving. Their disobedience nettled him more than anything. He was their leader, after all, and certainly they had taken advantage of his good will. Legolas, for the life of him, could not figure out why they had left in the first place. Well, they could explain it to him when he found them…if he found them.

The only comfort was that he had not encountered any orcs or enemy tracks.

When at last Legolas beheld the White City on the horizon mirrored in the silver crests of the Great River, ever piece of him thrilled in the fact that he had not found any signs that his friends had been captured. He sped on across the open plains until he stood before the Main gate, which stood open with a series of guards and couriers to query outsiders. He smiled grimly at their amazement in seeing an elf. He gave them his name, telling of his urgent desire to see their king, and the young men eagerly offered to help him with his horse and gear; but when Legolas asked if any other elves had recently entered the city, the guards fell silent and would not say anymore. Despite their reticence, relief flooded his muscles, and for the first time in five days, he relaxed. As he rode upward through the many city levels, the people of Minas Tirith gazed at him with awe, for surely this traveler was one of the Nine Companions and friend to their king.

When their staring became too much, the prince pulled up the hood of his Lothlorien cloak. The elf was escorted to the main Hall of Kings where Aragorn presided and held court. Legolas' hands almost felt clammy from anticipation; all of his toil in the last few days became as nothing to him. All that mattered was that first glance at Aragorn, to see his eyes true and grey, and Legolas would know his friends' fate, whether they had found succor in the White City or had perished in the wilds. Success and failure spiraled down to this moment, and Legolas could hardly feel the stony walk beneath his feet as he followed the courtiers up the wide steps to the great doors, where the Kings' Guard waited in their dark garb bearing the single white tree. The doors swung open, and the prince's eyes darted to the end of the hall, to the high throne where upon presided the king. Now, he would know.

Only the king was not there. The seat was vacant, and Aragorn was no where in sight.

Legolas brushed past the guards and hurried into the hall. "Aragorn?" he called wistfully, as though his friend might suddenly appear from behind one of the statues that lined the room. He swallowed dryly, feeling that lump return to his throat once more. Hearing steps behind him, Legolas slowly turned to see a narrow-faced man wearing a feathered cap in green and black approach him.

"Young master," the man said haughtily, "you cannot see the king this way. I suggest you return tomorrow."

Legolas stared at him for a moment and realized that this man, most likely an advisor, was being serious. "It's urgent," he told him. "Please notify him of my presence."

"Notify him of your presence?" the advisor scoffed. "King Aragorn is at a very important council meeting. Come back on the morrow." He pursed his lips with an air of finality, and his face seemed even longer and thinner, if such a feat were indeed possible.

The prince pushed his hood back, and his blue eyes darkened as he gazed with full force at the king's advisor. "I will not be denied," he said. "I have journeyed many miles to bear this news."

The man sniffed, his bravado quelling a little under that intense elven stare. "If that is the case, then you can afford to wait a bit longer, can't you? His highness has a schedule to keep."

Legolas nearly rolled his eyes at this pretension. Obviously this advisor did not know whom or what he dealt with, but the prince did not care about that. All he wanted to know was if his loved ones were safe. He lowered his eyes and taking a deep breath, asked, "Can you tell me at least if three other elves arrived in the city in the last day or so?"

"Other elves?" repeated the man and curiously studied this visitor in his grey cloak, who looked no more important than an errand boy, elven or not. "Hmmph." the advisor snorted. "It is not my place to reveal information to strangers. Now if you'll kindly wait until the king's next audience, I have other more important matters to attend." He adjusted his feathered hat and made to walk past the annoyance before him.

Legolas had caught a gleam in the human's eye when he had mentioned the other elves. This advisor knew more than he let on. The elf stepped into his path, blocking the advisor's route. "Tell me what you know," he growled and caught a firm grip on the man's shoulder. "My wishes will NOT be ignored."

"That will not be necessary, Prince of Mirkwood," rang another voice, melodious, light and deep all at once. Such a voice could only belong to the Evenstar.

Legolas stepped aside, the impudent advisor forgotten, and he met the queen in the middle of the chamber, fearful and glad of the news she was sure to possess.

"Queen Arwen," he said breathlessly. "The sight of you eases my heart. Please, if you have any news of my friends…please tell me." Feeling as though every possible emotion pulsed through his body, Legolas waited in the deadly quiet hall to hear her much awaited reply.

"Oh, Legolas," she said and took his arm. "They are safe, and Aragorn has seen to Farothin. They arrived early last evening with a group of rangers patrolling the western borders past the river."

Legolas let out a breath that he did not know he had even been holding.

The queen turned her head and addressed the advisor, "Renmot, summon King Aragorn from his meeting. Tell him a much awaited friend has finally returned."

"Yes, milady," he said, rather disbelievingly. After all, what sort of princes went around clad in green and brown? And with no crown or entourage?

Arwen turned her attention back to the elf beside her. "Come, my friend. The Hall of Kings is no place for a reunion of friends. Walk with me to the gardens."

Legolas had been there before. The wedding supper of the king and queen had been held in the very courtyard to which they were headed, and Legolas had to admit upon entrance that he found the place very much improved since he had been there last. Gentle buds had began to bloom amid waving ornamental grasses, and a few creeping vines softened the edge of the stone walls. He could only guess this improvement had been Arwen's doing, and he said as much. The two elves both laughed, and Legolas reckoned it was the first time he had done so in a week.

He asked for details concerning the girls' conditions, and Arwen reassured him, "They are safe and well." Wishing to put him at ease, she teased, "Your sister is still quite the charmer. She reminds me of you more than ever."

Although the prince listened politely, he did not really hear her words. He still clung to her claim that they were "safe and well." Relief numbed his body, and the whole of the garden reduced to a mere buzzing to his senses. They are safe. As much as Legolas' heart relaxed at Arwen's confidence, part of him still held back, refusing to believe it. Until he held Miredhel in his arms, he would not know peace.

Almost as if the Valar wished him consolation, a breeze stirred from atop the bleached walls of the city. Legolas turned his head to the stone gate of the courtyard, and there she stood, Miredhel. Arwen glanced from the prince at her side to the maiden across the way and with a knowing smile, quitted the garden quite unnoticed.


Chapter 38 - Different and Better

At last the glad day ended; and when the Sun was gone and the round Moon rode slowly above the mists of Anduin and flickered through the fluttering leaves, Frodo and Sam sat under the whispering trees amid the fragrance of fair Ithilien; and they talked deep into the night with Merry and Pippin and Gandalf, and after a while Legolas and Gimli joined them (LOTR, 934).

When moonlight and merry conversation faded with the stars, the elf spoke softly to the wizard at his side.

"Will you stay, Mithrandir?"

"I think you know that I cannot, Legolas," the wizard replied, pausing to send a quizzical smoke ring up toward the overhanging branches. "My task here is finished, and so I must go."

Legolas nodded. The wizard's leaving would be but one drop before the storm. "So much will change," he replied wistfully to the old man robed in white at his side.

"Yes, but now come the days of peace, and you will find that though they are different, they are infinitely better," said Gandalf.[\i]
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[i]Building Ithilien

Chapter 36: Different and Better

Wind whipped around the walls of the White City, blowing long, fair strands of hair across the prince's eyes. He hastily pushed them away, fearing that in the few seconds in which he could not see her, that she might have disappeared, like a much-desired dream or mirage. How his heart had longed for her! He looked again, and there she still stood.

In seconds, no, even less than that—in a moment—both elves had closed the gap between them. Miredhel stretched out her hands, but Legolas caught her in his arms instead.

His arms swallowed her, and he pulled her even closer, burying his face into her hair. Valar, she smelled good. His hands ran the length of her back, and he placed hasty kisses on her curls, her shoulder, her neck. She was there, really there, safe and whole. He did not pull away but held her close, held her in his arms as he had dreamed of doing for many nights, and he knew that he did not want to let go. She was under his protection again, and he would make sure that she stayed that way. Finally, he could rest easy.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered in between kisses, pulling away just enough so her eyes were even with his.

"I'm right here," she said soothingly, smoothing her fingers across his cheek.

He took an almost ragged breath, as if he had not breathed for days. "Do you have any notion of how frightened we were for you—and my sister? Do you?" he asked, and an uneasy edge replaced the tenderness in his voice.

"But Legolas, I am fine, and so is Celeril. Nothing happened to us," Miredhel answered lamely, shrinking in the scrutiny of his eyes.

"Is that excuse supposed to comfort me?" he demanded. "You left without notice, without a word," Legolas added witheringly. "How could I have known you would arrive safely? Especially with what happened to Farothin—I mean, there was a reason I did not want you taking that trip!"

Miredhel's eyes flashed. "Why couldn't you trust to hope that I would arrive safely? –Like you trust Adrendil?"

"We are NOT talking about Adrendil, right now. He had permission," the prince said, taking her by the shoulders. "You did not." His eyes were fierce now, and the lines of his face hardened as he stared at her.

Miredhel softly swallowed. She had seen him upset before, furious even, but never so directed towards her.

"And speaking of trust, my lady," he continued accusingly, "you are a fine one to speak such a word. You don't trust me."

"Legolas, of course I do," she objected. "It's just that—"

"No. You don't," Legolas contradicted her. "You just went ahead and did what you wanted, either because: first, you do not trust me to make a good decision; or secondly, perhaps you must think I am incredibly foolish, and my commands should be ignored. Which is it?" He tightened his grip on her shoulders. "Which is it, Miredhel?"

"Neither is true," she stammered and attempting to wrench away from his grip, found that she could not. She had rarely seen him so angered before, and on those occurrences his opinion had mattered little to her. In those days she had not cared what he thought of her, but she did now. As she glanced up into his dark eyes and read there the pain and hurt which must have only been a shadow of what he really felt, guilt consumed her. What had she done?

"My lord, I did not leave for the reasons you have stated. I do trust you, I would with my life, and I could never think you foolish. Please know that I hold you only in the highest regard," she said, biting her lip.

"You would say so, Miredhel, but your actions speak otherwise," Legolas told her sternly, though he loosened his hold on her shoulders.

To the untrained eye, the prince may have looked tired, even travel worn, but he was every inch the elf lord and prince that his ancestry proclaimed him to be. His regal bearing, the arch of his chin and the strength in his shoulders, the way he stood, but most of all his eyes, those deep blue orbs and the light and wisdom reflecting within, would always proclaim him to be more, a warrior and a prince, a brave heart that met with darkness and death, and came away not unscathed, but stronger. Once again Miredhel felt like a dull, lackluster maid before him, and that old familiar feeling bred resentment.

"I am sorry for the pain I've caused you, my prince," she said, attempting to explain herself, "but I cannot regret leaving."

"How can you say that?" he exclaimed. "Can't you see how irresponsible and selfish your actions were?"

"It was selfish of you to make me stay," she countered, easing away from him, "just to secure your own peace of mind."

"I made you stay for your own protection, Miredhel, and I will stand by that decision."

"Well, I won't be fettered to anybody's side, Legolas. Not my brother's—and not yours," she snapped, turning away from him.

"Don't forget to whom you speak," Legolas warned her. He did not appreciate the tone of her voice.

She turned toward him and brought her hand to her forehead, pushing the hair away with a pained expression spoiling her delicate features. "How can I, Legolas? How can I when it's the one reason why I left Rilmost in the first place? I can never forget just forget exactly who you are."

"I have never treated you like anything less than an equal, Miredhel," he bristled. "But I have seen more of this world than you. I do have more experience than you, and I don't think that it's wrong of me to want to protect you if I can!"

"See?" she retorted, "You say that, but then you go and point out all the ways that you think that you're better than me!"

"I am better!" he exploded, his face darkening crimson. "Is that what you want me to admit? I am better, Miredhel. I—am—better—than—you. There, I've said it! I am stronger. I'm a better warrior, hunter, and woodsman. I have more experience, skills, and rank, and pretty much more everything than you."

"I knew it," she said and narrowed her eyes. "Why did you even ask me to come with you from Mirkwood in the first place?"

"Believe me, I'm asking myself the exact same question, my lady," he returned angrily.

Her brave facade slipped for a moment, and the hurt in her eyes nearly made Legolas repent of his haughty words.

"You disappoint me, Miredhel. I trusted you. You had told me that you would come with me from Rilmost, and I believed you." His eyes met hers, stormy blue to dark hazel, and neither held the promise of any apologies.

"You say that you want to be as an equal to me? Then start by keeping your word and being where you're supposed to be," he said disgustedly and left her alone in the garden.

In the previous days when she was lost to him, he imagined that nothing could be worse than the panic that gnawed his gut; but now, after having quarreled with her and seeing the hurt in her eyes inflicted by his own harsh words, he knew that it was indeed possible to feel worse. As angry as he was, he could not stop loving her.

Fuming, Legolas stormed away from the garden. That was not what he had exactly planned on happening at their reunion. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself for losing his temper in such a way. Miredhel probably despised him. He did not blame her. He despised himself. So mired he was in his own ugly thoughts, Legolas did not even notice the approach of a tall, dark figure until the man spoke.

"It has been too long, mellonin," he said, with a twinkle to his steady grey eyes.

Legolas' eyes snapped up at the familiar voice and grinned despite himself. "Well met, Aragorn!"

The two embraced and then studied each other for a minute. "You look terrible," the king teased him.

"It is good to see you too, my friend," Legolas quipped.

"I wondered when you would return to my city," the king said carefully. One glance told him that his friend was obviously upset. "I must say, Legolas, that you do not have the look of an elf well-pleased."

Legolas sighed. Aragorn did not miss much. "Will you take me to see Farothin?" he asked quietly. "I need to know that he fares better."

"Of course," the man reassured him. "We shall walk there together. I know you must be concerned for him. I heard rumors of a distempered elf being rather abrupt with one of my valets." He eyed his friend questioningly. "Legolas, that's not like you. What has happened?"

The prince only shook his head. "Everything, Aragorn...everything..." He followed the king from the open courtyard down a series of stony streets toward the Houses of Healing. As they walked Legolas briefly recounted the elves' leaving Lothlorien and their encounter with the dragon, closing with:

"I tell you this much Aragorn- the short of it is that there is a host of orcs probably en route to the fort at Calenfen and maybe a dragon as well."

The king did not look astonished, as Legolas supposed he might, informing the prince that rangers had spotted the orcs' movement, though not the dragon.

"Only two weeks ago, I gave orders to send a thousand hands to Calenfen to fortify the walls and replenish the number of its guard," Aragorn said thankfully. "That in itself will be a great help, if the orcs are so foolish to attack."

"The best of walls and men will be to no avail if the dragon leads their ranks," Legolas warned him.

Aragorn stopped mid-stride and left his intended path to lean against one of the outer walls overlooking the rest of the city. He wore a simple vest of deep crimson over a dark wine-colored tunic, and his head was bare. When Legolas joined his side, the elf fondly observed that his friend could still look every bit of the old ranger from his former existence. The determined glint in his eyes was ever present, and his dark brown locks were still unruly in the afternoon wind. Aragorn gripped the smooth white edge of the stone wall before him, running his hands steadily along its weathered top.

"I own that the dragon is a most unwelcome development," Aragorn said grimly, slowly turning his head to catch Legolas' eye, with the understatement of that sentence almost causing the prince to smile again.

"I know," said Legolas. "Imagine how I must feel. I watched it fall from the sky, Aragorn. I saw Miredhel's arrow pierce its breast."

"Lady Miredhel shot the dragon?" exclaimed Aragorn. "Remarkable!"

"She is, isn't she?" said Legolas beaming, his argument with her in the garden quite forgotten. His enthusiasm did not go unnoticed by the king.

"Well, actually I was referring to the shooting of the dragon, Legolas, not the maiden...but each to his own, I suppose." Aragorn covered a sly grin and teased, "I see that you are on a first-name basis with her. I have to admit that I was surprised at your choice of delegation to the city. Sending two inexperienced she-elves? Adrendil's capable enough, but your sister and Eledhel's sister? I cannot believe that either you or he allowed it."

Legolas was not quite ready to divulge the fact that they had left without his permission. He would hear no end of it from Aragorn, who was sure to find it hilarious. There are, after all, some things elves do not tell mortals. Instead he covered for them.

"Lady Miredhel is quite capable," Legolas said stiffly, being extremely careful not to omit the Lady this time. "She is quite skilled with the bow. We had an open competition before we left Lothlorien, and she took third place, you know. And I did not find a single track of theirs on the way here, and THAT should please even you well enough, Aragorn."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Aragorn's mouth. "She's rather pretty too. But Lady Miredhel's not at all your type though, Legolas."

"And what would you know of 'my type,' Aragorn?" the elf replied rather huffily.

"Well, do not take this the wrong way, mellon, but—"the king adopted a grave expression, "It always seemed to me that Eledhel's sister was—well, grounded, sensitive, intelligent."

"And you don't think that I appreciate those sorts of qualities as much as you?"

"From what I've seen, you never have before," Aragorn pointed out. "That's all I'm saying, my friend. You always seemed to gravitate toward the more showy, social...ahem, mindless... females-like that one you had in Mirkwood last time I was there. What was her name...Lierwen?"

"Hmmph..." was the elf's elegant reply. He leaned into the wall in imitation of his friend beside him, and discomfort clouded his fair features. Aragorn's words, though unintentionally, had stung. His friend had been right, after all. Miredhel was a far cry from his former lovers. He pursed his lips as memories of their recent argument found surface in his mind. He had acted horridly. There were some things, as he thought of his angry words, that he doubted she could forgive him for saying.

Aragorn carefully observed his friend. Something he had said obviously bothered him. "Legolas? Forgive me, did I-?"

"—No, it is nothing, Aragorn," Legolas said quickly. He was not quite ready to disclose his relationship with Miredhel to his friend at the moment. For one thing, he was not entirely sure that he still even possessed a relationship with the elleth anymore.

Legolas inaudibly sighed and decided to redirect their conversation. "Aragorn, when Farothin returned to us, it confirmed my suspicion that the dragon still lived. It is my belief that the dragon allies himself with the large orc host or is even leading them, though it makes little sense."

"You think that such a beast could control legions of orcs?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"I do, Aragorn, and the more I think about the problem, the more certain I become. There is a strange power in his voice that gives him dominion over minds."

"Like Saruman, perhaps?" guessed Aragorn, looking for something in comparison.

"The wizard's power lay in his voice. The dragon's is in his eyes. To look at them is to feel death to one's self. The whole world slips away, Aragorn, and suddenly you are conscious only to the gaze of his eyes and his words inside your mind."

"Did Farothin tell you this?" asked Aragorn.

"No, I felt it for myself, on the banks of the Anduin on the way to Mirkwood. That was the first time I saw him, and I learned what I was up against—and I only had a knife with me at the time," he said with a short, bitter laugh.

"You are fortunate to have escaped with your life, Legolas," the king said, frowning his concern. He had seen the elf face incredible odds before and come out on top, but sometimes he really went too far.

Legolas read his friend's disapproval, but Aragorn was hardly one to scold him for taking unnecessary risks, especially when the king himself had practically mastered the art during his ranger days as Strider.

"Escaped with my life?" the elf scoffed. "Nonsense, he let me go," Legolas said, with a shake of his long blonde hair. "Anglachur was very..." the prince's brows furrowed as he searched for the right word "...very confident. He told me I was weak, that he desired a much more formidable opponent."

"A more formidable opponent?" echoed Aragorn. "Who do you think he meant?"

"How should I know, Aragorn?" Legolas asked perplexedly. "My father, perhaps? There is no loss of love between dragons and elves, you know."

"But if Anglachur sought your father's halls, then he would not have turned south for Gondor, if that's what he was indeed doing."

The elf paused for a moment and pulled his signet ring from his inside pocket to examine it. "He surely knew who I was, though, Aragorn," he said, his cool blue eyes catching the light and glinting in the sun like the ring in his hand. "Make no mistake about it. And it bothers me...that he knew who I was, what I looked like...

"He must have had spies watching the roads," suggested Aragorn, fully noting the oddity of the prince keeping his father's ring in his pocket. He must have newly acquired it, for the prince had no such ring during the War. Such a piece of jewelry was obviously a family heirloom, so why would Legolas not proudly display it?

Legolas hesitantly put the ring on his finger, only to remove it minutes later and return it to his pocket. He caught Aragorn's inquisitive gaze, and stared blankly ahead at the open fields of Gondor, and in the distance, the Anduin.

Legolas did not wish to speak of his father or what had happened back in Mirkwood at the midnight council meeting where he had renounced his title. He knew eventually that his friend would drag the truth from him. The man had an uncanny way of ferreting out the truth, and when he failed, he would not hesitate to involve his wife in the process.

Legolas crossed his arms, pausing briefly to rub the sore spot on his shoulder where he had been stabbed by the orc. "Aragorn, let us be practical. Yes, I am Thranduil's younger son, but I have no real power to speak of. If Anglachur wished to know of my father's caves, any wood elf could have led him there. I am no one!

"Maybe so, when you put it that way, Legolas. But you will always be one of the Fellowship, and you'll always be one of my closest friends."

The two friends' eyes met, and they both smiled thankfully at each other. The man's words, though simple, spoke volumes to the very inner core of Legolas' trodden spirit. If anything, the elf was fiercely loyal to his friends, and there were few dearer than the man at his side. Gondor was in trouble; there was no doubt about that. Any kingdom, even the most mighty, should rightfully tremble in the shadow of a dragon. The elf had heard too many horror stories of what one dragon could do, the destruction one beast could deliver. The king knew this as well as he, and Legolas could not guess what was in Aragorn's heart at the moment—fear for his people perhaps, indecision, the overwhelming weight of responsibility, or even anger. But even so, this magnificent king of men had willingly pushed his own troubles aside to comfort him. The elf would not now abandon his friend in his time of need, nor would he till the end of his days.

"I will help you win this fight, Aragorn," Legolas said. "I pledge myself and my people to your cause, but I fear your soldiers at Calenfen will not be enough, not even with my own warriors there to supplement their numbers."

Aragorn nodded. "Then I will call up my reserves among Minas Tirith, and we will lead the way to Calenfen together. We shall be two hunters again, mellonin."

"That we shall, Aragorn," agreed Legolas heartily, "and it is a tremendous shame that Gimli is away at the Glittering Caves, for I know that he and his kin have no special love for dragons these days."

Aragorn's lips curled into a reluctant smile. He pushed himself away from the wall, and beckoning to his friend, continued their walk to the House of Healing.

Legolas entered the Houses of Healing with more than a little hesitation. He honestly did not relish the thought of going there at all. Wounds in battle made sense to him, for he had seen such injuries many times before in his long years. Illness, however, was foreign to the prince, and the sight of the weary and fevered pained him. They were met at the door by a shrewd old midwife who casually looked the elf up and down and then ushered him and the king to Farothin's side.

"Farothin," he called, his voice barely audible, and his spoken words were more to himself than to his friend. "I am here, mellon. I am here."

The swelling around Farothin's face and eyes had lessened, although a briar patch of cuts still darkly laced his pale skin. The soft linen bed clothing concealed the real damage, and the prince carefully took the young elf's hand in his own.

"Has he woken up at all?" he asked hopefully, his eyes running the length of the bed, fully measuring Farothin's pallid state, the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the way his eyes were still firmly squeezed shut.

Aragorn wished he had better news to give his friend, that he could give him some hope. "No, not really," he told Legolas. "When we first moved him from outside the gates to the healers, his lashes fluttered, and he groaned a little, but..."

"I understand," the elf said slowly, but disappointment bound his voice.

"His body heals, Legolas," Aragorn reassured him. "Farothin is strong. He may yet survive this."

"He should never have had to endure it in the first place," Legolas said bitterly.

"Do not blame yourself for this, Legolas," the man answered sternly, looking his friend in the eye.

The elf noncommittally shrugged. No elf enjoys being upbraided by a man, even if the two are best of friends. "I think I will stay with him for a while, if you do not mind, Aragorn."

"I think it will do the both of you some good! But if we are to leave soon, and I would prefer by dawn tomorrow, then I shall have to go and make arrangements with my officers," Aragorn said. "I know I said that we would visit Farothin together—"

"—and you have done just that, Aragorn. I know you are needed else where," Legolas excused him. "I will look for you at dinner then."

The two friends said farewell and parted, each facing equally arduous tasks, each feeling a little sorry for what the other had to endure.

Legolas found a chair and pulled it bedside. It was one of the first times he had actually been still for days. Now in repose, many of those nagging thoughts that he had pushed away with persistent activity and fellowship resurfaced—unpleasant things, memories best left in the dungeons of his mind—his father's reproachful eyes; the dragon's slick, perfect scales; the frightening reality of Miredhel in her blood-soaked dress; the sickeningly sweet smell of blood and battle; the feel of a cold blade plunging into his flesh; Farothin's ruined body; and the sea... the crashing waves and crying gulls promising him a life free from this sorrow on distant white shores. All of these images circled in his mind as Legolas wordlessly stared at his sleeping friend, and he stayed there at Farothin's side until the shadows in the room deepened with the setting of the sun.

At times, he spoke softy to his sleeping friend, telling him stories of places the young elf had only dreamed of visiting, like Fangorn or Imladris. Farothin had always wanted to visit Imladris and had asked the prince questions about it on more than one occasion. He had also pestered Legolas with many questions about the White City of men.

"And now here you are, mellon, and I wonder if you even know it! It is worth waking up for," Legolas teasingly whispered and bit his lip in consternation. Sighing, he squeezed and then released the elf's hand, and gently placing it atop the coverlet on the bed.

And these were supposed to be the 'days of peace!' With a dragon on the loose, hordes of orcs sweeping the countryside, a dear friend bruised and battered, his love life in the shambles, and the prospect of riding toward more death and battle in the morning, Legolas knew no peace. For an elf who used to pride himself on his orderly ways, Legolas' life had quickly descended into a series of chaotic madness over the past couple of weeks. He leaned back into his chair pushed his palms up across his face, driving his fingers into his hair.

At one point, he heard a light rap on the door frame, but Legolas did not gratify the visitor by stirring from his current miserable position, supposing that it was the midwife checking up on him. Let her stare.

It was not the midwife. Instead, Adrendil tapped the prince on the shoulder.

"You do not look well, your lordship," said the Captain courteously. "Join me outside for a spell of fresh air."

The idea had merit, and Legolas had been waiting for an opportunity to discuss Adrendil's journey with him, especially concerning the details of his sister and Miredhel's accompaniment. He pried himself from the chair and Farothin's side, and together the captain and the prince quitted the infirmary.

As they strolled along the terrace outside the House of Healing, Adrendil spoke quite plainly about the journey, pausing every so often to compliment Princess Celeril or Lady Miredhel for their assistance or contributions along the way.

"When did they join you, Adrendil?" Legolas asked.

"On the Anduin, well past midday."

Legolas pensively nodded; he did not know whether to blame the Captain or to feel grateful toward him. The former felt like a more comfortable idea.

"Adrendil," he said, "tell me something. When I left Miredhel's side that day, she was committed to going to Calenfen with me. Somehow in less than half an hour, she completely reversed her decision and left without warning to follow you and Farothin down the river. Did she tell you why she left?"

The Captain did not answer immediately. He folded his arms behind his back and looked a little smug, commenting on the fine weather as if the prince's question mattered little to him.

Legolas stopped him mid-sentence with a commanding look of pure insistence. "Tell me what she said."

"Though she feels mild affection for you, she believes you to be 'over-bearing, haughty, and self-important,' my lord. She could see no favorable outcome of having a relationship with you," he said bluntly. "Those were her words."

Legolas nodded, his face a vacant mask against what he felt inside. The last part hurt the most. No favorable outcome? She simply did not want to be with him. Utter defeat and sorrow rolled over him. He had lost his chance with her before their courtship had really even begun, but the elf swiftly pushed those thoughts away. Long ago he had vowed to win her heart, and he was not about to relinquish his pursuit so easily.

Almost as if Adrendil had read his thoughts or perhaps he noticed the determined gleam in the prince's eyes, he said, "I asked Lady Miredhel if I might escort her to dinner tonight." He averted his eyes toward a black and silver pennant curling in the wind. "You do not mind, do you?"

"Would it make a difference if I did?" Legolas demanded, and his fingers involuntarily tightened into a fist.

The captain pushed his sandy hair over his shoulder as he deliberated on Legolas' question. "No, I suppose it would not, unless you share some special understanding with her."

Legolas swallowed and his eyes darkened. "No, I do not."

The corners of Adrendil's mouth twitched. "You are not lovers then?"

Legolas could not lie. "No," he answered stonily, and his eyes bore into Adrendil, daring him to make some gesture, the tiniest of movements or facial expression, that would indicate the captain's willingness to fulfill that post in Miredhel's life. He suppressed an overwhelming urge to heave the captain over the wall to the lower rings of the city below.

Adrendil, however, was not entirely a fool and knew better than to show his true emotions to the prince. He certainly was not about to look overly ecstatic about Legolas' admission. The House of Oropher was famous for volatile tempers among its sons.

Legolas dismissed Adrendil from his side with a careless wave of his hand. He would not see the Captain or Miredhel again until that evening when Aragorn hosted dinner. He wound his way back toward the House of Healing and gained admittance with the same midwife who had appraised him earlier when he had come with Aragorn. She ushered him into Farothin's room on the western side of the building, and there in the last golden pools of daylight by the sick elf's side, sat Celeril.

She clasped his hand in her own, very much like Legolas had done not long ago. Her cheeks were wet and glistened in the dying light. She looked up at her brother, and it pained Legolas to see fear in the depths of her eyes.

"Celeril," he exclaimed and was instantaneously hushed by the midwife passing by the door. "Celeril," he said and softened his voice, "you don't know how much I needed to see you right now."

"Is that in a good way, Legolas?" she asked hopefully and then crinkled her nose, "or in a bad way?"

"In the best sense, my sister," Legolas said and stooped down to hug her. "I missed you, and I'm glad you're safe."

"You're not angry?" Celeril said cautiously and focused her attention on smoothing out the gathers in her skirt while she waited for his answer.

"I was," he admitted and pulled another chair to the bed to sit down. "I was furious."

Celeril looked up, and her judgment on the matter was written clearly in her disappointed eyes. "Did you take it out on Miredhel?" she asked without hesitation.

Legolas leaned his head back in his chair. "So I see you've spoken with her then," he said. "We met earlier this afternoon, but of course, you probably already knew that. Did she tell you what happened?"

"Well, no," Celeril confessed, "but she was very upset and did not want to talk about it. What did you do to her?"

"I was angry. We argued," Legolas said reluctantly.

Please tell me that you did not try and pull rank to prove your point, Legolas," Celeril said and flashed a bothered look at him.

He shrugged, albeit rather sheepishly.

"Legolas, you didn't! I hate it when you do that, and it's not going to endear you to Miredhel who's not too comfortable your title anyway."

"I did, Celeril. What can I say? Your brother is hideous." He crossed his arms and stared at her stonily.

Celeril rose from the chair and crossed the small space between them, where she lowered herself down to sit at her brother's feet, the way she did when she was still an elfling and he would read her stories or comfort her she was scared. She propped her elbow atop his leg and looked up at him.

"You're not hideous, Legolas," she said and then playfully added, "disgusting maybe, but not hideous."

He smirked at her and decided to change the subject. "Have you come to see Farothin many times?"

Celeril shifted to look at the elf lying in the bed beside her. "A few times, yes."

"You barely know him," her brother pointed out. "What made you want to help Captain Adrendil take him to Minas Tirith?"

"I wanted to go with Miredhel," she corrected him.

"Ahh, back to Miredhel," Legolas sighed uncomfortably. Why could he not simply get back to the part where he was supposed to scold his sister for leaving?

"I admire her," Celeril defiantly informed Legolas.

"Great, so do I," he said sardonically.

His sister rolled her eyes. "I am being serious, Legolas!"

"So was I!"

"She stands up for her self." Celeril pointed out.

"I, of all elves, would definitely know about that by now," he proclaimed exasperatedly.

Celeril straightened up and looked her brother in the eye. "Do you love her, Legolas?"

The room hushed as Celeril stared up at her brother, and the last beams of daylight faded into shadow. Only Farothin's wispy breathing permeated the silence.

"Yes," he said at last, dropping his eyes for a moment. "Yes, I love her."

"Oh, Legolas," Celeril said, and gladness shone in her eyes and voice. She flung her arms around his neck in an excited hug, and then decorously sat back down beside him. "Does she know that you feel this way?" she asked, growing serious once more.

"Not in so many ways, but..." Legolas hedged.

"She deserves your honesty," she advised him. "You should tell her—the sooner, the better—tonight!"

Her brother shook his head noncommittally.

"Why not? If I were in her place, I would want to know," she persuaded him, glancing at the sickbed beside her.

"Someone told me that 'she could see no favorable outcome of having a relationship with me;'" he said stiffly, "and that's hardly an incentive for heart-wrenching honesty."

Celeril shook her head disappointedly. "You should tell her," she said simply.

Legolas stood and pulled his sister to her feet. "I'm going to go and prepare for dinner. I'll walk you back to your room if you like," he offered.

"No, I think I will stay for a little while longer," she answered and then put her arm around his shoulder as they walked toward the door. "Think about what I said, my brother."

"I will," he assured her and squeezed her hand. "I will."

He stepped outside and a gust of wind sailed into him, catching his hair and blowing it into his eyes. He absently brushed it away, remembering how he had done that very thing earlier in the day when he had first seen Miredhel. At the time he feared that she would disappear before he had a second chance to look at her. It had been silly, but he had not wanted to let her out of his sight. Acute longing washed over the prince as he pictured her there in his mind, her hazel eyes and the light freckles on her nose, the soft kissable dent above her lip, and he realized he still wanted to be with her, now more than ever.

Legolas determinedly made his way back to his room to prepare for the dinner to come. Unfortunately, Adrendil would be escorting Miredhel. The prince pursed his lips at the thought of that smug Captain taking her to dinner. He increased his pace down the city street. He would clean up (it certainly would not hurt to look his best) and then spend the rest of his time thinking of what he should say to her. Tonight, everything that had come to pass in their relationship would hang in the balance. He would either succeed or fail. And no matter what happened, he would leave with Aragorn in the morning on a fool's errand to fight a battle that they probably could not win.

What had ever happened to those 'days of peace' Gandalf described? Again, Legolas thought of the wizard's words and frowned. Sure, his days following the war had been different, but were they really better?

With that uncomfortable thought, the prince stuffed his hands into his pockets, and his fingers collided with something papery and fragile. He pulled it out and smiled to himself. It was one of the purple flowers he had given Miredhel back in Mirkwood, Prince's love. Different and better? Perhaps the old wizard had been right after all.


Chapter 39 - And She Said Yes

Building Ithilien

Chapter 37: And She Said Yes

Dinners of state in Minas Tirith were usually held in a large room suitable for numerous tables with a wide floor made for evening entertainments or dancing. On this night however, the Queen had foregone the larger hall for a smaller, more intimate setting. When the elves joined the room, a hush ran over the table among the few noble folk who regularly dined with the queen and king. Celeril and Miredhel were in lovely form, and Legolas and Adrendil, with their intense eyes, height, and broad shoulders, cut imposing figures among even the most hearty of men in the room. The captain pulled Miredhel's seat out for her, as was custom for an escort to do. She quietly took her place toward the center of the table, but her eyes lingered on the prince across the way, on her far left. He had obviously taken more care than usual with his appearance this night. His hair was sleek, his cheeks rosy, as though he had scrubbed his face not too long ago, and his tunic fit perfectly upon him. He was immaculate. When he turned his eyes toward her, she quickly looked away. She did not blush as one might usually do when caught staring, but merely looked down at the elaborate place setting before her. Miredhel dared not look up, for she still felt the mighty thrust of his gaze upon her. There was no way of knowing whether he looked upon her with pity or perhaps distrust, or even anger, and for perhaps the thousandth time that day, Miredhel regretted their argument in the garden that afternoon. Although his words at the time had merely served to anger her, she had relived every syllable since, many times over, and now she simply felt horrible. And convicted too. She had lost his trust, and rightfully so, for her actions had done little to recommend it.

She did not look up again until she heard the lifting of glasses in a toast.

"Friends and subjects," called Aragorn standing before his chair at the end of the table, "we face the beginning of a great deed tomorrow. Our brave men, guards and soldiers of Gondor and the White City, will leave at first morning's light. We go to defend our people and freedom from the wrath of our enemies." The king eyed the elf beside him.

"Prince Legolas has pledged his aid and warriors to join us in this cause as well."

Miredhel sucked in her breath.

Aragorn solemnly continued, "Let us rejoice in our friends who lend us strength in this dark hour." The king lifted his cup in the air. "To brotherhood! And to Victory!"

"Brotherhood! Victory!" the room thunderously echoed.

Yet one lonely maiden hardly heard them. Miredhel only thought of Legolas and the fact that he would leave in the morning. She assumed that the war party Aragorn spoke of would head for Calenfen. She would not ask Legolas if she might go with him. From their conversation earlier, Miredhel felt that she could safely predict what his answer to that question might be. And even though she had longed to go as one of the soldiers into battle, Miredhel's thoughts now dwelled on Legolas alone. He would leave in the morning, their bitter fight unresolved, oblivious to the knowledge of her true sentiments.

For the rest of the meal, she stoically choked down the helpings of food before her, nodding complacently to Adrendil's witty, or so he thought, conversation. Now and then her eyes flitted to the prince at the end of the table, and with every stolen glance, Miredhel felt like her heart might twist into some permanently unrecognizable, painful shape. Grief too now lurked in the dark corners of her mind, greedily anticipating the pain that would follow losing Legolas. Miredhel morbidly supposed that she would not be so fortunate as to stave off fading this time around, but with this said, she neither regretted meeting Legolas, nor loving him. Little would she change if given a second chance to be with him. When he dared her to compete in the archery tournament, she still would have chosen to make the bet against him winning and gladly accept kissing him as his award. She still would have loyally followed him to his father's wood. She would have ridden to his side at the bridge at the Anduin to help him against the dragon. She would have let him decorate her hair with his flowers at that bonfire and kissed him in his tent. None of these events, and few in between, would she have changed for any price.

Celeril's light banter from across the table did little to lift her spirits, and when Miredhel had at last finished her dinner, she begged the queen's pardon to leave, stealing one last look toward Legolas as she fled the room.

Most of the guests hardly noticed her withdrawal or absence from the table. For one who typically enjoyed spirited conversation, Miredhel had been unusually quiet that evening; yet the people in the room that night were by in large strangers to her, so no one paid much attention to her reticence, save those who knew her best. Even though he had been on the other side and end of the table from her, Prince Legolas had perceived with fierce acumen her every move, how much food she had left on her plate, the way she wearily rubbed her temples, and her monosyllabic answers to Adrendil's questions. She had excused herself from the table long ago, and as the dinner conversation wound down, Legolas slipped away quietly as well. His friends and companions exchanged smiles, but the prince hardly noted them. Instead, he thought only of Miredhel and where he might find her.

There was so much he wanted to say, needed to tell her. Legolas could not know what the morning would bring. Images of the dragon still haunted him. He planned on leaving with the soldiers and Aragorn tomorrow for Calenfen. There was no way of knowing what they would find there: orcs, battle, perhaps even the dragon; and certainly Legolas had faced danger before, many times over. Yet he had also never been so completely in love before, and now the fear of losing her made him pause. He did not want to leave. Deep inside, the prince knew that when dawn came and the silver trumpets called for the gates to open, he would still ride away, just like the scoreless other times he rode into danger. The only difference was that this time he had never before felt so hesitant at the onset of battle and with it, the possibility of a warrior's death.

The prince wanted this night with her. To hold her close and kiss her skin and lips, just to be near her. His impending departure made everything more ephemeral, more dear. Only tonight, this night, could he have the luxury of knowing that she was within reach, that they could be together. Legolas cursed himself for his arrogance and for wasting so much time.

Only that afternoon, he had ended up quarreling with Miredhel, when he should have simply loved her, telling her of his heart's desire. He no longer cared anymore that she had broken his commands or made him look foolish. No matter what had occurred or ever would happen, she would still be Miredhel. There was no one like her! All he wanted to do was to find her and make things right between them. He loved her, yet he had never even confessed his deepest feelings. He would tell her tonight.

Legolas stepped into the cool, moonlit streets. The evening breeze whispered against the white stone walls, and the prince smiled to himself in the night air. He knew where she would be.

When he reached the Queen's garden, Legolas saw Miredhel sitting softly in the starlight.

"I promised Aragorn that I would bring trees and birds and flowers to his gardens," the prince said quietly as he entered. "But you would surpass them all in beauty this night, Miredhel."

She stirred from her resting place and rose to meet him. "Prince Legolas, I did not know if I would see you again before you left." She kept her voice reserved, not knowing what his intentions were or why he had come.

He frowned briefly at her formality and then answered, "It's a soft night that begs for companionship, my lady."

In the pale moonlight, he thought that she might have blushed at his words for a moment. She tugged on one of her curls and dryly replied, "You said that the first night we met, Legolas. I thought the line in poor taste for a segue to courtship."

A ghost of a smile adorned his lips. "And how do you feel about it now?"

"I believe that my better acquaintance with the speaker has endeared most of his lines to me," Miredhel said, her eyes kindling a new spark.

Legolas glanced about at his surroundings and then his eyes contentedly settled on Miredhel before him. "It seems that we keep meetings in gardens. That first night we met, I hardly knew what I spoke of, or what I wanted," he confessed, joining her side, "but I do now, Miredhel."

"Legolas…" she began tiredly.

"No, please let me speak first," he interjected. "I behaved abominably this afternoon, and I am ashamed of what my words were to you, Miredhel. I'm not perfect, nay-far from it!"

"I never asked you to be perfect, Legolas," she told him gently.

"No, but I asked it of myself, Miredhel, and made you suffer through my arrogance and pretension in trying to be so." His eyes peered earnestly into hers.

"I am sorry," he said.

Her face softened at those three simple words; a sentence that after this afternoon, she was not sure she would ever hear from him. The effect was amazing. The weariness she had felt during dinner burned away like fog before the morning sun. For much of the day, she despaired that her own folly had damaged their friendship beyond repair and that she had lost him.

The realization had been more than she could bear. When Miredhel had heard Aragorn's toast at dinner to their leaving, her only thought was that Legolas too must go. With this insight, the room seemed to shrink around her; she felt much too hot, the overwhelming food smells became disgusting, and the conversation shriveled to a mere buzzing around her.

She had to get away. As she excused herself, Miredhel stole one last glance at him. What if that was the last time she ever saw him? Could she forgive herself? She had run toward the Queen's garden, hoping that all the green and growing might offer comfort, but instead the garden only brought memories—of him. It was then that she realized just how much she loved him, just how much he meant to her. She had been such a fool.

"I am sorry too, Legolas," she said simply and reached for his hand. "I goaded you into saying things you did not want to say." She breathed in deeply before continuing, "And although you speak of arrogance and pretension, I feel like I have acted doubly so. You were right in what you said. I should have stayed with you in Rilmost. I blamed you for your pride, when all along I was blind to my own."

His smile was sorrowful as he lifted his long, slim fingers to brush her hair away from the side of her face and then rested his hand at the back of her neck.

The prince pulled a faded purple bloom from his inside pocket and placed it in her fingertips. Legolas had given her those flowers to wear in her hair the night of the bonfire dance in Mirkwood, and he had saved one of the blossoms as a remembrance.

Miredhel arched an eyebrow, to which he answered, "Prince's love," he said wryly, quoting the flower's name. "But no prince am I tonight. Nor am I a Lord of Ithilien. I would just be Legolas if it meant making you happy… Tonight we are merely two elves together in this garden." He glanced up toward the silver slice of moon and deepening stars, and she mirrored his action, twining her fingers through his.

Miredhel answered with a sad sort of smile of her own and placed her hand reassuringly on his shoulder.

"Legolas, I do not want you to change who you are for me," she whispered in the darkness between them.

"But I do," he replied quickly. "I've done many foolish things in my time, but at least one of them I can remedy—" he smiled again, and this time it was very much a real smile, one that made him look every inch of his youth.

"—that I should have done this from the very first moment I saw you," he finished and pulled her into him, kissing her deeply, relishing the very sweetness of her lips, the feel of her mouth against his, until heat and hunger threatened to consume him.

His hands caught in the fabric of her gown behind her back, and he squeezed the cloth tightly between his fingers, while his willpower merely to hold her failed him by the second. He pulled her body even closer to his until he could feel her ribs against his abdomen, until her every gorgeous curve pressed against him.

He had dreamt of having such a night scoreless times throughout his long years when he would finally know love and confess his heart to a nameless beauty, and Miredhel was so much more than that—she was a friend, an ally, a confidante. To deepen the promise of their relationship—Legolas trembled against her at the thought, but he longed for that intimacy.

Certainly this was that moment he had dreamed of, and Miredhel? She surpassed his ideal on every possible level. She was not perfect—nay, far from it, but oh, how he loved her!

He pulled away from their embrace, from their kiss. His hands, the very ones that had held bow and arrow steadfast in the face of battle, now shook slightly as he tenderly grazed his fingers across her cheek.

"Miredhel, I love you," he said breathlessly, "so deeply. I-"

Legolas started to say more, but her eyes, wide and questioning, fixed upon his, and the words would not come. His heart hammered in his chest, and his head felt numb. He forgot how to speak entirely. All the smooth, romantic verses and lines he had stockpiled over centuries vanished to naught. The beautiful declaration he had agonized over for all afternoon disintegrated into an incoherent jumble.

So instead, the prince of Eryn Lasgalen stood there and dumbly watched as Miredhel turned away from him to stare over the side of the stone wall at the fading city lights and distant purple mountains. Her shoulders softly shook, and despite Legolas' dumbfounded state, he realized that she was crying. Though it was certainly not his intent, he had made her cry. His fear of her grief washed over him anew, grief that might still hold her heart prisoner. The prince touched her hand and then her face; both were still warm, and he spoke:

"Miredhel, my feelings will not change. I love you, and even if…" his heart clenched at the words to come, "and even if your grief will not let you love me, I would wait for you." He caught a tear on her cheek and brushed it away, although by now, he felt very much like crying himself.

"Please do not cry," he entreated her. "You will make yourself ill."

She lifted her head, and her eyes were dark and bright all at once. He loved her. She could scarcely breathe, much less talk; yet at the same time she was not surprised at all. His kindness, his concern, his protectiveness, his touch alone—his every action had shouted his regard for her. How could she not have seen it before? As his words ricocheted through her mind, she suddenly felt very small. Here was this wonderful elf, this prince whom she completely and utterly adored, and he loved her. Miredhel had never, never in all her years, ever dreamed that she would one day experience such a mix of emotions—bewilderment, gratefulness, fear, joy.

She drew a shaky breath, and then took another, deeper one. His eyes, full of concern, met hers again, and tears leapt to the corners of her eyes once more.

"Legolas," Miredhel murmured his name, touching his cheek. "Sometimes it seems so long ago, and at other times, like only yesterday, since we first met," she said softly. "I've spent a lifetime of nights dreaming of adventures and romance. Now here I am in both," she whispered and looked at him frankly, "and I hardly know what to do or say…"

"Then say 'yes,'" Legolas urged her, folding her hand in his, pulling her close to him again.

"Say 'yes' to me," he said slowly, his eyes earnest. "Stay with me this night, Miredhel. Stay by my side."

She did not answer. His eyes, now a darker shade of midnight, searched hers as he laced his fingers through her own again, and mesmerized, she did not look away. He leaned in closer until he could feel her breath dancing against his nose and cheeks.

"I do not want to be without you," he whispered and pressed his forehead against hers. "Say 'yes,' Miredhel."

Only this time he did not wait for her to respond but leaned in with a kiss, and the prince knew before he even moved away, by the look in her eyes and the touch of her lips, that he had his answer.

Their bodies collided in a fierce embrace, and he murmured his words of love to her once more… and then again. This time he remembered his poetic declaration, and he spoke it as well. Neither elf had ever felt such an encompassing heat as the one now knitting them together. So strong were both of the lovers' joy that the queen's flowers lifted their nodding heads and opened their blooms, supposing that the unexpected warmth in the garden must be the morning sun.

Miredhel and Legolas sank onto the low stone bench, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck, and both the night and the garden were forgotten as they learned anew of each other. Perhaps the king quitted the dinner after Legolas left and looking for the elf, found them there. Legolas would never have known, for his chin rested on his sweetheart's shoulder with his eyes blissfully closed, and his fair face radiated pure contentment as he held her tightly in his arms against him. There they stayed, and the night grew colder around them, the sounds of the city hushed, but still they stayed, locked in an embrace that they should have learned of long ago.

"Legolas, it is getting late," Miredhel whispered much, much later.

He lifted his head, so his eyes were even with hers, and softly kissed the dent above her lips. "You want to leave the garden?" he asked, unable to hide the surprise and disappointment in his voice.

She nodded, her face pale and crossed by shadows from overhanging branches.

"Oh," Legolas answered glumly. "I can take you back to your room. It is late. I understand…" he added and confessed, "but it is going to be difficult for me to let you go."

"Then don't let me go," Miredhel told him gently, placing a lingering kiss against the smooth skin below his ear. "Take me with you."

Understanding flickered across his face, and then the prince took a deep breath, kissed her again, and with radiant eyes pulled her away from the courtyard, down the dimly lit streets of the city and back toward the guest quarters in the king's residence, through candlelit halls and up winding stairs. The streets and halls were quite empty, for most of the residents had withdrawn to their homes; and Legolas could not help but draw Miredhel into several darkened alcoves or quiet corners along the way to embrace her once more and string kisses along her neck. At times, they raced together up the stairs or down a deserted hallway, until they heard someone coming. Then the two lovers would strike dignified expressions and proceed solemnly along, waiting until they were alone again, and then more kisses, more whispering of love and desire, and more embracing would follow.

Then at last they stood outside a door that Miredhel knew to be Legolas' room. He paused and studied her beside him for a minute. Her cheeks were flushed, the brilliant color continuing all the way up to the tips of her ears, and her hair was a mess. She had not really spoken much since he had confessed his love to her which was unusual for her, though her eyes and kisses had spoken much more to his heart.

She noticed the curious way he seemed to be appraising her and nudged him, bumping her shoulder into his. "What?" she asked with a self-conscious laugh.

He looked past her, down the hall, and then met her gaze again, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his cheeks dimpled and a smile crept over his face. He shook his head at her.

"You are lovely," he simply answered, and the prince pulled her hand up to his lips, and then opened the door and led her inside. His room was dark, for no candles had been lit. The large window had been left open, and the moon and stars winked above distant hills, bathing the whole room in gossamer shades of blue.

"If you want, I can light some candles or make you a fire." Legolas started to reach for a candlestick near the door, but Miredhel stayed his hand.

"Leave it for now, my prince," she murmured against him, bringing the same hand around her waist before shyly adding, "All I want is you."

"And that, my lady, is a wish I can fulfill," Legolas confirmed, sweeping her up into his arms, and from the way his heart pounded at her request he feared he might not survive the night. In less than five of those heartbeats, however, she was on his bed, breathless against the pillows with her lover doing everything in his power to keep her that way.

The prince looked down at her where Miredhel lay while she tucked a strand of his long hair behind his perfect ear. Beads of moisture dotted her forehead, and he gently brushed them away before taking her hand in his free one and resting it above her head.

"Legolas?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled in between kisses down her neck.

"Yes," Miredhel whispered to him, and that was all Legolas needed to hear.

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In the small hours of the morning, Legolas traced the curve of her cheek down to her chin, brushing the few stray hairs away from her eyes. By the Valar, she was beautiful… and she was his. The prince exhaustedly propped himself up so his eyes could better roam her sleeping figure.

Never before had he felt so incredibly spent as he did now. His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he recalled their love-making: the need, the sweetness, the heat. Given his long years, he had thought himself well-versed in the giving and receiving of pleasure, but after tonight, he knew exactly how wrong he had been. He had known nothing of pleasure, or of being alive at all, for that matter. Legolas leaned over to trail kisses across her exposed shoulder and then sank back into the pillows with a satisfied sigh.

The thought of leaving in the morning gnawed at the back of his mind. What he really needed to be doing was checking his weapons and getting his gear together, but he loathed the idea of being separated from her, even if only for a few minutes. Reluctantly, Legolas forced himself to leave his warm spot next to Miredhel in the bed and pulled on some light leggings before sitting at a small table near the bed. He emptied his quiver onto the table and stacked the arrows next to a fresh pile that Aragorn had sent over. He would check each one for flaws before returning them to his quiver. He heard the blankets stir on the bed, and he looked up from his weaponry to see Miredhel rise and slip on his discarded tunic from earlier. She came to stand behind him and slipped her arms loosely around his shoulders and chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, with a yawn punctuating her words.

He looked up from his weaponry, answering her question with a fabulous smile. "Sorting my arrows, checking them," he said.

"I recognize these," she remarked, pointing to a brown shafted arrow with grey fletching. These are from Lothlorien, and these green and gold ones must be from your home."

Her fingertips loosely glided over the arrows, stopping at a brilliant silver-tipped one, with light carvings on the arrow head and runes gracing the side.

These are different," she observed aloud, running her hand along the delicately carved silver shaft.

"Lady Galadriel gave me those," he reminded her, "after I won the archery tournament. Don't you remember?"

"I never saw them up close, Legolas. If you recall, I was in the process of hating you at the time," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

His lips curled into a smile, and he pulled her into his lap. "I hope you feel differently now."

"Much," she replied as his arm snaked around her waist.

He placed a delicate kiss on her lips and then looked at the arrow in her hand. "There are twenty of them. All perfectly fletched, tipped with mithril. The Lady said they were enchanted long ago during the days of Gondolin."

"No, Legolas, there are just nineteen," she said, separating them from the rest of the pile. "See?"

"Nineteen?" He frowned and sorted through the other arrows. "That cannot be right. I never used any."

"Perhaps, you let someone borrow some of your arrows," Miredhel suggested.

"That could be, except I never let anyone use my arrows, and I certainly would not have let them take one of those." Legolas' eyebrows furrowed as he thought of how this could have happened. It was this sort of incident, like misplacing something, that could drive him to utter madness.

Miredhel leaned against him as he finished inspecting his weapons, rolling one of Galadriel's arrows between her fingertips, admiring the beauty of its form. Everything about the arrow was so light, but the metal felt warm to the touch. As she ran her fingertips along the runes, she knew she had done that very same action once before. Something about that arrow felt familiar, comfortable in her hands…and it was then that she remembered—the bridge, the dragon. The prince had given her some of his arrows…

"Legolas," she said suddenly, straightening up. "I used the other arrow. I am sure of it. On the Great Bridge of the Anduin, I shot the dragon with it."

Upon hearing her words, his hands froze upon the table where he had been cleaning his knives. "Miredhel, are you certain of this?" he asked, his voice low.

She tensely nodded her head. "I am, Legolas, but I did not know it was one of your special arrows. You're not upset, are you?"

"Upset?" he asked incredulously. "No, Miredhel, this is wonderful news." He wrapped his arms around her and ecstatically kissed her temple. "Lady Galadriel-she knew somehow—and that's why she gave me those arrows!" He lifted Miredhel from his lap and began searching around the table and bedside for the shirt he had worn earlier.

"Legolas, what are you looking for?"

"My tunic," he answered, looking under the bed. "Where did you put it? I was a little, shall we say, distracted when you took it off earlier."

She grinned at him and bit her lip. "Would you be referring to this tunic, Legolas?" she asked, pointing to the fabric of her shirt. "I am sorry, but you cannot have it back."

"Miredhel, I must go see Aragorn at once and tell him this news about the arrows! This changes our whole battle plan," Legolas said excitedly, picking up his boots and putting them on as he sat on the bed.

His lover sank to her knees before his feet, pulled off his boot and threw it across the room. "Oh, no," she said, taking the other boot from his hands to send it flying, "You're not going anywhere tonight."

"I'm not?" he asked, mildly surprised. "But you can come with me!"

"Not if I can help it," she countered and joined him on the bed, pulling him back against the blankets strewn across the top. She propped herself up on her forearm and with her free hand gently traced her fingers along his strong jaw line down his neck to his perfect chest. He was so beautiful, and he loved her. Just feeling his warm skin beneath her fingertips reminded her of the way he had held her earlier in the night, the way he had fully owned every inch of her in bed. She had never had a lover claim her body so completely, so demandingly as the elf at her side.

Legolas watched her draw lazy circles on his chest, thinking he really did need to go and tell Aragorn about those arrows, but then a curious thing happened. Miredhel's hand stilled, and a dreamy smile flitted across her face followed by an amazing of color which fanned all the way from her cheeks to her ears.

He propped himself up on his arm and brushed his thumb along her pinkened cheeks. "What are you thinking about, melamin?" he asked softly.

"Legolas," she said. "I love you."

Their eyes met over her words. Arrows completely forgotten, the prince pulled her into his arms. Besides, he could always tell Aragorn in the morning.

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Chapter 40 - To Battle

Building Ithilien

Chapter 38: To Battle

The sun had not yet risen, but the stars dimmed in the skies, and a pale line edged the eastern hills. The king of Gondor moved quietly down the empty corridors with a single purpose in mind- to roll his friend from Mirkwood out of bed while he still slept. It was a long-standing joke between the two old friends to try and wake the other as abruptly as possible. Aragorn figured that once he had the pleasure of startling Legolas awake, he and the elf could talk over their plans for Calenfen. Perhaps he could even persuade Legolas to talk about what Aragorn had glimpsed last night in the garden.

He arrived at the elf's stateroom and opened the door as slowly as humanly possible, so as not to make any unnecessary noise. Elves were known to be light sleepers, and Legolas was no exception to the rule. In fact, Aragorn was rarely successful in his endeavors to catch him off guard. So with an anticipatory grin, Aragorn crept into the dimly lit room. What he found when his eyes adjusted to the darkness made him stop short in his path, for there was Legolas, sound asleep. Now that alone would not have caused the king of Gondor to back silently toward the door with his mouth hung open in astonishment. For there also lay a sweetly sleeping maiden, her bare back gleaming in the moonlight, and her head rested on the prince's chest with Legolas' arm protectively encircling her waist.

Aragorn could not see her face, but he knew who she was. With that shock of golden curls, she could only be Miredhel, the very one he had seen Legolas kissing last night. The man smiled to himself as he stepped back into the hall. Legolas' propensity for keeping things to himself would never cease to amaze Aragorn. Of course, the king had suspected his friend of possessing feelings for her after their conversation yesterday on the upper walls of the city, but it was still a bit of a surprise to find her in the elf's bed. Either Legolas was a fast mover in his courtships, or there was much he had concealed from Aragorn in regard to his relationship to Miredhel. Aragorn shook his head as he pulled the door shut and padded back down the hall.

On the other side of the wall, Legolas stirred as his keen ears discerned a slight click that sounded very much like the latch on his door. He raised his head, careful in his efforts not to disturb his lover. The notion that Aragorn might try and wake him suddenly occurred to the prince, and tensing, he pulled the coverlet over Miredhel's exposed back. He waited, watching the door to his chamber, but nothing happened, and the elf relaxed. After all, Aragorn could try all he wanted to, but it would be a rare day when a man could sneak up on an elf!

Legolas pulled Miredhel closer and wrapped both his arms around her as he had done only hours earlier when she had confessed her love for him. He could hardly believe that she was truly his. The prince had taken lovers before, but none had spoken to his heart as the one resting beside him. Being with her was like nothing he had ever known.

Legolas had sought physical comfort after the war in Lierwen, but he had changed and so had she. It felt unsatisfying and cold for both parties, even though they did care for each other. Legolas knew that the war had changed him, aged him. His spirit had been tried many times through hardship and suffering. No longer could he lightly love, and so his relationship with Lierwen ended. He needed much more than a warm body beside him. Legolas wanted someone to help shoulder his pains and share in his joy, a lover who understood him for what he was, not as Prince Legolas or the Legolas of the Fellowship, but just as Legolas the elf. Perhaps it was intrinsically greedy of him to want more, especially when he had so many willing supplicants for the position, but Legolas longed for a lover that would wake beside him in his darkest nights, who would know his fears and failings, and love him all the same.

It did not take him long to discover that Lierwen was not the one. She was light-hearted, radiant, and good above all things, but she was also superficial and naive to a fault. She knew nothing of real suffering or the pain of battle, and Legolas could not bring himself to tell her these things. He left Mirkwood that summer convinced that the Valar intended him to live out his days on Middle Earth in loneliness and solitude.

Then he met Miredhel. She was opinionated, pushy, and had a temper to match that of her brother's. She could not have been more different from Lierwen, and this fact alone intrigued the prince from the very beginning. Only later on in his company's journey to Ithilien did Legolas realize exactly how different Miredhel really was. Her struggle with grief confounded and amazed him. This maiden had grieved and survived, and still her spirit was strong. She knew what pain was, what it was to lose something incalculably precious. She understood his dark dreams when other ellyth, even his sister, could not, for Miredhel had borne similar tormented nights after Annariel's death. Miredhel knew him as no other maiden ever had. She was a true friend, even daring to stand up to him, a fact that Legolas adored and occasionally even despised.

He loved her, blessed in the knowledge that she too loved him.

"Miredhel," he called softly to her, stroking her cheek. "Wake up."

"I am awake," she mumbled and snuggled closer to him.

"The sun will rise soon, and so must we," he persisted.

She lifted her head from his chest and inched up a bit so that she could share his pillow, and Legolas turned on his side to face her, so that their noses nearly touched. Miredhel's lips sleepily curled into a smile at this gesture and impulsively kissed him on the nose.

"I do not want the sun to rise quite yet," she told him softly, for with the coming of dawn, Legolas would also be called upon to leave with Aragorn and his soldiers.

"I know, but rise it must," Legolas said, pausing to guide his fingers over her hair and tenderly down her shoulder. "How do you feel this morning, my lady?" He added, more confidentially, "Do you feel all right?"

Her lashes drifted down across her pinkening cheeks at this inquiry, and then she met his concerned gaze. "I do, Legolas. Better than I have felt actually, in an age or so."

"You certainly look it," he agreed as his eyes appraised her. "Late night activities seem to agree with you."

"The same might be said of you, my prince," she said, returning his gaze. That body which had tormented and delighted her own so much last night was still perfect in its amazing symmetry and strength. Every now and then she could detect a thin line, a scar, that spoke of the countless battles fought and sacrifices made. The most recent, or course, was the wound on his shoulder he had received in the secret pass through Emyn Muil, the one that Miredhel herself had mended for him. Gently, she reached and trailed her finger along the pink, swollen line. It was healing, but he had barely recovered from this wound, and now he would leave for another battle. And to what end? Miredhel did not want to think of what could happen.

She swallowed hard and chokingly asked, "Promise me, Legolas, that you will be careful in Calenfen. Promise me."

"I will promise, Miredhel, but you must do the same." He looked deeply into her eyes. "Promise me that you will not take any unnecessary risks and that you will follow my lead when we fight."

Miredhel sat up beside him, pulling the blanket up with her. "You want me to go with you?" Her voice cracked with excitement and disbelief.

Legolas' eyes were still serious when he said, "It will be dangerous, melamin, with a siege of orcs and a dragon who will not have likely forgotten you, I'm afraid."
"I thought you said you did not want me in anymore battles," she remembered to him aloud.

"I still do not," he confessed. "And after last night, you must know that I treasure you above all, Miredhel. I had planned on leaving you in Minas Tirith's safest keep." Legolas brushed his thumb across her cheek and kissed her there. "But my plans did not include what happened between us last night, however much I might have dreamed of it."
Miredhel stayed silent, but her eyes were radiant, telling her lover what words could not. Legolas wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly.

"I cannot leave you behind," he said frankly. "We just became lovers, and I will not jeopardize any bond between us by leaving you here. I think it would cause both of us unnecessary pain if we separated, and with your grief and all, I will not risk it."

Miredhel only heard one phrase from his entire remark. "You think we have a bond, Legolas?" she asked shyly.

Her lover did not hesitate in his reply. "Yes, I know we have."

"I feel it too," Miredhel confessed. 'Have you ever?—"

"No," he answered quickly and somewhat offendedly, but he sank back into the pillows with her in his arms to kiss her long and deeply. "Only last night. Only with you, my Miredhel."

They held each other for a few moments longer until the first light of day crept across the windowsill. Both knew the preparations to be made, and Miredhel still had to collect her few things from her room. The lovers rose reluctantly and dressed quietly until an unexpected thought occurred to Miredhel.

"How will you explain my going to the others?" she asked.

"I will tell them the truth, of course," he said simply. "You've taken me as your lover and demanded to be brought along."

"Legolas!" Miredhel cried, horrified.

"No, I suppose that will not do," he concluded with a smirk, "especially when there's an older brother that will need pacifying."

Miredhel groaned at the thought of Eledhel.

Legolas only smiled teasingly at her and then said, "Do not worry, my love, about either instance. Leave the explaining to me. I was brought up to deal in diplomacy, you know. Besides, you are the only one to have successfully shot the dragon. Your presence may be our greatest asset."

This statement seemed to mollify her a great deal, and satisfied, she kissed him in the manner that all new lovers ought to kiss each other and went to gather her belongings.

Now Legolas knew he had many things to do, but he could not leave the city without saying farewell to the one whose welfare had brought him to Minas Tirith in the first place. He slipped along the silent streets to the House of Healing and into Farothin's room where his friend still rested with his eyes tightly closed. Much to his surprise, Farothin was not alone. Celeril sat next to him as she had the day before, holding his hand in her own. With her head rested against the high back of her chair, Celeril seemed asleep to the prince at first, but she stirred when he entered the room.

"Celeril, I did not expect to see you here so early," Legolas told his sister, his melodic voice breaking the silence of the room.

"With you leaving, I wanted him to know that he was not alone," she said.

"That is kind very kind of you, my sister," Legolas said, touched by her gesture, "but surely you have not been here all night, have you?"

"Most of the night," she confessed. "But I left for a while to change clothes, and on my way, I passed the queen's garden."

"You did, did you?" asked her brother nonchalantly.

"I saw you and Miredhel there…kissing," she said with a brilliant smile as she teased her brother. "And I must say Legolas, that it was quite a display. I nearly fainted right there at the garden entrance. I never knew my own brother could be quite so passionate. I mean I had heard all the typical stories about you, but…" Celeril let her voice trail away to great dramatic effect, and her blue eyes twinkled at his obvious discomfort. Her brother had always been a private person when it came to affectionate displays in public. In truth, Celeril had never seen Legolas kiss anyone before unless she counted the time he had become quite tipsy at the Winter Solstice feast one year and had tried to seduce a very old and respectable matron of the Halls.

"Are you finished?" The prince asked, wrinkling his nose uncomfortably.

"Not quite," she said, enjoying herself hugely, "because on my way back to the Houses of Healing, I noticed that the garden was empty. And since I was so overjoyed for you both, I could not wait to congratulate Miredhel."

"Go on," Legolas said tiredly and rubbed one of his eyebrows. He could tell where THIS was going.

"But when I knocked on her door, she did not answer. In fact, I could not find her anywhere! Do you know where she was?" Celeril asked with a deceivingly innocent smile.

Legolas threw his hands up in the air and adopted an expression of extreme exasperation. "Now I remember why I tried to leave you and your sister back in Greenwood!" he exclaimed.

Celeril rose from her chair and energetically hugged her brother.

"Oh, Legolas, you know I am only happy for you. I have already come to love Miredhel. Seeing you two together last night encourages me not to give up hope, that I might be so lucky as you."

Her brother affectionately ruffled her hair. "Do not worry, little sister. Your time will come."

"I hope so, Legolas. I hope so," she murmured with a stolen glance at sleeping elf beside her. "So, did you come to say goodbye to Farothin?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," he said and his bright smile faded as he knelt beside the injured elf. Farothin's wounds had begun to close along his neck and across his fair young face, but the wounds that worried Legolas the most were those that he could not see, the hurts deep inside that kept the elf pinned in this unnatural sleep.

"Rest well, my friend," his prince whispered to him, "for I promise that we will bring down the dragon and those who have wronged you." Rising, Legolas gently squeezed Farothin's hand and motioned for his sister to join him in the doorway.

"Celeril, I leave for Calenfen soon. I am letting Miredhel ride with me, and you may come as well, if you do not wish to be left behind."

His sister briefly considered his offer, but her eyes never left Farothin until she pressed them shut and then opened them again at her brother. "I will stay here," she decided. "I would not want him to wake up to an empty room among strangers."

Legolas nodded understandingly and hugged her farewell.

"Be careful, Legolas," she said softly, more to herself than to her brother, as he turned and left.

After speaking with his sister, Legolas knew that there was one more visit required of him before he left Minas Tirith. He quickly turned from the Houses of Healing and made his way to the king's residence. He easily passed the guards of the citadel who did not bother questioning his entrance into a spacious hall that ended in a rather comfortable sitting room with several low tables and settees. Arwen waited there, quite obviously finishing the remains of her breakfast, and Legolas guessed that Aragorn must have recently stepped out of the room, for there were two sets of dishes piled on the morning tray.

"Legolas," Arwen greeted him with a questioning look, "you arrive only yesterday and already my husband departs for war and battle?" Her tone was one of annoyance, but not anger.

"I wish it could be different, Arwen," he said, feeling the full thrust of her reproach.

"I know you do," she admitted. "Ever have you been his faithful friend, Legolas. I will not worry nearly so much with you by his side."

"Worry about what?" Aragorn asked with a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he entered the room wearing his armor and fixing Anduril at his side. He settled his gaze on his old friend, and when the elf smiled at him knowingly, he asked, "Legolas, are you ready for this?"

"Oh, you know me," the prince answered with a shrug, but the edge haunting his voice in the past year had disappeared. The elf's eyes were clear and bright, merry almost, and he seemed for the first time since the War of the Ring like the elf that Aragorn had first met so many years ago.

"Sometimes I wonder if I do," Aragorn said, noting the changes in his best friend. Unlike the day before, Legolas looked completely refreshed and more radiant than usual this morning, and the king figured that the elf's sparkling good mood was due to his new love affair.

"What is THAT supposed to mean?" Legolas asked and challenged the former Ranger's gaze with casual disinterest. Meanwhile, the queen picked up the breakfast tray and wisely exited the room, sensing that the two friends needed to speak alone.

"Nothing," Aragorn sighed and rubbed the side of his head. He certainly did not want to force Legolas into talking about his feelings for Miredhel and had hoped that the elf would have confided in him. Did Legolas not trust him at all? The man had spoken volumes about his love for Arwen to Legolas before and during the War of the Ring; now that the elf was in a similar position, Aragorn wished to be the supportive friend that Legolas had been.

The two friends eyed each other inquisitively until Aragorn broke the silence.

"Let me wish farewell to my wife, and then we can go down to the lower courtyard together," the king said rather abruptly and left the room.

Now Legolas had planned on telling Aragorn about his newly heightened courtship of Miredhel, but all in good time. He had not even wanted to think about it the day before when he and Aragorn spoke on the city walls. At the time, he thought his short relationship with Miredhel had all but ended due to their argument. Obviously, he was in a much better position to speak of it now, and the elf's memory drifted towards the time he had spent with her last night.

When the king reentered the hall, Legolas still gazed dreamily out the window, and Aragorn headed straight for the large doors at the southern end of the building, hardly pausing for his friend to get up from his seat to join him. "Let's go, Legolas," he called to the elf.

Legolas snapped out of his silent reverie and motioned for his friend to stop. "Wait, Aragorn," he said, "there is something I must tell you—it's about Miredhel."

"Oh?" he asked as a gleam entered his eyes, and he paused so the elf might catch up to him.

"Yes, I have asked her to ride with us to Calenfen," Legolas replied succinctly.

Aragorn frowned. That was not what he had expected the elf to say!

"The road will be long and the destination, dangerous," he countered.

"Do you doubt my judgement, mellonin?" Legolas asked, softening his voice. "I know the peril well and not lightly have I made this decision."

"Then why would you hazard her safety by bringing her to Calenfen?" Aragorn persisted.

Legolas nodded understandingly. He was not put off by Aragorn's questions, because he knew that the man was only concerned with Miredhel's welfare; and Legolas appreciated that concern greatly. Even as a great king of men, Aragorn was still the caring and ever considerate individual that he had been in his days as a son of Rivendell.

The prince did not make his friend wait long for an answer to his question, as he carefully replied, "Two reasons, Aragorn, one vastly more important than the other—the first being that she is the only one to have actually shot this dragon; and the second reason is that…," here, the prince dropped his gaze and smiled self-consciously at his friend. "Well, the second reason is that I love her."

Even though Aragorn knew the truth of this statement as he had been glimpsed Legolas and Miredhel together earlier that morning, his eyes widened with joy and the surprise of hearing such a confession from his dearest friend. "Legolas!" he exclaimed, "By Elbereth!"

The elf just continued to smile modestly in the midst of Aragorn's repeated exclamations, and only a small look of astonishment crossed his face when he found himself pulled into an enthusiastic embrace by his friend.

"I take it you approve then?" the elf joked, catching his breath after Aragorn squeezed all the air out of his lungs.

"Approve? I think it's wonderful! Arwen and I have hoped for this for you, Legolas, especially now that our own joy is so complete."

"I was not sure how you would take it, after you said Miredhel was not right for me yesterday," Legolas told him. His perfect memory seemed more like a curse at times.

"No, Legolas, forget what I said; those were words spoken in jest, not to be taken seriously," Aragorn countered delightedly. He wrapped his arm around the elf's shoulder and picked up his knapsack. "Now, tell me how you two first met while we make our way down to the courtyard," he said.

"Well, Miredhel and I had made a bet while we were in Lothlorien…" Legolas began, and the two friends left the king's residence together, sharing in the elf's tale. The people who saw them pass on the streets that day marked the genuine smiles and laughter that the king and the elven prince shared and marveled that surely this was one of the greatest friendships of all time.

Meanwhile, Miredhel had arrived in the lower courtyard of the sixth circle where she and Legolas had agreed to meet. Many of the king's soldiers had already began to group into formations for the journey to Calenfen, so the elf stayed out of their way, taking refuge from the bustle of preparation in the shade of a large stone statue of a horse and rider. She tried her best to adopt the serious, focused expressions of the men around her, but it seemed she could not help smiling in anticipation of seeing her prince again. Some of the men wondered at her presence, inquisitively eyeing her fair features and lithe figure as she leaned against the stonework, her eyes half-shut as if in a dream and her hands clasped at her heart. To mortal eyes, a young maid she was and yet not so. Sorrow and laughter were in her glance, as of one who has known great loss and love. Elves were such chancy folk, and the soldiers of Gondor rarely had the privilege of seeing one so near.

Even the boldest men dared not approach her for a flirtation, though she possessed great beauty to them; for there was something about the way she held herself, her very presence, which whispered 'beware.' Perhaps it was the arrows and unstrung bow upon her back or the gleaming jeweled dagger at her belt that warned them away. So it was that the lady sat in wistful solitude, until another of her kind joined her side, an elf of strong stature with a stagger that spoke of rank and prowess.

"Captain Adrendil," she greeted him cheerfully, glad for the company at the moment.

"My lady," he said smoothly, barely concealing his surprise at seeing her there. "I would not have expected to find you here among the war-party." His eyes took in her beaming face, dually noting her traveling attire and the weapons she carried.

"How well you look this morning," he appraised her, and every soldier that heard his compliment silently agreed.

"I am well, exceptionally so," she confirmed.

Adrendil had no comment or quick response to this, and their conversation lagged into an ill quiet. Miredhel looked past him toward the inner gate, vainly wishing that Legolas might arrive. She could feel the Captain's scrutiny, and when she boldly met his gaze, he did little to hide from her his expression, one of mild bewilderment as if he could not believe that Miredhel should be standing before him to go to Calenfen or that she could be in such high spirits.

At length, Adrendil spoke, slowly as if each word required careful consideration. "I take it you are going with us, then."

"Yes, the prince thought it best if I did," Miredhel answered warily, hoping that the Captain would not ask any questions as to why the prince wanted her to go. She would much rather Legolas handle the explanations.

The captain's eyes roguish brown eyes brightened, and he remarked airily, "I am glad to hear it, of course. I feared that Prince Legolas would be doing his best to keep you from having any more adventures."

"Thank you, Captain. It seems that I shall have the chance for one more, at least," Miredhel said and looked down at the knife on her belt, desperately wishing that he would leave her alone for the moment. Captain Adrendil had been remarkably kind and attentive during their trip together down the Anduin with Celeril and Farothin. He had not been too pushy or flirtatious as she had supposed him to be upon meeting him in Mirkwood; with that said, she had observed that Adrendil still maintained a quiet interest in her relationship with the prince. She just wondered how much he knew of their courtship. If Adrendil had come to her with questions about her interest in the prince, then had he also approached Legolas with the same sort of questions about her? She certainly hoped not.

Adrendil met Miredhel's attempt to withdraw from the conversation with another probing look followed by a question. "Is everything all right, my lady? You seemed so upset last night at dinner. I suppose that Prince Legolas had been rather hard on you for going to Minas Tirith without his permission."

"No, the Prince was just in all his words to me," Miredhel answered softly, remembering well Legolas' stinging reproach in the garden. Even though he had apologized later, she would not soon forget the fire or the disappointment in his eyes that day.

"His line is known for their tempers, Lady Miredhel," the Captain said, a knowing look.

"So is mine," she reminded him with a smile, and the captain's hand involuntarily drifted to his neck where Eledhel had gripped him so tightly the night of the Mirkwood council meeting.

Grimacing, the captain rubbed his neck and then reached his arm over Miredhel's shoulder to lean against the statue base behind her. His voice faded into velvet in her ear as he murmured, "You are not without friends, my lady. If you feel that the prince has wronged you, I will speak to him for you, if you wish it."

"I can speak for myself," Miredhel said and edged out from under his arm.

"Of course, she can," Legolas agreed, coming up behind Adrendil to take Miredhel's hand and deliver a courtly kiss upon it. "Lady Miredhel knows that she may seek an audience with me whenever she pleases." The prince winked at her and then gravely turned to his captain.

"Of course, Prince Legolas," the captain echoed, but there was no mark of embarrassment on his brow. He straightened up before his lord and waited for him to speak.

"The king's men make ready to leave. Walk with me to the stables, Captain," he said to Adrendil in a quite business like manner and then to Miredhel, much more gently, "Wait here, lovely one, and I will return to you."

Legolas led his captain through the crowded ranks of men toward the stables on the outside edge of the citadel. Arod whinnied and tossed his mane as the elf entered. "Good morning, old friend!" said the prince and patted the horse's neck. He pulled a russet apple from his bag and palmed it to Arod's eager mouth. Then Legolas looked to the horses in the other stalls and told Adrendil, "The king bade me choose you and the lady horses from his stable. Elessar wants us to take the right rank leading the archers. Miredhel will ride with us as well."

Adrendil's eyes darkened. "Permission to speak, my lord?"

Legolas did not look up from his inspection of a light grey mare. "Yes, if you must."

The captain touched his prince's arm to get his attention. "Do you mean to win the lady's favor by letting her go on this dangerous errand? She should stay in Minas Tirith!"

Legolas stood up, and seemed suddenly to grow taller. In his eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding. "And you should stay out of that which does not concern you, Captain."

"She is my concern," Adrendil sharply insisted.

More quickly than the stable boys could tell, Legolas seized Adrendil by the shoulder and roughly hauled him into an empty horse stall. "I tire of this, Captain," he said in a low, deadly voice. "Lady Miredhel is NOT your concern. She and I have been involved since I first met her in the Golden Wood."

"But yesterday, you said that she was not your lover," the captain pointed out with a sly smile.

"I do not have to divulge my personal affairs to anyone, Adrendil. I am telling you this now out of mutual respect, because you are one of my Captains and have fought loyally for our people through many years."

Adrendil smoothed out the creases of his tunic, and his handsome mouth straightened into a shrewd line. "I know what you would have me say, Prince Legolas," he countered, "but alas, I cannot! I cannot stop pursuing her any more than I can stop my heart from loving her."

Legolas' eyes flashed. "You do not love her. You know nothing of her."

"Then I will have to see to it that I get to know her much better," the other elf challenged with a smirk.

"I warn you, leave her alone," the prince growled.

"Is that an order, sire?" Adrendil asked and stepped toward his leader.

Legolas restrained himself and took a deep breath. He uncurled his fingers and picked up his bag from the stable floor. "She does not desire your advances," he simply stated.

"Like the lady said, she can speak for herself," Adrendil cleverly retorted.

"Yes… yes she can," Legolas agreed with a slow smile that secretly infuriated his opponent. He led the grey mare from the stall and whistled for Arod to follow. "Find yourself a mount, Captain. We ride to battle."

The heralds' trumpets sounded from Ecthelion, clear and sweet and long were those notes in the early dawn. Aragorn heard them and raised his sword for the men to follow. Miredhel thrilled at their sound and the stamp of many horses' hooves on the stone streets. For countless years had she watched her brother and friends ride away to fight, only to be left behind in the curls of dust from their path. This time, she would ride as one of them. She saw Legolas returning with horses, Arod and a mare for her. His fair eyes seemed troubled when he looked upon her, but then he smiled and lifted her onto her horse with another warning for her to be careful. She followed him and the king through the long winding streets, with a host of soldiers behind them, until finally they passed the great gate of the city and rode into the silent grasslands of Pelennor. The time had come for a reckoning on the plains of Gondor.


Chapter 41 - Mist and Shadow

Building Ithilien
Chapter 39: Mist and Shadow



Moonlight flickered through yawning veils of cloud and mist to cast eerie shadows against the aged stone walls at Calenfen. Wind from the east moaned against the main gate, bawling its churlish discontent to the few who guarded the outer walls. The men kept their hoods pulled high and huddled against the ramparts, for a foul breath lingered, and a general malaise spread through the air.

A storm brewed.

Only two warriors braved the winds on the highest wall, and any foot soldier passing below them, whistling his lonely tune to take comfort in the familiar, might not have noticed them at all. If he had looked closer, the two sentries' cloaks would have told them for what they truly were—elves, each keeping silent vigil with the stars that dared to peer through wind-shredded clouds. Both strained their eyes against the night, fearing, and yet longing, for the resolution that the morning's light might bring: another day, and with it, the possibility of death and battle.

One of the elves frowned at the swirling mist and the vague outline of southern mountains. At the moment, everything seemed so distant to him, and the more the wind howled, the more anxious he became. Finally, he broke the silence with soft elven words:

"Sulindal, we have seen no sign or trace of our enemy since we have arrived. I have heard the men talking, and they believe that this is some sort of elvish plot on our part. They grow restless."

Sulindal permitted himself to smile a slow, careful smile behind the folds of his hood. "It seems that they are not the only ones who are restless, Eledhel."

"I am sorry, friend. You must excuse my impatience. It's just that the enemy—"

Sulindal turned his head to catch his friend's eye and interrupted, "I sense that this impatience is not entirely based on the absence of our enemy." He placed his hand on his friend's shoulder to lend him comfort. "Eledhel, do not fear for your sister. She left in Adrendil's protection, with Legolas not far behind them."

Eledhel pulled back his hood to expose his face, and his grey eyes gleamed. "I think I have spent more time worrying about my sister with those two elves, than actual orcs."

"She knows her heart, melonin, and Legolas loves her. I am glad for them both," said Sulindal fairly.

"Well, I suppose I am too, but honestly, my sister's love affairs will surely be the death of me some day! Thank goodness that you had enough sense to stay away from her."

Sulindal only smiled.

If Eledhel noticed this, he pretended not to and averted his gaze south. "Legolas and Aragorn should be on their way here by now."

"I expect so. Do you hope to see them from afar, and that is why you've been standing in this very position since the second day of our arrival?" he asked wryly.

"Sulindal, I am in no mood for smug lectures," replied Eledhel sternly.

Sulindal did not reply, but the look in his eyes said enough to loosen his friend's tongue.

Eledhel recklessly raked his hands through his hair and answered frustratedly, "Nothing about this makes any sense, Sulindal. Thranduil's spies spot an enormous orc host moving past the southern fringes of Mirkwood and southward to Gondor, so our company leaves to warn the villagers. We meet up with the orcs at the secret pass through Emyn Muil. Farothin disappears and then returns to us almost battered beyond recognition. We raced to this fort, fearing an onslaught, and then…nothing. Does that not strike you as odd?"

To that, Sulindal had no wise answers or observations. He pensively folded his arms across his chest and remained silent.

"Where are the orcs? There is a host of thousands out there somewhere, and we make the perfect target. Why have they not attacked yet? Why would they hesitate?"

"You are right, Eledhel," acknowledged Sulindal. "Orcs are not known for their patience in battle. Perhaps they already moved south."

"In which case, we ought to withdraw from Calenfen and have our company meet Aragorn and Legolas on the road," Eledhel suggested.

Sulindal nodded mindfully. "Someone should scout the surrounding areas for traces of the enemy to see if they linger."

The two friends' eyes met, and Eledhel leaned against a parapet and peered into the shadows. "I will go," he answered quietly, and his words hung in the cold night air.

"And I will go with you," Sulindal agreed, his dark grey eyes offering reassurance. The proposed task would not be an easy one. Both elves remembered Farothin's fate.

Once the decision was made, Sulindal and Eledhel acted quickly. The elves told their friends of their intended plan, left Belegil in charge, and fetched their horses.

The gate groaned in opening, but more eerie was the sound of the heavy wooden bracers being secured behind them. One of the elves' horses whinnied nervously as if he knew and shared in his master's burdens. Sulindal and Eledhel circled the fort together once, and then agreed to each take part of searching the outer perimeter. Sulindal would ride along toward the north, and Eledhel, to the south.

Eledhel picked his way cautiously across the foggy bottomlands. The evening was too quiet for his liking, and something in the air or on the wind reminded him of that first night when they had encountered the dragon on the road to Legolas' forest.

Eventually his horse balked at going further, so Eledhel slid down from the side, his feet sinking into the marshy sod. After whispering a few words of consolation to his mount, he crept away toward the dim unknown. The land seemed to be rising in elevation under his feet, and before he knew it, the elf stood upon a ridge of sorts that pulled sharply away from the lower southern lands. It was of little consequence, thought Eledhel. He could see little before him but white against black, mist and shadow.

Unexpectedly, a breeze stirred from the north, and the clouds obscuring the moon slid away, exposing the land before Eledhel in a swift moonbeam. What the elf saw stole his breath away.

For there in the moon's own light, stretched a spiky slope of sentinel orcs in one long line across the horizon, watching and waiting. As far as the elf's eyes could tell, there was neither end nor break to their line—no weakness, no relief. Eledhel's long, graceful fingers drifted to his sword almost unconsciously, and his hand would not depart from the hilt for quite some time. With a curse under his breath, he turned on his path and traveled west in the direction of the Great River, toward the Anduin, for that would be the route that the king and Legolas would most likely take. Yet as far as he walked, the great line of orcs never faltered once, and Eledhel's fear for his friends' safety escalated as he began to wonder if the orcs encircled the entire fort.

The moon rapidly lost her brilliance, and the night dimmed as before, but Eledhel could still make out the line as he returned to his horse and traveled north toward the fort, following the perimeter from a comfortable distance. When he crossed the main road, which was really no more than a dusty footpath that led to the fort, Eledhel stopped once again to peer into the night. In the vague haze, he could discern even more shapes, the greatest concentration of orcs he had seen as of yet. There were too many to count, and even as he strained his eyes for a better view, the moon flashed through the clouds again, illuminating the horde before him. Lines of them curled back and across the silvery fields like a dark stain or ripples in a black pond; and in the midst of them all, gleamed the dragon, Anglachur the Black, as beautiful and sleek as he was sinister.

The beast stretched before his minions with a cat-like grace, and Eledhel found himself dismounting his horse and wandering in for a closer look. Although everything in his mind protested against his actions as folly, he could not seem to help himself. The longer he looked at the dragon, every second he lingered, the more he felt drawn to its power, its magnetism. With his hand still on the hilt of his sword, he crept closer to the enemy camp with his eyes fixed on the dragon.

The orcs milled soberly around their serpentine leader, with a caution bordering on reverence and fear. The enemy had lit no fires, but Eledhel could smell the brimstone of the dragon's breath. The closer he moved, the more overwhelming the stench became, and now Anglachur lifted his head as if to listen to the sounds of the night. Still the elf moved forward.

Then, pulling himself up on his enormous scaled haunches, the dragon turned so that his great golden eyes could roam the land toward the fort where the elf stood. Eledhel waited numbly on the path. Memories of his encounter with the beast on the bridge replayed in his mind. Anglachur had violated his mind, invaded his senses, and this knowledge alone revolted Eledhel. He had felt so unclean, so used. Now it was happening again; he could hear the creature's voice calling to him, beckoning him forward. He could not stop it…

Then, out of nowhere, something seized him from behind.

A hand roughly grabbed his shoulder, accompanied by a voice he knew well and loved.

"Eledhel!" Sulindal pulled his friend around to face him. "What are you doing?"

The elf sucked in his breath and paled as he realized what he had almost done. "Sulindal, we are in danger here," he said quickly, and the elves mounted their horses and rode up the path toward the fort. Once Eledhel felt that he was a safe distance from the orcs, and more importantly, the dragon, he slowed his horse so that he and his friend could talk.

"We are surrounded," guessed Sulindal. "I saw orcs patrolling our northern perimeter."

"Aye, and our southern too, but the largest group waits on the path to the fort," Eledhel informed him and paused uncomfortably. "Sulindal, I saw the dragon, there, on the road."

Even Sulindal could not hide his dismay at this news. "Then I believe that solves our mystery, my friend. I know why they have not attacked the fort, why they wait…"

Eledhel swallowed dryly. "It is a trap."

"And we are the bait," Sulindal rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Aragorn and Legolas would arrive in days, and they would ride unwittingly right into the enemy's clutches.

"Someone must warn them. I will go," volunteered Eledhel.

The other elf firmly shook his head. "Eledhel, no. Think of your sister, her grief. You are all she has left. You must not take such a risk."

Eledhel's eyes were bright as he answered, "I am thinking of Miredhel, Sulindal. She is why I must do this. Legolas rides with Aragorn's party….and I'm certain that she has fallen in love with him, despite all my warnings." He sighed and briefly looked down. "For that reason alone, I would leave to warn him, but he is also my friend. And hasn't the dragon been after the prince all along? Anglachur's set this trap for him!"

"We cannot be sure of that, Eledhel," Sulindal argued softly.

"Well, I am, and that is why I must go," said Eledhel. "Tell the others what we have seen tonight, keep a watch on the highest wall as before. When you see Gondor's colors, be ready for open battle."

"We will," Sulindal solemnly answered and saluted his friend out of respect and old tradition before giving him an inquisitive look. "And how will you get past the orcs?"

"I will just have to find a way," Eledhel answered determinedly as he turned his horse southward. He took one long look at his friend and smiled mischievously. "You know me, Sulindal."

The elf shook his head as though vexed, and watched his friend vanish into shadows. Sulindal would return to the fort alone, and he alone would have to bear his grim findings to the many hopeful families that waited there. A great many people's fates, both elves and humans, now depended on Eledhel's success. Sulindal raised his eyes to the stars, but the clouds hid them from view. No comfort would he find this night. He began a simple prayer to the Valar for Eledhel's safety, then he broadened it to include the men and women at the fort, and as he reached the gate and took one last glance at the thick night yawning behind him, his mind turned to Aragorn and Legolas, and with them, Miredhel. He could only hope that Eledhel would reach them safely...

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Chapter 42 - Before the End

Chapter 40: Before the End

The vanguard pulled through wide and sweeping meadows of unbroken grass and late summer flowers. The day was young and bright, and the morning mist curling round the distant foot hills soon burned away to yield a fair horizon. Far through the valleys and plains from Minas Tirith, the men had marched; now in great lines long and deep, they kept time to the curling of the grass against the wind in the field and their rippling black and silver pennants that beckoned them farther. Toward battle and onward, they traveled, breaking the wet stems under their feet, taking them one step closer to an uncertain fate.

Every now and then the leading chargers with their stamping hooves startled coveys in the grass, and the doves indignantly rose into the air cooing their displeasure before settling into lazy flight circles above the men traveling across their field. Surely to the birds as they lifted their wings to soar to greater heights, the lines seemed like an enormous river of men, with their silver helmets catching the light as easily as the bright tipped waves of the Anduin, pulled by unseen currents toward the sea.

And if the same birds flew farther down the line, they would have spotted something incredibly odd, for there toward the front of the procession, rode a pair of elves among the men, one on a white Rohirrim steed, and the other upon a light brown mare. The two elves were a fair sight for any eyes, man or beast, and the birds of the field were gladdened by their presence and their soothing voices comforted all.

"Tell me about Ithilien," one of the elves begged the other, and the other elf, riding proudly beside her, might have seemed terrible to some.

Certainly many of the soldiers feared even to look upon him and averted their eyes to their boots when he passed. None could hardly stand to bear his gaze, icy blue and piercing, as if he looked right through them. Yet when this elf turned to the lady at his side, the soldiers would have been confounded to see the way the elf prince's expression transformed in her presence. His eyes softened, and his look was one of pure adoration.

"You want to hear about Ithilien, Miredhel?" he asked, with a hint of surprise. He paused momentarily and pretended to frown. "Well…wouldn't you like to wait and be surprised?"

"Oh, no! Is it that bad? Should I have packed my gardening gloves?" Miredhel said with a wince.

The corners of Legolas' mouth curled into an almost smile. "I'll get you some for all the really heavy lifting and digging."

What exactly was wrong with this forest anyway? Miredhel cut her eyes to him. "Heavy lifting and digging?"

Legolas shrugged noncommittally. "I figured you would want to pitch in and help, Miredhel. You've never struck me as a bystander." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "Do you think you could learn some carpentry skills too? We'll have much to build."

Miredhel smiled uneasily. She trusted Legolas, mostly. If he saw something in this Ithilien, then it must not be so bad. Right?

This time Legolas returned her smile with a real one of his own and reached for her hand from his horse. They were riding very closely together so they could speak in confidence to each other. He leaned over to kiss her palm, and his lips lingered against her skin.

Sparks seemed to fly all the way through Miredhel's body, down from her wrist to her toes at this single gesture, and it wasn't as if they had never kissed before. In truth after last night they had done much more than kiss, and perhaps it was that knowledge that excited her. She knew what those lips were capable of.

Legolas smiled even more broadly at her the tinge of pink on her cheeks.

"Miredhel, I can't wait for you to see Ithilien, to be there by your side. I know you will love it. Yes, it needs some work, but it will be a joy to restore the beauty that once was. Its proximity to Mordor poisoned much of the land, but there are still places where the woods are deep and lovely, and that's where I'll take you. There's water and springs that run through the forest and ferns as large as elflings."

"Where will we live? Not in a cave, I hope," Miredhel said, returning the prince's teasing mood.

"Flets, of course. The trees are not so large and grand as the mallyrn in Lothlorien but are ample enough for us to live nestled among their branches."

"That is a relief, for I half-feared that you and your dwarf friends would have us hidden away in a great cave like your father's."

To that, Legolas only smiled, his cheek creased by a long-absent dimple, and his eyes took on a dreamy quality.

"Just wait, lovely one. I'll build you a flet so grand you'll never want to leave."

"Hmm… Will you be in the flet?" she asked with a flirty glance in his direction.

His eyes darkened, and she remembered exactly what hue they had taken the night before when he had held her in his arms.

"It could be arranged," he replied in a voice that was pure velvet with a perfect smile that made Miredhel's every nerve stand on edge, and despite herself, she blushed. Again! And at that point she wondered if she would ever be able to one-up him in terms of seduction.

"Honestly, Legolas," she said, changing the subject, "I had no idea that you were the craftsman-type. It doesn't sound like you, you know, being a prince and all."

"Are you questioning my ability to build your flet, my lady?" he asked wryly.

"Name something you've built, say in the past 500 years, then," Miredhel challenged him.

"Simple!" he answered immediately and then paused. "Well…" The prince rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've constructed some really nice arrows…"

"Arrows aren't the same thing as a flet!" Miredhel arched her eyebrow disbelievingly. "I would hate to find myself in a heap at the bottom of the tree, Legolas."

"I made my mother a jewelry box once, but that was a long time ago."

"I see," she answered mirthfully.

"But I still claim the honor of designing and crafting your flet, Miredhel," he insisted and repeated her name softly as if savoring it, "my Miredhel."

"I can see it now," he continued, spanning his hand in front of him as they rode. "Your flet will have a wide porch that faces the west and overlooks the prettiest garden."

"A garden?" she asked hopefully. Miredhel was an easy mark when it came to flowers.

"Don't you remember? I already promised to make you one," he teased. "Besides, we have our best moments in gardens."

"I remember," she answered and cut her eyes to his with a knowing smile.

"And I'll meet you there in the evening, when I've finished with the duties of court, and we'll sit there together on a bench. Can you see it?"

"I think so," she said, shading her eyes.

To her delight, Legolas continued, "And we'll watch the stars come out and then …"

"And then Eledhel will come out and remind me that it's my bedtime," she finished with a laugh.

Legolas frowned.

"He and I have always lived together, you know," Miredhel informed him. "I cannot see him wanting a place of his own."

It almost appeared as if the prince rolled his eyes, if indeed a prince would actually do such a thing.

Legolas adopted his best diplomatic facial expression. "Speaking of your brother, Miredhel, I'm going to appoint him as my deputy-in-command."

"Deputy-in-command, Legolas?"

"You know, the second person in charge of Ithilien if something were to happen to me- if I couldn't rule for some reason. Aragorn and I already discussed it."

"Legolas, what an honor! He'll be so pleased."

"And more importantly, he'll be plenty busy at it, so we'll have time together," Legolas said with a wink.

"What about you, though? I have a hard time believing that you will not be as every bit as occupied with affairs of state as my brother will be," she reminded him with a hint of regret creeping into her voice.

"You need not worry, my lady. I'll make time for you."

"If not, I'll come and hunt you down," she threatened, "and you've seen evidence of my skills with the bow…"

"I certainly would not dare risk it," the prince said agreeably, "for I treasure your friendship and your love. I had reached a point," he said, his voice becoming more tender, "where I thought that love would be no more real than a myth to me in this land, or that I missed my chance at it, that perhaps I was meant to suffer in unending loneliness…" Legolas' voice trailed away, and when he looked again at her, his eyes were bright. He had watched so many of his dearest friends in Mirkwood fall in love and marry. One by one, they had deserted him in bachelor-hood to become husbands and fathers, and he had always been genuinely glad for their happiness, genuinely glad.

And lonely.

"I'm glad to have found you," the prince said.

Miredhel's heart swelled, and certainly she felt as if it might burst at the way he looked at her. Now if only they could escape unscathed from this conflict with the dragon!

Even though neither elf mentioned it, both Legolas and Miredhel worried for their friends that they had left en route to Calenfen. Their careful avoidance of the subject hung between them, unspoken and weighty, for the rest of the afternoon. Neither wanted to put words to their deepest fear of what might happen; some things were better left unsaid.

Farther down the line, flanking the foot soldiers rode another elven warrior. This captain seldom looked east or west, for his eyes lingered instead northward; his gaze fixed upon the other pair of elves, Miredhel and Legolas, riding ahead of him. He watched the way they rode closely together, smiling occasionally when the maiden laughed, but when the prince kissed her hand, his countenance darkened to an obvious dissatisfaction with his current situation. When he finally tore himself away from studying the pair's interactions and moved his attention toward the line of men marching beside him, he realized he was not the only one paying rapt attention to the elven couple.

"You watch her," the captain observed to the soldier nearest him. His tone was not accusatory, but merely interested.

The man jerked out of his silent contemplations, startled that the elf had spoken at all—he had been silent the entire morning. "Captain Adrendil," the man said, not sure what to make of the elf's unexpected comment, "Yes, I've been watching her. Many of the men watch her."

"She is lovely, is she not?" the captain probed, as if he were testing the man's responses.

"Aye, she is. Lovely," the soldier agreed, appreciatively. Some of the other men who had been listening to the exchange smiled and nodded. A few grunted their enthusiasm. One whistled.

Adrendil frowned.

The soldier shot a look of warning to his fellow archers and hastily added. "Men may also watch and admire the stars, Captain, and they are completely beyond our reach… much like the Lady Miredhel."

Adrendil smiled benevolently at the man then, pacified by the soldier's answer, but he could not help correcting his statement. "…Beyond your reach, perhaps," he suggested smugly.

"And yours too!" One of the other soldiers called out, for they were feeling bolder by minute. "She rides with the prince, not you!"

Chuckles spread through the ranks. Where Prince Legolas naturally intimidated and awed the men without any intention of ever doing so, this other elven captain fell short of commanding their absolute respect.

Adrendil flashed a look of contempt toward those who would challenge his statement, and elven contempt is not to be handled lightly. The men quieted down.

"She may ride with him now, but that matters not. The important thing is who she's with at the end of the journey," he said to them with an air of finality and a knowing, supercilious smile. After that, his eyes did not leave her again, though they traveled many miles until darkness crept over the hills and the men stopped to make camp on the open plains.

As the procession slowed and then finally stopped, Legolas and Miredhel dismounted, each trying to impress the other that he or she was not the least bit sore from riding for so long. Legolas succeeded in this attempt only a little more than Miredhel, who was, in truth, quite painfully tired from riding all day. Of course, normally elves have great endurance in such endeavors, but Miredhel had slept hardly at all the night before, thanks to Legolas.

Despite their shared weariness, Legolas and Miredhel kept their conversation lively, and both found that they could hardly stop touching each other. Whether he was touching her hand, her hair, her smooth skin, or brushing up against her clothes, Legolas could not help himself, nor did he want to. To be near her was a comfort; and he knew that Aragorn had been secretly laughing at him all day. Later, Legolas knew that he would have to confess his utter and total preoccupation with her. She was all he could pretty much think of. Even now he could sense her fatigue and worked to keep her spirits up.

He elbowed her to get her attention. "Now…for the lady who thinks I know nothing of building things, I shall construct for you the best tent you've ever seen." With a roguish smile, he picked up a canvas roll and some rope from the supply wagon and carefully selected a spot away from the rest of the group.

Miredhel looked on disapprovingly as he unrolled the canvas on the ground. "Is the Lord of Ithilien going to sleep in a tent as well?"

Legolas looked at her as if her question had been absurd. "Of course not, I'm sleeping out in the open."

Miredhel's eyebrows inched together, and she crossed her arms. "Well, I think that's what I'm going to do as well, then."

Legolas paused in the middle of tying a perfectly executed knot. "No, I don't think so, Miredhel," he said and then continued on with his project.

"Look at the wind coming off those foothills, Legolas! I'm sure this tent will blow over with me in it!" she protested with an exaggerated amount of worry, pointing to some very small hills in the distant east.

The prince arched an eyebrow. "This thing will be completely sturdy, I assure you. Do you doubt my knot-tying abilities?"

"Please," Miredhel said and sighed painfully. "I did not want to say anything, but… hobbits could tie better knots than those."

Legolas looked up and flashed her a smile. "Nice try, beautiful, but you're sleeping in this tent tonight."

She tried pouting a bit. "I still don't see why I have to sleep in this contraption, and you get to sleep in the open air under the stars."

"Yes, but I am not the only elf maiden traveling among Aragorn's legions. You're a lamb among wolves tonight, Miredhel," Legolas said with a bit of a wolfish smile of his own. He pulled her over to the tent and knelt by the entrance. "See? It'll be nice AND you'll have some privacy. Look-we'll put my blanket down on the ground, and you'll be plenty comfortable."

Miredhel rubbed his shoulder appreciatively, his hair temporarily distracting her hands. "Won't you need your blanket, Legolas? I hope you're planning on resting tonight, because I know that you …ahem, did not get very much sleep last night."

The wolfish grin returned. "Oh, I fully intend on using that blanket, Miredhel."

Their eyes met, and both lovers smiled secretly to themselves.


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Much later in the evening, Miredhel sat alone outside her tent, enjoying the fresh air, the woodsy smell of the campfires, and the clearness of the evening sky above where she could see a great many stars. She had let Legolas go earlier, for she could tell that he wanted to visit with Aragorn and some of the other men that he had probably met in the War of the Ring. She glanced in the direction of the king's circle around a small fire. Undoubtedly, they wanted to plan strategies for battle if the circumstances should arrive. It seemed that much of the planning required passing around a small flask… and laughing…loudly.
Miredhel hoped at least that Legolas would not volunteer himself for anything too foolhardy.

She was in fact quite content in her present state of loneliness, reflecting on the day's events and the previous evening's events; so when Captain Adrendil approached her side, it must be said that Miredhel inwardly groaned.

"Lady Miredhel," he greeted her and promptly sat down by her side before she could make any excuses to leave.

"I am surprised to see you without company," he said smoothly, crossing his long legs in front of him. He pushed his sandy brown hair over his shoulders and looked at her expectantly with those dark brown eyes of his.

"Well, I was just thinking of joining the others over there," she said, pointing to Legolas and Aragorn.

"Don't go just yet," he implored her. "Talk with me for a moment, for I have scarcely spoken with you, save for this morning." He reached down and patted her hand.

He was just too close. Miredhel shifted uncomfortably.

"I cannot believe that Prince Legolas is not here with you, actually," he observed aloud, his dark eyes flicking over her face. "He should not leave you alone. I would not leave you, Lady Miredhel," he said, his smooth voice sinking into softer tones. He casually rested his fingers over her hand that rested on her leg.

Miredhel's pulse picked up, and she frowned. Very deliberately, she brushed his hand away and met his gaze, not coolly or in anger, but matter-of-factly.

"Captain, I would call you 'friend,' but that is all. You've asked me before about my relationship with the prince, and I avoided giving you a straightforward answer. I am sorry for that! Indeed, I hardly knew the answer to your questions myself! But now I know. I have already given my heart to Legolas Thranduillion."

"I love him. Please be happy for us."

Adrendil swallowed and cast his eyes down, before answering. "Of course, I am happy for you, Lady Miredhel. And for Prince Legolas too." He looked up and met her gaze questioningly. "I've known Legolas for a long time. He's almost like a brother to me, really," he said with a small smile.

"Thanks for understanding," Miredhel said. She could hardly believe how agreeable Adrendil was being. She had figured that they would eventually have this conversation, and she had always imagined him making much more of a fuss, or at least protesting a little!

Adrendil nodded sympathetically. "I care about you, Miredhel," he said, slipping into casual use of her name. "I don't want to see you hurt, that's all. What if there comes a time when Prince Legolas can't be there for you?"

Miredhel started to object, but Adrendil cut her off. "We are on our way to battle even now. As much as I understand your feelings for Legolas, I would hate to see you suffer… The orcs always target leaders, Miredhel. Always. What if he falls in battle?" Adrendil asked convincingly and reached to move a single curl away from her eyes.

She did not answer, and she did not look at Adrendil. Instead her eyes were focused across the field, on Legolas laughing from some joke, his cheeks rosy from the fire.

"Why do you say these things, Adrendil?" she said, keeping her voice low and controlled to hide the shakiness she felt inside.

His eyes gleamed. "Because I care for you, regardless of your feelings for me. I wouldn't want to see you stricken with grief, my lady."

"Grief, Adrendil?" Miredhel asked incredulously, running a hand through the top of her hair. He had worried her with this talk about Legolas dying in battle, but if his purpose was to scare her with talk about Grief… Well, he was going to be sadly mistaken.

"Yes, grief," he said melodramatically. I would never want to see your heart torn with grief, my lady. I've heard it's horribly painful."

"Yes, I've heard that too…" Miredhel agreed, now becoming amused.

"To linger on after Legolas' body is spent on the battlefield, until you finally succumb to pain like no other… Are you sure you want to risk that?"

Miredhel fought back a smile. "Tell me more about my lingering, painful death, Captain Adrendil," she said almost seriously.

Adrendil eyed her sharply. Was she laughing at him? "It's certainly nothing to laugh at, Miredhel! I'm being serious. Grief is a genuine threat to our people!"

"I, of all elves, wholeheartedly believe it," she said solemnly.

"If you and the Prince form a relationship now, his death on the battlefield would bring yours as well."

"It probably would kill me…" she agreed with relish. Certainly she knew this to be true.

This was conversation was NOT going the way he had planned. He was supposed to be consoling Lady Miredhel right now. She should be crying in his arms; instead, she seemed strangely close to laughter.

"Lady Miredhel, you should not take this so lightly," Adrendil protested, his voice gaining an edge to it.

"I just agreed with you, Adrendil!" she said, desperately trying to choke back a snort of laughter and failing.

"This isn't funny," he insisted darkly, folding his arms over his chest. He stood up and glared down at her.

"I should not have laughed, Adrendil. Grief is serious, but what you said was humorous to me because—"

"No—"he stopped her, and his handsome eyes were dark and angry as he looked down at her by the tent. "Something horrible is going to happen. With the dragon, or the orcs, I do not know, but I can feel it, Miredhel. It's waiting out there for us," he said, gesturing to the vague darkness. "And you will wish for death before the end," he added bitterly.

Shaking off the urge to shiver, Miredhel rose to her feet and faced him. She was not easily intimidated. Her eyes flickered angrily.

"You great big fool," she admonished him. "You almost had me believing that you were really sincere in your feelings for me."

"I do care for you," he insisted, leaning in toward her. "More, I can assure you, than Legolas does."

Miredhel dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. "Adrendil, you know nothing about me. Nothing! Because if you really knew me, then you would have known…" her voice trailed away, and she looked across at him questioningly.

"Known what?"

"You would have known that I suffered from Grief. I have ever since my closest friend died in the siege of Dol Guldur during the war. You were right about it being horribly painful, though," she said simply.

For the first time in many years, Adrendil was momentarily speechless. She had Grief!

"I'm sorry, my lady. You are quite right. I am a great big fool," he said dumbly. "How did you survive it? Your grief, I mean."

"My brother pulled me through the worst. I know you and he do not really see eye to eye, but Eledhel saved me. He made me believe that I wasn't ready to go. He even brought Lady Galadriel to see me…" She did not finish her explanation. There were times when having a perfect memory was a curse. She could still feel the pain of those days like it was yesterday.

Miredhel stood there before him, seeming rather small and pale in the moonlight. As much as she pretended not to care, the captain's words had bothered her. She sighed and looked up at the captain.

She looked so sweet and forlorn that the captain decided to try his luck. He cupped her chin and gently kissed her on the lips…

Miredhel screeched away almost instantaneously and round-housed him hard. Adrendil took an unsteady step back after the unexpected blow, and it was then that Miredhel took the opportunity to plant both of her hands on his chest, giving him a hearty shove backwards onto her tent.

Adrendil faltered on his feet for a moment, his arms flailing as he tried to save his balance, but down he went in a swell of canvas and perfectly tied knots.

Miredhel grinned. He did look so ridiculous there. She leaned over the ruined tent and whispered laconically, "It's the Grief, Adrendil. It makes me do the craziest things. You'd be better off staying away from me."

Adrendil rolled over and blinked.

Miredhel and the captain had the attention of the entire campsite now. Legolas was on the scene first.

"What happened here?" he demanded, the corners of his lips curling at the sight of Adrendil laying flush against the billowing canvas.

"I think he had a dizzy spell… " Miredhel said loudly enough for the benefit of the onlookers. "The captain was admiring the handiwork of your tent, Prince Legolas, and then—plop! He just keeled over."

"Right," agreed the prince loudly. He leaned over to give his captain a hand up. "I'm sure you deserved that," he quietly said to Adrendil and slapped him on the back, none too gently.

Adrendil dusted himself off and stalked away. Normally, he would have fumed over being humiliated like that for days, but at the moment his mind was only fixed on one single truth. Miredhel had Grief. Grief! That simple fact explained away so many questions he had about her relationship with Legolas and her brother's over-protectiveness. Miredhel had Grief.

He traced his finger over his lips and then rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. She had not been as receptive to his affections as he had hoped. That would change in time, he told himself. Adrendil was not a quitter. She may have rejected him tonight, but that was just one small hitch in his grand scheme. He sat down on the edge of camp and began to work out a revised plan. Miredhel's grief changed everything, of course. It made what he had to do so much easier! Actually his plan was fool-proof. And that was convenient, since in her words, he was a 'great big fool.'

Now, he only had to wait until the enemy struck and the battle begun…


Chapter 43 - Dangerous Games

Chapter Forty-one: Dangerous Games

Legolas and Miredhel met together later that night in the comfort of her tent that the prince rebuilt for her. They sat comfortably on their blankets spread over the sweet prairie grass, and both elves embraced the chance to be alone together.

"I've been waiting all evening to do this again," he said, pulling her into a fierce hug and raining eager kisses along her forehead, cheek, and neck, before capturing her mouth in a searing, hungry kiss.

She gladly complied, tilting her head back and leaning into him to make the most of his welcome embrace.

"If it seems like I'm crazy about you, Miredhel—I am," he confessed, wrapping his arms around her even more tightly and kissing the top of her head possessively. "You were all I could think of today," he whispered.

"Legolas," she said in turn, tilting her head just a little so her frank, hazel eyes could meet his hectic blue ones. "I am so glad and relieved that I came with you on this journey. I seriously don't know what I would have done if I were still back in Minas Tirith right now, wanting you the way I do." She traced her thumb gently from his forehead across his cheek to his perfect lips. "If you only knew the way I feel inside—"

"Like molton rock?" he guessed.

"I was going to say like the strongest miruvor—but yes," she agreed, her voice going soft. "And all I can think of is how much I want to be with you." She looked at him a bit wild-eyed and then leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm right here," he soothed, smoothing his hand over her hair.

"It's almost painful," she murmured, "and you're right here with me. I can't imagine how I would feel if you were gone."

"I know," he said, "I know," and he tried to make sense of their feelings. "After last night, I wondered—no, I knew this would happen. I knew it that night. It's why I insisted you join the war party with me."

"Legolas, it can't be—"

His eyes deepened as he looked at her cheek upon his shoulder. "It can, Miredhel," he said gently, "and it is. I knew it after the first time we made love."

"Forgive me, if I'm not as experienced in these matters as you," she said and frowned, pulling away from him, "but doesn't it seem a little hasty to you, Legolas? It was only one night!-albeit several times, but—"

"Miredhel, I love you," he said, pulling her back into his arms and delivering another fierce kiss to the top of her head. "I LOVE you, and I can not imagine any other elf that I would rather bond in love with, than you, you and none other."

"It feels like it's happening so fast, but then at the same time, I have been waiting for this all my life," she said and attempted a small laugh, "—all those nights, Legolas, that I spent dreaming in that garden. I never dreamed it would happen like this—"

"Shh, Miredhel," he said quietly, "I know it's not a perfect courtship, but I promise you that—"

She stopped him mid-sentence by covering his lips with her own, and he gave into the kiss, open and tender. He let himself lean back onto the blankets and grass beneath them, pulling her down beside him, their legs tangled together, and he could feel how warm she was beside him and felt the beating of her heart against his chest.

Miredhel stopped the kiss and looked in his eyes.

"I don't care about a perfect courtship. I just want to be with you. Legolas," she said, shaking her head, "you're a prince, a leader, and a hero to our people." She ran a tremulous finger across his hairline and down one of his braids. "A hero to me," she said quietly, gazing down. "I'm honored, and amazed, and so very glad that I should share in this gift with you, a bond with you." She looked up at him again, and her eyes were wet and laden with love and longing.

He rolled over on his side and propped himself up on one arm. "Oh, Miredhel," he murmured, "the things you do to me inside," and he brushed a stray curl away from her eyes and kissed her there.

He then gathered her into his arms, and she was amazed that one so strong could also be so tender; and both elves took comfort in the love they shared and the bond they had newly forged. Their sighs and the occasional moan were lost among the whispering of the tall grass in the field around their tent, and none of the men of the camp were any wiser to the pledges of love and the passion which passed between Prince Legolas and Lady Miredhel that night.


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Fire and darkness rained upon the field at the edge of a great battle. In the foreground, he caught a glimpse of Aragorn on his white charger, raising Anduril to rally the troops. On the distant horizon, the fort at Calenfen winked uncertainly through the thickening haze of smoke and ash. The roar of battle consumed him, growing louder and louder, and flames sprouted every where. In this dark hour, the dragon came forth, his voice more terrible than the shouts and trumpets of his minions, and stood before the prince.

"You have served me well, elf," the beast spat. "You have brought me my desire."

Legolas turned uncomfortably on his side, pulling his arm out from under his head to drape it gently across Miredhel beside him. He had just woken another horrific dream that left him completely unsettled and more than worried. He had dreamed of the beast almost every night since his first encounter with him that night on the Anduin.

Legolas shuddered. Did the dreams even have any meaning to them? He hoped not. Yet as he pulled the blanket up to cover Miredhel's bare shoulders, the prince could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. A shadow, more than just residue from the dark dream he had just woken from, plagued his thoughts. A threat lurked near the camp.

The prince sat up, taking great care not to disturb his lover beside him and pulled on his tunic, then reached for his weapons. He paused for a moment and placed a tender kiss on Miredhel's cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered, and Legolas whispered his love for her and then slid soundlessly from their tent.

Legolas searched the perimeter of the camp; the men slept soundly and the horses were quiet. The soldiers on watch gave him a respectful nod as he passed among them. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet… Legolas could not dismiss the way sense of dread that washed over him when he looked out past the camp into the inky darkness, or the uncommon chill creeping across his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind and sharpen his perception. The night was quiet enough, but Legolas sensed more. The enemy was out there. He focused on the feeling and let his elvish intuition take over, moving through the still rows of men sleeping until he stopped at the northern edge of camp.

Adrendil was there also, his eyes intent on the seemingly empty plain before them.

The prince's concentration broke when confronted with his errant captain.

"I had to rebuild that tent you smashed, you know, Adrendil," Legolas said good-humoredly and intoned, "Do be more careful next time."

The Captain cut his eyes to his lord. "My apologies, your highness. I'm sure I do not know what came over me."

A muscle along the prince's jaw involuntarily tightened at Adrendil's blithe tone. "I think you do, Captain Adrendil. Take care that it does not happen again," Legolas warned.

Adrendil gradually turned his head, and the elves' eyes met. Adrendil's gaze had none of the deference that a captain should show to his lord; instead, he looked upon the prince with obvious contempt.

Legolas' eyes darkened. "It is a dangerous game you play, Adrendil," said the prince, speaking of the elf's move on Miredhel.

"It is a dangerous game we all play," the Captain boldly countered. "Look at us now- a prince and his captain vying for the love of one maiden."

"She made her choice clear to you tonight," Legolas pointed out.

"Of course, she did, and I gladly accept defeat from an opponent as worthy as yourself, lord," Adrendil said smoothly and paused, his eyes darting away to glance at the dark horizon below the moon. "But I worry for her, Prince Legolas. How can you promise her that you won't fall in battle? That you won't fall tonight?"

The prince followed Adrendil's gaze and peered out into the vague landscape. The truth of the matter was, Legolas had no idea what might happen in the next couple of days, and he never felt the keen limitations of his immortality more than now, now that he had fallen for Miredhel.

"You risk her death for her love," Adrendil accused.

"Don't we all risk death for love?" said Legolas with a small smile. "Do you not risk it every time you strap on your weapons? You love battle, Captain, yet it may bring your death."

"Yes, my death, Prince, but not someone else's," Adrendil shot back. "I do not also risk the life of a sweet, curly-headed maiden with eyes colored like the forest."

Legolas winced, and Adrendil was elf enough to notice it.

"If her grief returned, would you let her go? To leave these lands? Or would you selfishly try to keep her by your side?" Adrendil asked in a superior tone.

"It won't return," Legolas vowed stubbornly.

"Ah, but if it did?" Adrendil probed. "I know you too well, Prince. You would not forsake your duty to Ithilien or Aragorn to leave for the havens with your lover."

Legolas' eyes flashed. "Her grief won't return, Adrendil. Stop talking about it."

"So certain are you?" sneered the Captain, and he enjoyed seeing the one who would always be higher than him, more noble than him, squirm.

"That's enough!" Legolas commanded, looking every inch the prince that he was. There was something etched in the lines of his face that spoke of a greatness not yet revealed, of a terrible will and power held in check by grace, summoned from mighty elf lords of elder days.

Adrendil fell silent. He did not cower, for he had been a Captain in his realm for many long years, and he knew how to hide his fear.

Even Legolas was a little shocked at how much his tone of voice had sounded like his father's. He folded his arms and looked at Adrendil directly, changing the subject authoritatively.

"Why are you keeping watch here, Captain? The king has plenty of men staked out."

"Something stirs to the north, my lord," he said.

Legolas nodded appreciatively. It was good to have another elf around, even if it did have to be Adrendil. "I feel it too," he agreed. "Have you seen anything?"

"Yes. Tiny flicks of light flared and then vanished, like a fire suddenly put out. I thought I dreamed at first, but then it happened again."

Legolas frowned pensively. "What do you think it was—torches?"

"Or campfires of some sort," guessed Adrendil. "There's no way of knowing."

"It could be nothing- fireflies," Legolas mused, "but then why do I have this hunch that it's more?"

"Orcs?" Adrendil supplied.

"Why didn't you come and get me when it happened the first time?" the prince demanded.

"Respectfully, my lord? Your attention was otherwise engaged at the moment," Adrendil smirked.

"So it was," Legolas agreed, not at all nonplussed that Adrendil may have come by the tent while he might have been making love to Miredhel. In fact, he was rather pleased. Perhaps the situation would help the captain to appreciate the reality of the prince's relationship with her.

"Well, I'm here now," Legolas said dryly. "Let's tell Aragorn about your little discovery and then go down and have a look for ourselves."

"My lord, I advise you against waking the king. Men are noisy. They may inadvertently alert our enemy to the fact that we're aware of their presence."

Legolas' eyes shifted toward Aragorn's dwindling campfire. "Well," he hesitated. He did not travel with simply Strider the Ranger anymore. Aragorn came with a regular entourage now, and Legolas doubted that they would all carry themselves as quietly as Estel might. Adrendil was right. Waking the king now would create an immediate bustle at a most inopportune time.

"We can be back before the night watchmen even change posts," Adrendil averred, and Legolas nodded in agreement.

Both elves strung their bows and crept from the camp into the tall, waving grass of the plains, heading in the direction of the mysterious lights. While they moved, crouching to hide in the height of the grass, Adrendil slowly slipped his dagger from his belt. A peculiar smile flitted across his face as he stayed close behind Legolas, watching the prince's back.

Legolas turned, noticing both the dagger and the smile, and looked at him oddly. "Should I be concerned, Captain?" he quipped in a quiet whisper. His eyes held nothing but amusement, but a careful observer would have instantly noticed the tightening in his jaw, and the tension in his shoulders, like a spring coiling.

Adrendil had always been a careful observer.

"My prince," he said, astonished, and gracefully bowed his head. His voice took on a wounded quality. "You know that I have pledged my life to serve you, to die—for you."

"Yes, of course, Captain," Legolas said and cuffed him on the shoulder good-naturedly. "Come, let's find these lights." The prince turned back to making their trail, and Adrendil, smiling slyly continued to follow.

As they passed a small rise in the plains, the elves' keen eyes picked up movement in the grass far before them.

"Listen!" Legolas said excitedly.

"Orcs," hissed Adrendil.

"It's just a small party," Legolas whispered to the captain. "We'll separate and hide in the grass. We can pick them off one at a time."

Adrendil nodded, and the elves split off, heading in different directions.

Legolas carefully crept toward a small bluff, bow in hand, when he heard a distinct snarl to his right. He reacted quickly, his head whipping around toward the sound of his enemy.

An orc in dark, stained armor stared straight at him.

In one hand the beast held a gruesome dagger, and in the other, a long black whip. Legolas' arm shot back to pull an arrow from his quiver, but the orc moved just as quickly. He cracked his whip, and the black leather tore through the space between them. Legolas did not even have time to fend off the blow, and the whip's twisted sting caught the elf by the neck, wrapping around it like a deadly noose.

With a fiendish smile, the orc jerked his whip, bringing his captive to his knees, and the rough hide bit into the elf's tender skin. He could not cry out, he could not even breathe, and it felt as though his entire windpipe had collapsed. Bow and arrows forgotten, Legolas' hands groped at the sinewy leather that tightly bound his neck, trying desperately to buy himself one more breath. The leather straps tightened again, feasting on his already raw flesh, and Legolas felt the earth move beneath him.

He was being dragged to the orc camp.

As he choked, his eyes watered so much that he could only discern a dim outline of his enemy drawing near him. His ears pounded from the roar inside his head, and vaguely he could hear someone gagging. It was himself, Legolas realized. He spared one hand from pulling at the rawhide binding his neck and tried reaching for one of his knives. If he acted quickly, he could cut himself free…

The orc caught the elf's movement all too easily and swung his large metal-shod boot, connecting directly with the elf's hand. Legolas' knife flew through the air and was lost to the grass. The orc stomped down on the prince's wrist in a sickening crunch and leered over him, pulling up on his whip so that Legolas' neck and head lifted off the ground. For the first time that night, Legolas looked into his enemy's eyes. They were dark with conceit and sheer hatred.

The orc grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and loosened the whip from his neck. With a violent shudder, Legolas sucked in air greedily, his chest heaving.

"Elf-maggot!" the orc cursed, "No good killing you now—our night's just begun!"

With one swipe of his claws, he ripped the quiver and remaining knife from the elf's back and tore his tunic from him.

The orc eyed the broad expanse of Legolas' bare chest appreciatively. "So much smooth flesh, ripe for the spoiling…" he growled and bound the elf's hands behind him. He then yanked Legolas' arm, pulling the elf close to his side.

"Did you like what we did to your young scout?" he whispered gutturally in the elf's perfect pointed ear.

Farothin, Legolas thought, and a feeling darker than rage burned thick in his veins at the suggestion. His whole entire body tightened in his enemy's grip, and he turned his head and spit right at the orc's face.

The orc's lips curled into a nasty smile as he licked the elf's saliva from his cheek. "So you do remember!" the orc confirmed, eyes gleaming. He tightened his grip on Legolas' arm until his thick nails drew blood, and began to stride to the orc camp, half-dragging the elf the rest of the way.

The orcs shouted their glee as the fetched him into their filthy camp circle. Legolas struggled, kicking and twisting, against his captors as they brought him in, and the first enormous orc who had originally captured him cracked his whip at their heels. Amid the grunts and hisses of the enemy band, Legolas bore his captivity in silence and relative stoicism. He did not speak, or cry out, nor would he meet their eye; even as they pinched and grabbed and pulled cruelly at him as he passed, his expression remained the same. To see his eyes during that dark night was to know intensity; they were razor sharp, a lethal blue gray, piercing the darkness like the tip of a blade.

With churlish delight, they bound his hands to a shoulder high wooden post that the orcs had freshly dug into the ground for their prisoner. The prince's original captor, the tall orc with the whip, came forth, and the other orcs rallied and shouted his triumph over the elf whelp and another word which Legolas could only imagine was his name. The orcs called their leader Scabgrub.

"Feast your eyes, boys!" Scabgrub shouted, flicking his whip at the elf. "We have before us the great elf prince Thranduillion!"

Legolas' eyes flickered at the sound of his name and rank, and the corners of his mouth tightened in determination. He willfully stared down at the ground, knowing that whatever happened, he must not reveal any information.

Scabgrub moved close to the post and the tied-up elf. With a preemptive smirk at his fellow orcs, he tangled his grimy, blood-worn hands in the prince's hair and then jerked down on the ends in a mighty tug, forcing Legolas to look up.

"Oh, we know who you are, princeling," he said, his voice a self-satisfied rumble. "Our spies have watched you ever since you left those damn woods enchanted by the elf-witch."

Lothlorien?-impossible, Legolas thought, and his face betrayed his obvious disbelief.

Scabgrub sneered and let go of the elf's hair. He swung his hand and backhanded Legolas across the cheek. The prince's head snapped to the other side, and Legolas tasted the coppery sting of blood in his mouth and on his lips.

The rest of the mob snarled their approval.

"Fool!" Scabgrub shouted at Legolas. "We know all your doings. Our master bid it so. We know where you've been, who your captains are, and the number in your war party…" The orc smiled cunningly and prodded Legolas' chin up with the butt of his whip, so that he could watch the elf's face. "We know of your closest friends, and we know about your lover."

Legolas' eyes darkened. It took all his powers of reserve to school his outward expression into one of casual disinterest, but inside the orc's words tormented him to no end. As best as he tried, he could not pretend that it was all lies. He could not. And if they spoke of Miredhel or threatened her, he did not know how long he could maintain silence or control himself.

"Oh, yes. We know all about her-that elf-wench with the curly hair and her smooth white body." Scabgrub taunted him, tracing a dark nail down the elf's cheek. "Do you love her? Should we fetch her to our camp and find out?"

An eager rumble spread through the ranks, and the surrounding orcs volunteered their services to capture her.

Legolas did not answer and looked stonily at his captor.

"Do you think she'll love you so dearly when we're done with you?" another orc sneered.

Still Legolas refused to answer, and in his mind he was far away from the orcs, and the blood, and the stench and filth. He thought only of Miredhel's eyes and the way she had looked when he spoke of them being bonded in love, the hope that was there, and he silently resolved to return to her no matter the price. For him, there could be no other choice.

"He won't talk now," Scabgrub decided. "Let's see if we can loosen his tongue, boys!"

All the orcs roared and clambered impatiently to see what could be done to the elf, and the ranks parted between them. The last thing Legolas saw before they roughly turned his body to face the post was a swarthy orc heading right toward him with a thick chain in his hands. Then Legolas remembered Farothin's wounds, the enormous and odd shaped lacerations across his back and sides; at the time, he could not make sense of the pattern flayed into his friend's skin, and he had wondered what could have caused so much damage.

Legolas' ears pricked at sound of the chain's end dropping from the orc's hand and hitting the earth with a solid thud. His muscles tensed, and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the first strike.

The chain viciously snapped into his back with a rumble like the coming thunder before a storm, and a flash of pain creased through his body.

Legolas cried out for the first time that night. He simply could not help the sound that had escaped his lips when the chain struck him. He felt like he'd been hit by lightning. He understood the marks on Farothin's back now.

The crowd of orcs around the elf jeered rambunctiously, and Scabgrub signaled for the orc with the chain to hit the prisoner again. Legolas gritted his teeth. He would not cry out anymore.

Snap! The chain whipped across his shoulders, and the prince found he could scarcely draw breath, and he did not have time to brace himself before he heard the rumble of the chain in the air again.

Snap! The links popped across his back and around his torso to his side. The elf's body shuddered from the blows, and Legolas could not stop himself from shaking.

The chain flew again, and again, then again, one blow right after another; the whip-master neither paused nor stopped. The prince lost count. The muscles in his back burned wildly, and the world around him seemed to shrink to tiny details—the smell of blood in the air and the cracking of the chain. His mind was quickly becoming a jumble of incoherent thoughts, and the only thing that made sense to him was that he was thankful for not being able to see what his back looked like.

Snap! Surely his skin hung in shreds by now, and the pain was unbearable, more than he had ever known—at any time. Legolas' head drooped unaccountably, and he realized he did not have the strength to raise it. His eyes rolled back in his head and then drifted down. The prince discovered that his pants were crimson from his waist to his knees, and someone's blood stained the freshly dug earth around the post where the orcs had chained him.

Snap! This time Legolas watched red violently splatter the post. His blood. His stomach heaved from pain and nausea while his legs gave out from under him. He sank to his knees, and the scene around him- the orcs, the post, the chain- crashed into darkness.

The next thing he knew, the enemy had turned his body around from the post to face forward again. The rough hewn wood offered no comfort to his raw back and arms, but Legolas had no choice but to lean against it. He had not the strength to do otherwise. The mob of orcs before him moved away and then returned, horning in even closer than before.

"Bring that 'ere!" barked Scabgrub. "Can't have his majesty fainting on us—that would spoil all our fun—"

He waved over an orc bearing a shallow helmet-turned-bowl, and Legolas realized what 'that' was—some sort of drink—syrupy, dark, and vile. No telling what it was, and the prince decided in seconds that he was not going to drink it.

The orc with the bowl tilted it to the elf's lips. The stench was unbelievable, like rotten eggs, spoiling meat, and Gimli's unwashed beard. Almost reflex-gagging, Legolas jerked his head away, and the liquid spilled down his chin.

The orc Scabgrub was not going to allow such behavior.

He belted his prisoner in the stomach, and when Legolas gasped, the other orc poured the noxious liquid into his mouth. The orc draught burned his lips and gums, and some of it eked down his throat, giving the elf a full-body shudder. A hot, fierce glow erupted from his throat down his stomach, and Legolas spit the rest of the drink back in Scabgrub's face.

The orc shot Legolas a bilious death-glare and then hollered to his companions.

"Nagburz, come! Ask your questions now," Scabgrub summoned another orc to come near the post.

"Ready to talk, elf?" Nagburz sneered. His voice was quiet and not so harsh as Scabgrub's, but infinitely more sinister. "We know that one of your wretched elf spies sneaked past our guards around Calenfen. What did he tell you?"

Elf spy? Legolas wondered and looked away.

Nagburz guided the elf's chin back to face him with a dark-streaked finger. "If you won't talk, perhaps there is someone else who will. Your lover, perhaps?" he questioned the elf with a knowing smile. "We could bring her here, steal her out of that stupid tent you built."

Legolas swallowed thickly.

"You wouldn't mind sharing her with us, would you?" his soft voice probed. "I can tell my suggestion bothers you. I can see it in your eyes, elf." The orc then leaned over and whispered a hideously lewd suggestion in the prince's ear.

Legolas' eyes flashed, and his face darkened as he lunged at Nagburz, only to be held back by the post.

"I thought as much," the orc concluded quietly. "Now tell me—will the king of the White City take his army to Calenfen?"

Legolas hesitated, and Nagburz repeated his heinous plans of what he'd like to do to Miredhel.

"I don't know!" Legolas seethed finally, breaking his long silence. Forgive me, Aragorn, he thought miserably.

"I think you do," Nagburz said confidently in his soft voice, "and every time you lie to me, prince, you make it worse for her."

"I don't know," Legolas insisted. "A king keeps his own council. His decisions are his own." Maybe he lost too much blood to think clearly or the orc draught was having a greater effect than he thought, but the prince could not understand what Nagburz was after; and the entire orc camp seemed caught in a filmy haze. His eyes would not focus properly, and he hung his head to find relief.

Nagburz' eyes narrowed, and he stomped away from the elf and the post.

"Bring me that elf wench or beat this one some more," Nagburz said, loudly enough for Legolas to overhear. "I can't get the maggot to say if he knows anything about the ambush."

Ambush? Legolas wondered, and stole a glance at the huddle of orcs to his right.

Scabgrub snarled his way into the conversation, "If the king turns away now, the Master's whole plan is busted. And then he'll torch us like that bunch of traitors that tried to waylay the elves on the road from Lothlorien."

Legolas' mind raced to when his company first left the Golden Wood, and Farothin had discovered the burnt, mangled corpses on the road. Those orcs had been waiting for him, and the dragon had killed them in turn. The prince eyed his enemies. If they kept talking, perhaps he could discover Anglachur's plans.

But another orc spied the elf paying too much attention to what was being said. "Fools!" another he squealed, "You've gone and said too much! He's heard you!"

"Won't matter," Scabgrub growled in turn. "He won't be able to tell anybody anything by the time we're done with him." He shared an evil, knowing look with Nagburz. "Forget the questioning and go put the irons in the fire, Nagburz… What we do tonight will be enough to make the king continue. The elf will help us give him a nice little reminder of what will happen at that fort if he doesn't go."

Legolas dismally watched Nagburz plant several cruel looking iron pieces in the hot coals of the orcs' small fire.

Scabgrub stepped forward with a malicious grin and brandished a short, jagged knife. "Ready to bleed, elf?"

The prince stared defiantly toward the dark horizon and decided he was about sick of this whole scene. The chain had been bad enough, but he really did not know how much longer he could last, what with the promise of knives and red-hot pokers to look forward to. What had happened to Adrendil?
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With a half-fascinated and partly horrified expression, Adrendil looked on from a comfortable distance, hidden by shadows. At length, he turned to sneak away from the scene unheard when he was blind-sided and tackled to the ground by a furious and unknown assailant.

The captain tried to rise but his attacker pushed him to the ground and pinned his arms behind him.

"Traitor," an elvish voice hissed. "You would leave your prince to be tortured?"

"Who are you?" gasped Adrendil and tried to turn his head to discover his attacker's identity, but his opponent was too quick for him and grabbed a chunk of the captain's thick hair.

"Don't move!" the voice warned, and the mystery attacker banged Adrendil's head into the ground with a certain sense of relish.

"I should pummel you senseless and blind for this," the voice threatened, "and perhaps I will later. This has been a long time coming, Captain." A pair of strong hands pulled Adrendil's arm tight behind his back into an incredibly painful position and began to squeeze.

His hands were stilled by an anguished moan from Legolas at the orcs' camp.

"If you keep on like this, he'll die," Adrendil whispered bitterly. "I was going for help before you stopped me."

Adrendil's captor hoisted him up by the collar in one swift movement so they stood face to face, and the captain could not have been more astonished.

He stared into the gray steady eyes of Eledhel of Lothlorien.

"You. You have some nerve," Adrendil spat, "attacking me like that."

"And you will count yourself fortunate if that is indeed the worst I do to you," Eledhel warned. "You let Prince Legolas get captured by these beasts and did nothing."

"I was going to get help," Adrendil insisted darkly. "What do you think you can do against all of them?" The captain pulled his long, thick hair over his shoulder and glowered at Eledhel.

"I know what my duty is," Eledhel said, releasing Adrendil so strongly and suddenly that the elf almost fell to the ground again. "Do what you must, coward. I'm going to go save my friend." He left the other Captain where he stood and readied his bow for attack.

Adrendil frowned and then hurried back toward the king's camp, muttering as he went.

Meanwhile, Eledhel hatched a plan to save his friend, who was failing fast. He could shoot one orc to fall over the camp fire, temporarily blacking out camp. Then he would slide in among the orcs during the confusion, soundlessly slit the throat of Legolas' tormentors, cut the prince's bonds, pass him a weapon and then high-tail it out of there.

Eledhel waited in the grass. He could scarcely stand to look at his friend, for Legolas suffered badly. His face now sported a fearsome bruise and gash across his right cheekbone, and Eledhel wished that he could bring some comfort to the prince, to let him know that help was on its way. He pursed his lips and then carefully made a low bird-call, like a woodland thrush, one long whistle and two short.

Legolas lifted his head, his eyes alert, and then Eledhel struck at the camp, following his hastily constructed plan. He let his bow sing and skillfully shot an orc nearest the fire.

The light went out, plunging the camp and mob into unsteady darkness. The orcs howled, and the sharp screech of unsheathing blades pierced the night.

Eledhel pulled his long blade from its sheath and sliced his way amongst them, heading for the largest orc near Legolas first. The captain's eyes were sharp enough that he could see them and attack at will, and the mob of orcs had turned to chaos. As he slid behind Legolas, Eledhel palmed him a small dagger and then turned just in time to deflect a blow from Scabgrub's whip.

The orc hissed and charged, and Eledhel dodged to the right. Scabgrub missed hitting him completely, and before the beast could turn, Eledhel had swung his blade for a deadly blow. Scabgrub sank to his knees, tongue hanging out, and cursed before Eledhel beheaded him with not undue satisfaction.

"Legolas—" he called, over his shoulder while planting his blade into another orc. "Are you free yet?" When Legolas did not answer, Eledhel turned again toward the post where his friend had been tied, and there was his prince shoving a dagger firmly into the neck of his interrogator, Nagburz.

When Nagburz at last fell to the ground, so did Legolas, his face ashen with blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, and Eledhel saw for the first time that his friend's back was completely raw and open.

Eledhel was at his side in an instant. Most of the orcs in the camp had fallen to angry accusations against each other and had began to fight amongst themselves. As much as Eledhel would have liked to stay and avenge Legolas' suffering, instead he loyally lifted the prince over his shoulder and disappeared into the swaying grass. He was met halfway to the king's camp by Aragorn, Adrendil, and a good company of fleet-armed soldiers. Of course, Eledhel and Aragorn already knew each other. After all, Aragorn had been the one to introduce Legolas to Eledhel when the Fellowship had first come to Lothlorien. Neither the elf nor the man stalled on pleasantries.

"He's injured," Eledhel said right away in brief, clipped sentences. "I don't know how badly. No, the enemy's still back there."

Adrendil volunteered to lead the soldiers and finish off the enemy party, and Aragorn and Eledhel returned quickly to camp. As they hurried to the king's wide tent, Aragorn checked to make sure Legolas still breathed, and Eledhel filled him in on his side of events.

"The orcs and dragon have Calenfen surrounded. I broke through their ranks to warn you and then followed this miserable company of orcs, figuring they might lead me to you," Eledhel said, following the king past a couple of silver-helmed guards. Past the soldiers, he regretted to see Miredhel emerging from a tent at the edge of the camp.

"Oh, Valar, no," he murmured under his breath.

Aragorn turned his head to see what Eledhel meant and saw Miredhel coming toward them. "I should have told you your sister traveled with us, Eledhel," he said apologetically.

"Given the circumstances, I understand the omission, but why is she here with the war party and not at Minas Tirith?"

"Legolas wanted her to come," Aragorn answered honestly, and his eyes strayed across his friend's battered body and then to Miredhel who was still a way's off. He remembered happening upon them early yesterday morning while they still slept in each others' arms, and he knew Legolas loved her. The king was just unsure of how much Eledhel knew of the couple's relationship. One thing was certain, however; no woman should see her lover looking the way Legolas did at the moment. He looked half-dead.

"Quick, give Legolas to me," Aragorn suggested. "I will take him inside the tent, and you can speak with your sister."

Eledhel gently transferred the prince to the man's arms, and Aragorn disappeared with his patient into the canvas folds of the tent. Eledhel surveyed his blood-streaked clothing before his sister arrived and wondered if she had seen him carrying Legolas. He feared her reaction to the news that Legolas had been grievously injured. Although he tried to appear glad to see her, deep concern and sorrow burdened his heart; he worried for Aragorn fighting to save Legolas' life, for his sister's safety and her Grief, and for the elves that he had left at Calenfen surrounded by scheming orcs and dragon. The night around them was still so dark, and a dawn of any sort seemed far away.

Eledhel's eyes were wet and bright by the time Miredhel reached him.

The look on her face told him everything.


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To be continued...


Chapter 44 - No Turning Back Now

Chapter 42: No Turning Back Now

She could hardly believe her eyes when she first saw her brother at the edge of camp. There had been soldiers blocking her view, but now she knew that in fact she had not been merely dreaming, and that Eledhel was actually there. He looked horrible, really, and Miredhel feared that he had been injured. Blood, both fresh and dried, streaked his tunic irregularly, and his face was weary. He did not look at all pleased to see her.

"Eledhel," she greeted him concernedly, her arms outstretched. "How did you ever manage to find us? What brings you here?"

Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and skin luminescent, and from her appearance, her brother knew that she had not seen him come in with the prince. She looked remarkably well and apparently knew nothing of what had happened to Legolas, and Eledhel dreaded being the one to have to tell her. From different conversations with his sister and Legolas in the Brown Lands, Eledhel had concluded that the two were both a short piece from either desperately hating each other or loving each other with an equally strong passion.

And he had warned them both of the risks to her heart and her Grief, if they recklessly fell in love. Now Legolas lay in the next tent dying, for all Eledhel knew. How could he bear this news to her?

Eledhel draped his arm around his sister's shoulders and faltered, pushing back his revulsion of the words he must say to his sister, words he knew would surely hurt her.

"Miredhel…" he softly began, and the ache in his eyes was unmistakable, especially to one so versed in Grief as his sister.

"What has happened?" she whispered and instinctively turned her head to search about the camp for her prince. From the dark fields, she saw Adrendil returning to the camp with several soldiers. He held Legolas' bow next to his own in his hand and his quiver and knives under his other arm.

Miredhel's face drained white. The whole camp shrunk around her. All she could see or care about was the sight of those weapons in the Captain's arms. Legolas' bow! She could hardly hear her brother's words above the sound of her own panicked breathing. Then her strength wilted away, and she groped for her brother's shoulder before she wordlessly crumpled to the ground.

Meanwhile inside Aragorn's tent, the king's face was grim as he surveyed the damage done to his dearest friend. There were some superficial wounds across his face. A deep gash scored one of his cheekbones. Bruises and swelling already marred his fine features.

Aragorn's anger flared beyond measure. These injuries were so different from any received in battle. There was no honor in what his friend had been forced to suffer. A mortal man might have succumbed to such wounds, but Legolas was strong, even by elven standards. He would live. Aragorn would see to that.

And Legolas had suffered, greatly. There was no doubt in the king's mind. The orcs had divested him of his tunic, and the evidence of their cruelty was plain to see, exquisite hate spelled through blood. The elf had been tortured, carefully so, in order to prolong his misery.

The prince's neck was raw and chafed, mottled with yellow bruising, as though he had been nearly strangled with some type of rope. Lacerations crisscrossed the once smooth skin of his chest and all the way down his torso. The orcs must have dragged some sort of serrated knife down his chest. Aragorn applied some salve on the wounds and vainly wished that those injuries were the worst. Yet he knew more grievous injuries scored the elf's back. Gently he rolled Legolas onto his stomach and propped his head to one side with a rolled blanket.

Legolas' lips parted slightly, and he softly moaned.

"Fear not. You are with friends now, Legolas," Aragorn assured him.

"Miredhel?" Legolas murmured without opening his eyes.

"She is safe," Aragorn said and moved his lantern beside him where he could better examine the elf's back.

Sadly, the view before him reminded the king much of Farothin. From above Legolas' shoulder blades to his waist, the orcs had torn his back until it was a mangled mess of blood-soaked skin and flesh. Aragorn did what he could to stanch the bleeding and to clean the wounds, sometimes pushing the loose tatters of skin together to give the elf some chance of healing properly.

He pulled an ointment from his satchel and fresh athelas. Crushing the leaves in his palm, Aragorn finely mixed the herb into a pasty concoction before spreading it on the elf's exposed back.

Legolas moaned, and one of his eyelids cracked open to reveal a listless gray-blue orb.

Aragorn stopped working briefly to pull Legolas' hair away from his face so the elf could see better. The king continued his treatment, but the elf said nothing, save an occasional hiss through clenched teeth as he warily watched Aragorn from the corner of a pale eye.

When Aragorn had finally finished applying the herbs, and the tent was thick with their heady scent, Legolas closed his eyes and grimaced as the pain of his wounds took over.

"I hurt, Aragorn," he said brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut.

Now the king was really worried. He had seen his friend overcome many injuries that were ghastly by human standards- arrows, sword and knife wounds, horrendous blows—and on many occasions, Legolas had either pretended it was nothing or had protested against Aragorn even looking at it. The Legolas Aragorn knew would certainly never admit to pain; the prince Thranduillion would see that as an inherent sign of weakness.

Yet there was no mistaking the anguish in Legolas' eyes when he opened them again. He did not even try to conceal it.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked carefully. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

The elf frowned and swallowed. "Yes," he said shortly, lowering his eyes. "I wish I could forget."

"Then do not think of it," the king advised, his eyes filling with concern. "I would rather you rest instead." He hardly knew what to say to this vulnerable version of his friend.

Legolas shook his head dully. "I want you to bind my wounds, Aragorn, and help me with a tunic."

Now it was Aragorn's turn to shake his head, adamantly so, but he had to admit to himself that the elf's last comment was more in tune with the Legolas he knew. "It does me good to hear you say that, Legolas, but for now, I want you to sleep."

The prince stubbornly moved his arm to push himself up off his stomach. Much to his dissatisfaction, he lacked the strength to do so, and Aragorn made no effort to help him. "They beat me, Aragorn," he said quietly as he lay his head back down on the rolled blanket, "for information about you… I heard all their plans. They didn't care, because they planned on killing me in the end. And I've been wrong about everything." He gingerly traced the gash across his cheek. "Everything," he repeated in a whisper. "This whole time, I never understood what the dragon wanted with me—it's not like I'm some lord he could treat with. I'm no king and not even in line to be king," he rambled.

"Legolas…"

The prince raised his head just enough that he could see the king's eyes clearly. "Aragorn, it's you they want, not me…" he insisted, his voice growing agitated.

Aragorn knelt by his side and brushed the clumped blonde strands of hair away from his wounds. "Legolas, do not think of it right now. You'll only upset yourself. Rest your mind, friend."

Legolas held Aragorn's gaze. "If you're my friend, then do as I ask, Aragorn. Bind my wounds."

"Absolutely not—"

"We have to leave. I must get up, and I cannot let Miredhel see me looking like this."

"This request is about Miredhel?" Aragorn was incredulous. Vanity thy name is Legolas.

The elf narrowed his eyes at the king's obviously erroneous conclusion. "She has Grief, Aragorn," Legolas protested weakly, "and it makes her that much more vulnerable to her emotions. And since I've bonded with her, the last thing I want is for her to fear losing another loved one or to cause her extra anxiety.

"You've bonded with her?" Aragorn asked, his eyes crinkling as his mouth curved into an almost smile.

Legolas looked past the remark. He was simply too weary in both body and spirit to enjoy the moment. He tried again to push himself up off the floor and said, "Help me, Aragorn. There are bigger things at stake here than one elf resting."

"And I remember an elf once saying to me at Helm's Deep, 'Aragorn, you must rest. You're no use to us half-alive…'" the king pointed out firmly

"I don't care what I said then, and you didn't listen to my advice regardless. Bind my wounds, Aragorn. I must get dressed, and when we will ride to Calenfen, I will fight."

"Legolas, you're being foolish."

"You say that because you did not hear what the orcs said," Legolas retorted. "I have."

Aragorn looked doubtful, but then a muffled sound from outside the tent drew both the elf and man's attentions. They could plainly hear Eledhel on the other side. He was speaking with his sister. Miredhel.

Legolas' ears perked at the sound of her voice, and even in the dim lantern light, Aragorn could see how the elf's eyes brightened, merely to hear her.

"You win for now, Legolas," the king said against his better judgment. "Let's get you sitting up, so we can make you look somewhat presentable. And as for you fighting, we can discuss that NOT happening later."


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Eledhel cursed Adrendil's untimely appearance under his breath as he watched his sister pale at the sight of the prince's things in his hand. He caught Miredhel's arm to steady her and then ended up carrying her to the side of Aragorn's tent.

He patted her cheek and called for a soldier to bring her water. When her eyes eventually fluttered open, he carefully said, "Legolas is hurt, Miredhel. He apparently left the camp and ran into some orcs. Aragorn is with him now, tending to his injuries."

"Can I see him?" Miredhel asked shortly between unsteady breaths. All the men's hushed tones and murmuring around her pounded at her ears, and even with her brother sitting right there beside her, she suddenly felt very alone.

"Of course you can see him," Eledhel assured her, "but let us give Aragorn some space to work right now."

"Are his injuries that serious?" she asked, her eyes darting over to the king's tent behind her, where Adrendil had just brought Legolas' equipment.

"No, my sister. He just needs time," Eledhel said, bringing his arm around her again to guide her away from the king's tent.

"Why do you lie to her?" Adrendil asked sharply, coming up behind them.

Miredhel pushed away from her brother and stared at Adrendil.

"What does he mean, El?" Miredhel asked, her eyes darkening.

"Adrendil, don't—" Eledhel warned the captain.

"Don't you think she deserves to hear the truth about her own lover?" the captain insisted, coming to Miredhel's side.

"I don't know what your aim is, Captain," Eledhel said witheringly. "But kindly stay away from my sister."

"What my aim is?" exclaimed Adrendil. "You are the one lying. I speak the truth." He looked frankly at Miredhel. "I am truly sorry, lovely one, for what has happened to Legolas."

Miredhel caught Adrendil's arm before he could turn away and leave, shooting a backward glance toward her brother. "Tell me then, Captain. What has happened? I must know."

Adrendil's lips momentarily curled into a half-smile as he cut his eyes to her brother and then back to Miredhel who waited for his answer. "The orcs caught the prince and tort—" the captain began, but was silenced as Eledhel lunged past Miredhel and punched him squarely across the jaw.

Adrendil reeled back from the blow, and his hand drifted to his jaw where he had been struck, as if he could not believe he had actually been hit. His eyes burned with unmitigated fury and for a moment, all the camp drew silent breaths together, wondering if the elf would fight back. "I am sorry, Miredhel," he said, wiping a thin line of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Your brother does not want you to know the truth."

"You had better be prepared to back up those words," Eledhel snapped, pulling a long knife from his belt with relish. "If we want to talk about the truth, then how about the fact that you sat by and did NOTHING while the enemy beat Legolas to within a second of his life?" He gave his sister a pained look. "I am sorry, Miredhel, for you to hear it this way. I only wanted to protect you."

Miredhel unsteadily rose and stepped between her brother and the captain.

"Eledhel, stop it," she begged. "Just stop." Her eyes pleaded with him, weary and unsure, but angry as well. "Maybe he's right," she said bitterly, tilting her head toward Adrendil. "All I wanted was the truth. Either way, I'm going to see Legolas now." She pushed past both of them and quietly entered the king's tent.

"One of these days, Eledhel of Lothlorien," Adrendil promised him in a dark whisper, sheathing his knife, "and then we'll both know the truth, won't we?"

Eledhel elbowed his way past the captain and followed his sister into the tent, deciding at the last moment to hang back at the entrance. The prince was propped up and even had been dressed, hiding the worst of his injuries. He and the king had been softly talking, or arguing; Eledhel could not be sure of which. In any case, Aragorn quietly quitted the space, gently bowing his head to Miredhel when she entered. Eledhel felt too that he should perhaps leave as well, but Adrendil's accusation of Legolas being her lover resurfaced in his mind and was not easily forgotten. So Eledhel remained, keenly aware of the shifting mood in the tent as Miredhel knelt at Legolas' side.

Her eyes softened as she folded her hand in his, though she inwardly winced at the cuts and gashes marring the skin there.

She very much looked as though she wanted to cry, but bravely blinked the welling tears away. "Legolas," she breathed and then bit her lip, glancing away briefly and squeezing her eyes shut, to steady herself.

Just to see him and be able to touch the warmth of his skin was enough for the moment for her. It is easier for elven kind to discern each others' feelings when they do not choose to shield them, and the current moment was no exception. Warmth and concern, mixed with an equally fair share of pain, permeated the tent. Miredhel and Legolas shared in these emotions and were humbled by them, as was their unobserved watcher at the door.

They searched each other's eyes anxiously, both feeling too much to convey their thoughts into words.

"Let it go," she urged him at last in a whisper. "You do not have to be so brave all the time."

His eyes were already liquid as he returned her gaze and allowed himself the luxury of unabashedly roaming his eyes over her face and form—her loopy curls, those dark, wet lashes resting against cheek as she lowered her eyes, the sweetness of her curves, and the earnest way she tenderly clasped his hand in her own. Valar, how he loved her! He had lived, he realized, for her. Even now, the strength of the bond he had forged with Miredhel pressed heavily into his heart, solid and comforting, much like the feeling of some beloved's head resting against his shoulder or the tug of a child's hand against his own. It was the feeling of being wanted, of being needed and depended upon, and Legolas realized that this too was part of loving. Now Miredhel knelt before him, asking to share his pain, to lighten his burden, and Legolas loved her all the more for it.

The prince knew what darkness lurked in his heart, the evils of this one night in the orcs' captivity notwithstanding; there were also dark memories of the War that he feared sharing with anyone, memories of the slime and death in Helm's Deep, his unfathomable despair in Moria, and overriding hopelessness at the Black Gate. Even though she asked it of him, he could not subject her to those things. Perhaps some secrets were better off not shared between lovers. Legolas did not trust his ability to control his thoughts at a time like this, especially when he was already feeling, at best, vulnerable. He hated feeling vulnerable. If she asked him, and he shared with Miredhel about his capture, would he be able to stop there? Or would more follow? The torture, the cruelty, or even worse- would those dark dreams of the War escape? No, he could not risk exposing Miredhel to those horrors.

So, dreading her discovery, the prince turned his eyes away from his beloved.

He had forgotten how persistent she could be.

She guided his chin back to face her and softly covered his lips with her own, as if his cuts and bruises across his cheeks and eyes did not exist for her.

"I feared you'd been killed," she said at last and hung her head. She omitted any mention of her grief and locked eyes with her lover.

"They were planning on it," the prince admitted, "but their plans for my death was nothing compared to what I felt later. They threatened you… I nearly lost my control…I did lose it."

"The last thing I want is to be a liability to you. "

"Miredhel, love, no. Do not ever call yourself such." The prince watched her intently. "The whole time all I could think of was you: your eyes, your voice, your lips, and the hope that I could see you just one more time."

"Then let me help you, Legolas. Let me share your pain. You don't have to face this alone," Miredhel pleaded with him.

His eyes cut to hers quickly. "No, Miredhel. Your grief—it's too much of a risk—" he said softly, his eyes defeated.

"So was loving you in the first place, Legolas," she countered.

"Miredhel—" Legolas snapped and then lowered his eyes. "I cannot do what you would ask of me. I have not the strength to do it," he confessed and leaned back defeatedly.

Silently, Eledhel slipped away from the king's tent unnoticed. At first he felt justified watching his sister and the prince as part of his brotherly duty like an unseen chaperone, but now guilt gnawed his stomach. He intruded on something very private and rare. His sister and the Prince of Mirkwood were lovers. His mouth settled into a frown as he walked away from the scene. His good deed in saving his friend from the orcs' torment that night had also saved his sister; for there was no doubt in Eledhel's mind that if Legolas should perish so would Miredhel. He saw the way she looked at him, touched him, and in the same manner, he returned her affection. Although it seemed completely unreasonable and far-fetched, there was no doubt in Eledhel's mind that Miredhel and Legolas had bonded in love.

Now the former Captain of Lothlorien scoured the Gondorian campsite for the one person who could put his mind at ease…Aragorn. The king would know for sure. Aragorn and Legolas were thicker than thieves and as good as brothers. When Eledhel finally spied the old Ranger smoking on the outer ring of the makeshift camp, the elf silently slipped to the ground beside him.

"I knew you would come sooner or later," Aragorn said in a low voice, lowering his pipe, not bothering to glance at whom had joined him. He guessed it was Eledhel.

"Miredhel and Legolas, are they—" Eledhel began questioningly.

"Lovers?" supplied Aragorn with a wry smile, now checking Eledhel's reaction from the corner of his eye.

"Well, if you insist on using that word, are they?" Eledhel hissed.

"What do you think?"

Eledhel stretched his long legs out leisurely before him, mimicking the Ranger's sitting position. "Yes," he said shortly. "Yes, I think that they are involved. I think," he paused to get a good sidelong glance at Aragorn, "that Legolas and MY sister have bound themselves to one another."

Aragorn's face remained expressionless.

"You know something that you're not telling me," Eledhel accused. "As her guardian, I feel that I have a right to know."

"Do you not know too much already?" the king countered quietly. "It is their business, not ours."

Eledhel sighed. "I just want to protect her… and him, as well. Legolas is one of my good friends, too and not to mention, my lord. What they're doing seems rash and inappropriate at a time like this, especially if you consider her condition and his status."

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, carefully weighing the words of Eledhel's last comment. "Legolas informed me of her Grief, Eledhel. 'Tis rare for elves to overcome an affliction like that, and yet your sister has. She's quite the survivor…but so is Legolas. They have much in common"

"You would have me think that the two were made for each other," scoffed Eledhel.

Aragorn shrugged ever so slightly. "Perhaps they are, Eledhel. I will tell you one thing for certain, and that is that I am glad for Legolas' sake. I have never seen him happier than he was in Minas Tirith with your sister. He acted like…" the king's voice trailed away as he became lost in his own thoughts

"He acted like what?" inquired the elf.

The man rubbed his forehead, his eyes suddenly made weary by the realization that had come to him. "Like he had before the War of the Ring. The war changed him, Eledhel, in so many ways. It changed all of us, I realize. Through all the battles and hardship that we faced together, I depended on him. It wasn't until weeks after Pelargir that I realized Legolas had been facing a quiet battle of his own all along…" Aragorn stopped and twisted his pipe in his hands. "The prince has sea-longing."

"But he's never mentioned it—not even once!" Eledhel protested. "Are you sure?" One look in Aragorn's steady grey eyes was enough to confirm the king's certainty.

"Legolas despises weakness in himself. He would not like the fact that I have told you about his sea-longing, but as his captain, you should know."

Eledhel slowly shook his head as he digested this new unlooked-for detail about his friend, and all he could feel was sorrow for Legolas. He had heard of sea-longing and the discontent and even madness it could bring to an elf, but such a condition was rare among the Galadhrim. "Does it pain him much, do you think?" he asked Aragorn.

"Like I said, Legolas is not one to talk about his ills…" Aragorn cleared his throat, remembering the prince's own quiet admittance to being in pain that very evening. It was so very unlike Legolas to say something like that, and Aragorn felt the full thrust of his words' significance. The prince must have been in agony. As for the sea-longing, Aragorn could not begin to speculate. Legolas was as close-mouthed on that matter as he was on everything else. What Aragorn did know for certain was this, and he told it to the elf beside him.

"Sindarin blood runs thick in his veins, Eledhel, and I think Legolas feels the pull of the sea more keenly than he lets on."

"But if Legolas suffers by staying on these shores, then why does he not leave!" Eledhel exclaimed. "Why would he make himself stay in Middle Earth, knowing his choice can only bring him pain?"

Aragorn did not answer right away. Instead he lifted his pipe to his lips in stony silence. He blew a thin stream of smoke into the night air and turned his head toward the elf. "For the same reasons your sister stayed, Eledhel. Friendship, loyalty, love..."

Eledhel locked eyes with the king, and the elf's eyes were bright as he mulled over the kings' words.

"Miredhel and I never even discussed the possibility of her leaving," the elf confessed. "We didn't have to discuss it. She knew I wanted to stay… and I let her make that sacrifice." Ashamed, he bowed his head. For all his talk of being his sister's guardian, he had let his own interests rule her fate. Then he had poured himself into being protective of her to assuage his own guilt.

Aragorn placed a comforting hand on Eledhel's shoulder, and the elf's eyes shifted up to meet the man's.

"Both Miredhel and Legolas have sacrificed part of themselves for their loved ones," Aragorn said to his friend. "Do not belittle what your sister has done, by blaming yourself for her actions, Eledhel." The man knew what Eledhel was going through. Of Legolas' many varied reasons for staying in Middle Earth, the king was fairly certain of at least one of them, and the fact that it was the elf's own choice to stay did not lessen the guilt that Aragorn felt.

Eledhel's mouth bent into a tiny crack of a smile. "So Miredhel and Legolas are lovers, and probably bound to one another. They're apparently perfect for each other, and there is nothing I can do about it."

"You can accept it," offered Aragorn slightly.

"Yes, and I can do more than that. I'm going to make sure that both of them survive this ordeal together. I fear both of them will want to fight when we get to Calenfen. Legolas lost much of his strength tonight. He's in no shape to do anything, and in the morning, we ride toward battle."

"He already told me that he wants to help lead the charge, Eledhel. He may be on death's door, but Legolas won't pull himself out of the fight, no matter how injured he is," Aragorn pointed out.

"Then let us work out a strategy to protect him and win this battle at the same time," Eledhel said.

Then the Captain and the King began to plan, there on the edge of the camp, of how they could possibly take on the dragon's ambush, protect their loved ones, and come out victorious. With Eledhel's thoughts on Miredhel and Aragorn's, on Legolas, both knew that their scheme could have no margin of error. The king's tent, no more than a few yards away, was a constant reminder that this plan of theirs must succeed, for within its walls, Miredhel and Legolas rested quietly, desperately. No one knew what the morning would bring.

There was no turning back now.


Chapter 45 - Hope, Always

Chapter 43: Hope, Always

Shadows lengthened around the camp as the moon waned, and Eledhel and Aragorn had been planning for many hours their strategy to take back Calenfen from the dragon and its host of orcs.

The king and elf had decided that it would be best if Aragorn's riders could assault and break through the front lines first. Speed was essential. If they were to have any hope of victory, they needed to eliminate the dragon quickly, and the sooner, the better.

"The question is, how?" Eledhel asked Aragorn. "I have seen this beast. He is as cunning as he is strong. He will anticipate our moves, and it will not be a question of if he takes flight to swoop down upon your men, but when. And when he does, he will make short work of laying waste to all of Gondor's forces."

Eledhel's grim painting of the battle shredded what was left of Aragorn's hope; he knew that the elf was prone neither to exaggeration nor pessimism. His gift was for seeing things as they were, and the king knew that their battle would be as difficult as Eledhel had described.

There was one minor detail, a tiny shred that kept the king from despair—Legolas' arrows. Aragorn explained to Eledhel about Legolas' theory that Miredhel had used one of Galadriel's enchanted arrows that the prince had won as a prize in the archery contest on the dragon Anglachur.

"There is some kind of wizardry worked upon them, Eledhel," Aragorn concluded. "These arrows can break the strongest armor, including dragons' scales."

"If what you say is true, then we could lure the dragon away from the main battle, pull him out onto the open fields where we have our best archers waiting. This plan could actually work," surmised Eledhel, and for the first time that night he truly smiled.

Aragorn tucked his pipe into his belt and stood. "Legolas still rests, I hope, but let us go and see how many of these arrows he has. We could decide which archers will be on our special dragon detail."

"Good idea," the elf agreed. "And we can figure out how to lure the dragon from the main battle. And do not even think of volunteering yourself for the position of bait, Aragorn…" Eledhel smirked as an idea came to his head. "We should ask Adrendil to do it."

"We'll see. Let us go look at those arrows first," Aragorn said, and together the king and elven captain went down into the camp toward the king's tent where Legolas and Miredhel rested together.

Legolas had been twitching uncomfortably on his side in the king's tent for several hours now. Miredhel lay beside him, her hands loosely clasping his, her face relaxed in the silent repose of elven dreams.

If it would not have proven quite so painful, the prince would have been tossing and turning. But since his new injuries prevented him the luxuries of fidgeting, Legolas continued to lie stiffly on his side. He had feigned sleep earlier to lull Miredhel into sleeping herself, and now that she finally rested peacefully, Legolas stared listlessly, his mind churning. He had never really slept well since the War, and now his body ached for the renewal a few hours rest could bring, but again, his mind would not allow it. His thoughts tricked him back into that circle of orcs, their spears in hand, gleaming jagged in the night as they pounded them in a furious rhythm to the crack of the whip and the sound of Legolas' own screams.

The prince knew that Adrendil and some of the king's men had engaged the orcs at the camp in battle, if it could be described as such. It was probably more like an open-ended slaughter. The knowledge of his captors' deaths brought Legolas no peace. He found it almost laughable to even consider that it would. No, he knew that justice for him could only be found on the battlefield at the tip of his own daggers. This was something he had to do for himself. Vengeance was his right. Had he not earned it, with every stripe on his back?

Let Aragorn and Eledhel make their plans for battle. Legolas was already certain that Aragorn would try and dissuade him from fighting; Eledhel was only a matter of time. Any time spent trying to change the prince's mind on the matter would be time wasted. He would fight in that battle. He lusted for his opponents' blood like never before. Legolas simply had to fight. The orcs had taken away his ability to fight back that night when they tortured him. Let them try and do so again. Just let them try.

Of course, Legolas' grandiose notions of avenging himself all depended on the simple matter of his own strength. Could he even stand unaided? The prince grimaced to think that perhaps he could not. He glanced down at Miredhel still sleeping.

Now was the time to find out. He gently eased his hands away from that of his lover's and pushed himself up. Agony snapped through the muscles in his back and shoulders. Legolas sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. His muscles quivered and gave, all at the wrong times, and the elf could scarcely remember when last he had been so sore. Taking a shallow breath, he continued to push his upper body up until he was sitting upright on his knees. Touching a hand to the ground to balance himself as he shifted his weight to his right leg, Legolas slowly rose in the darkness of the tent around him.

His balance was timid at best. With hands and arms outstretched to preserve his equilibrium, he took one heavy-footed step and then another, edging his way toward the slim crack of grey moonlight pooling in from the tent's entrance.

It was tricky, but he could walk. Pain roared down every protesting fiber of his muscles, but he could walk. At least his captors had not taken that from him. His eyes, improved with a glimmer from this small victory, fell upon his weapons leaning up against the canvas of the tent. He could walk, yes, but could he fight?

Legolas reached for his bow and quiver when his knees most inconveniently decided to buckle. However, before the night came crashing down around the prince, a pair of strong arms shot out and braced him.

"You fool!" declared Aragorn. "Of all the pig-headed things to be doing when you're supposed to be resting…"

Legolas turned to his old friend with a sheepish look. "I know…and I tried to rest, Aragorn. I wish I could have."

"You should have put a sleeping draught in his water," Eledhel said, coming up behind them.

"I had to see if I had the strength to stand, Aragorn, if I could even walk. I hated not knowing."

Aragorn's eyes softened. "You're not going to have strength to do anything if you are not careful. If you will not sleep, then at least sit down."

Legolas nodded, and the man helped him lower himself down next to his weapons. His eyes shone to see his long bow, quiver and knives, for he had thought them lost upon his capture.

"Adrendil brought those back for you," Aragorn said. "He found them scattered across the field by the orcs' camp."

"I will thank him then. These are very dear to me."

"Yes, we were just coming to look at your weapons actually, Legolas, when we saw you standing there," Eledhel said, bristling inside but trying to keep a friendly note to his voice after the mention of Adrendil. He still could not believe that he had seen that sneak of a Mirkwood elf watching the orcs torture the prince. Just watching!

"We have been forming a strategy for the battle," explained Aragorn, "and I told Eledhel what you said about the arrows Galadriel gave you. We think if we use them right, we can take the dragon out quickly in the first minutes of battle to give our army the upper hand. "

"Undoubtedly," Legolas agreed, becoming excited. "After all, Miredhel used just one on the bridge with tremendous results. There's some enchantment worked upon them, I believe. If we had all of our best archers armed each with one of the arrows to fire simultaneously at the dragon…"

"We can slay him," Eledhel said with a thrill to his voice. "How many of those arrows do you have, Legolas?"

"Let me show you," the prince said, reaching for the quiver beside him.

But Legolas' hand stilled before he even grasped it, and Aragorn and Eledhel did not need to hear the prince's short gasp to know that something was horribly wrong. Legolas' bruise-mottled cheeks had drained dead white.

"The arrows are gone," he whispered.


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Lingering in that hazy world between dreams and wakefulness, Miredhel comfortably stretched her body until she almost purred on the pallet inside the king's tent while her mind played over her most recent dream. She had dreamed of Legolas, and herself of course, walking together in an unfamiliar wood. There had been water nearby; she could hear its persistent murmur through the steady rustle of the forest boughs. There were ferns and bracken, mossy logs, and birdsong. The dream was serenity itself. And Legolas had been there, whole and pure, with no trace of his most recent scars or injuries. He had smiled and held her hand, and Miredhel had felt more whole in that one moment in that dream with him than she had in any waking moment without him.

As the way with many dreams, Miredhel's was too good to last. Suddenly, she felt cold, and her eyes focused back into reality with a start. Legolas was gone! The king's tent was empty, but she could hear raised voices outside its walls. Very quickly she got to her feet, adjusted her clothing, and stormed outside.

"Legolas Greenleaf!" she accused. "You are supposed to be resting! And YOU, King Aragorn, should not be encouraging him."

"Miredhel," Legolas said, not even heeding her words, his eyes wide with disbelief, "the arrows, Galadriel's arrows! They're missing…"

Accusations forgotten, Miredhel dropped to his side, peering at the quiver skeptically. "All of them?"

"All of them," stated the prince flatly. "The orcs must have stolen them when they captured me."

"How could they have known?" Miredhel asked woefully, glancing up at her brother.

"We do not know, but they are gone. Those arrows were our one hope for killing Anglachur," Eledhel said and scuffed the dirt angrily with his boot.

Miredhel's eyes traveled from her brother to Aragorn, then back to Legolas. They all wore the same bitter expression to various degrees, but Legolas' bothered her the most. She would find some way to bring him hope, to bring all of them hope.

"Perhaps all is not lost," she said pragmatically.

"Sis, please," Eledhel interrupted irritably. "We cannot win. If we cannot kill that dragon off, Aragorn's men have no chance, and without those arrows, we have no way of killing that dragon. So you see? There is not much point in rationalizing the situation."

Miredhel stood to meet her brother's eyes straight on. He was weary, she could tell, and near defeat. "If my Grief has taught me anything, brother," she told him softly with a quick glance to Legolas, "it has taught me that there is always hope. Always."

Aragorn caught her gaze, and he gave her a small smile. "Miredhel is right. I am going back to the orc's camp and look around. Perhaps the arrows simply scattered over the field." He picked up a piece of driftwood from the fire for a makeshift torch.

"I'll go with you," said Miredhel, and the two set off toward the dark yawning plains.

Legolas and Eledhel kept the night watch together by the king's tent. Eledhel's eyes continually strayed to the path his sister had taken. He still worried for her, if hunched shoulders and furrowed brow meant anything. It was odd for these elves and friends to remain silent, so pensive, in each other's company when ordinarily a jest or a laugh was preferred. The night's recent horrors held them both transfixed. Eledhel brooded over seeing Captain Adrendil watching the prince's capture, and despite overlooking his personal contempt for that elf, there was no justifying his seemingly treacherous actions against his prince. If he spoke out against what he had seen, it would be his word against Adrendil's. He had no proof, no other witnesses. His final resolution on this was to keep silent, gather more evidence, and keep an even closer watch on Legolas' safety.

Eledhel broke his gaze away to glance at his lord beside him, and Legolas most unexpectedly bowed his head to him.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did," the prince said quietly, though his eyes kept a fierce and desperate glint.

Eledhel looked down at his hands and made to straighten one of his bracers. "You know there is no need for thanks among friends, especially you, Legolas."

"Yes, but I wanted to tell you all the same. There are some who would not risk attacking an orc camp by themselves to rescue one elf."

Eledhel shook his head now, but a small smile graced his lips. "Yes, but when that one elf is my friend, when he is my lord," he said and looked up, just barely enough to meet Legolas' eyes, "and when that elf is my sister's beloved, I would take that risk ten times over."

Legolas' eyes did not betray any surprise at Eledhel's remark, and to his credit, nor did he look away. At any other time, he might have blushed, but on this night, his face was bruised enough to conceal it.

Instead, the prince spoke earnestly, and for the first time that night, Eledhel caught a trace of hope in his voice.

"What you say is true, Eledhel. I will not deny it. Did I not confess my love for your sister to you, before she even knew it herself? And now I seek your blessing as her guardian, before asking her hand in marriage."

"But I know that you and Miredhel are already bonded," Eledhel accused, his eyes reproachful. "When did that happen, the exact moment the two of you left my sight? I trusted you, Legolas!"

"I love her, Eledhel," he said simply, making no excuses. "Bless our marriage."

"Is this a command from my lord?" Eledhel folded his arms stubbornly across his chest.

"No, but a plea from one who would call you brother," Legolas answered. "When this battle is finished, I would have our two families joined and my union with Miredhel sanctified before the Valar."

"No wonder she loves you," Eledhel said with an exasperated sigh. "You could talk a person into anything." He plucked some bits of grass from the ground below and then watched them scatter in the soft breeze coming with the dawn, and his voice grew soft. "This night my sister spoke of hope, Legolas—she, for whom all hope was once lost, made me believe again that anything might be possible."

Eledhel looked to the east where a thin, light blue line crept over the shoulder of the earth. Dawn was coming.

"I would be proud to call you my brother, Legolas," he said, carefully taking the prince's hand in his own.


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Meanwhile Miredhel and Aragorn picked their way through the sweeping valley grass, parting the long reedy stems with their arms to search the earth below for any signs of the arrows or a tell-tale silver glint. The king and maiden separated, spreading apart to retrace Legolas' path to the orc camp, and Aragorn used all his skill as a tracker to uncover clues to where the arrows had fallen.
Not far from them, a smoking pile of embers still glowed from where the king's men had piled the slain enemies to burn.

Then unexpectedly, Aragorn crouched down to the ground, with the grass nearly hiding the top of his head until Miredhel could hardly see him.

Quickly she moved toward him, and he warned her, "Wait! Tread lightly, for the earth here may tell us what happened."

"What do you see, Estel?" she asked, falling into the elves' old name for the new king. Her inquisitive nature got the better of her and she moved around the spot to come up behind him.

"This may be where Legolas fought the orc and was captured," he guessed. "See the shuffle of orc tracks there? A struggle ensued." He turned and pointed to another soft indention in the grass where some stems were bent and flattened. "Legolas fell." The king traced the marks with his hand, and his eyes shifted away from them and toward the distant plume of smoke from the orc camp.

"The orc dragged him back to the camp," he concluded flatly. "These scuffs in the dirt are heel marks."

Miredhel bit her lip as she recalled her prince's injuries, more than just cuts and bruises. She knelt beside the man and ran her fingers along five distinct grooves dug into the soft earth; they were finger scratches, more like claw marks. Legolas had not gone along lightly. He had fought his captor all the way.

Her stomach churned as she imagined what he must have gone through, only a few hours earlier while she was resting safe and warm. She followed closely behind Aragorn as he traced the violent trail back to the enemy camp. So intent was she on looking in the grass for those arrows, Miredhel did not notice that the king had suddenly stopped to look down.

She ran straight into him and sent him sprawling into the path in front of them.

"Oh, I am sorry," she exclaimed and instantly offered him a hand up. "One should not knock a king to the ground. 'Tis most improper. Legolas would be mortified, I'm sure."

"He would laugh his boots off first, Miredhel," Aragorn corrected kindly and swept the dust from his hands. He looked appraisingly up at her and smiled. "You'll be a good match for him, I daresay."

Aragorn pointed out what he had been studying when Miredhel ran into him. "Look, Miredhel. The orcs had shorn him of his weapons here. See the imprint of his bow there in the earth and grass? And there lay his knives."

"But orcs usually want nothing with Elvish weapons. Why would they leave his bow and knives, and then take the arrows from his quiver?"

"I don't know, but they did. Look there, in the dust."

Even though Aragorn's tracking skills greatly exceeded her own, the evidence was plain enough for the most untrained eye to appreciate—a dozen crisscrossing lines in the soil only an arm's length away coupled with the firm print of arrowheads.

"Like they dumped out the entire quiver and then picked through the contents," she murmured and sank to the ground next to the king, resting her face in her hands.

"So there is no hope," she confided to the earth, and when she caught Aragorn's worried gaze, her eyes were wet and dim.


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Not very far away, Legolas absentmindedly fingered the bright-tipped ends of the remaining arrows in his quiver.
"I should have gone with them," Legolas said plaintively as he and Eledhel continued to wait for Miredhel and Aragorn's return. "I could have at least pointed them in the right direction."

"You know Aragorn's skills as a tracker as well as I, Legolas. If the arrows are out there then he and my sister will find them."

"You are right. I just want to be doing something. Anything would be preferable than just sitting here, waiting," the prince grumbled.

"I know you want to fight, mellon, and I cannot say I blame you. I would want to," Eledhel said with a vengeance as he reluctantly remembered the sight of his friend, bound and helpless to fight back against the beatings he received.

Legolas' eyes darkened, yet he said nothing. He looked down at his hands and his wrists, chafed raw from his bonds, and shuddered. A blood lust like never before coursed through him, consumed him. He plucked one of his knives from the ground beside him and his sharpening stone from inside his quiver and began sharpening his knife, his knuckles gleaming bone-white with every deliberate stroke.

"Legolas," Eledhel said reproachfully, "be angry, but despair not. Your chance will come to you. Aragorn and I will not keep you from fighting, even though we wish you would not. The truth is that we will need every soldier we have for our plans to work, and—"

"I hope those plans include me as well," Adrendil interrupted silkily as he joined their side; his features, a perfect example of schooled apology.

"My prince," he said with a solemn bow in Legolas' direction, and his eyes were glassy with seemingly unshed tears. "You can not imagine the depth of my relief at seeing you about so soon after that horrendous capture."

Legolas merely nodded and passed a curious glance at Eledhel who tensed like a bow pulled taut.

"If it pleases you, my lord, I want you to know that I killed many an orc on your behalf," Adrendil added, this time a bit nervously as he noticed Eledhel's rigid frame beside the prince.

"You also returned my weapons, Adrendil," Legolas said disarmingly, his weariness evident in his voice. "For that, you have my unending gratitude."

Eledhel's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't have happened to see any arrows in the field, would you, Adrendil?" he inquired.

"Arrows? No, I brought everything back that I saw, except some pieces of Legolas' ripped tunic; I did not suppose that he would want it." Adrendil explained.

Legolas and Eledhel exchanged a long look that was more just disappointment, more like complete dejection.

Adrendil took a step forward and then looked into the inky darkness and the hills beyond edged with the faint blue light of the coming dawn. "Look, Prince Legolas, if the tunic means that much to you, I'll go and get it!"

"You fool!" Eledhel exclaimed, and Legolas cut him off.

"That won't be necessary, Adrendil," Legolas said tiredly. "We had hoped to find some arrows, not the tunic. Lady Galadriel gave me mithril arrows that could pierce the strongest armor. We had hoped to use them to bring down the dragon."

"Pierce the strongest armor?" Adrendil repeated incredulously, and his eyes gleamed. "Well, those could change things indeed."

"We believe the orcs may have stolen them," Legolas added, "but Aragorn and Miredhel are out looking anyway."

Adrendil nodded thoughtfully. "I will go aid their search if you wish," he said, and when Legolas gave his permission, the captain hurried out toward the smoking orc-fires.


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"Let us keep looking," Aragorn said encouragingly, and he helped Miredhel up from where she had been sitting.
"I do not know, Aragorn. It seems as though the story of their disappearance is written before us," she said pointing to the tell-tale spirals and crisscrossing of dust that the king had shown her. "I hate to give up, though," she added. "We could finish the trail back to the orc camp. One of the arrows could have easily been dropped or missed by chance."

With that said, the two continued following the trail with Aragorn in the lead, and Miredhel close behind. Dawn came fast now, and both knew they would have to leave soon.

"I know you must return to ready your camp, but let me stay to keep searching," Miredhel said, eyeing the eastern hills.

"I am NOT leaving you out here by yourself. Your brother, not to mention Legolas, would flay me alive," Aragorn pointed out. "We'll return to the camp together."

Miredhel managed a glum sort of half-smile. "Let us retrace our steps then on the way back. Perhaps we missed something along the way." She hated to give up hope, but they had looked everywhere and found nothing.

Finally, Aragorn and Miredhel reached the starting point of their trail where they had first found the signs in the dust where the arrows had lain. Then Miredhel turned, despairing, and as she dropped her head, something, small and bright caught the corner of her eye. She would not even be sure why later, instinct perhaps, but she froze.

"Aragorn, wait—" she said and caught his sleeve. Then turning quickly she pulled the grass back where she thought she had seen something.

"Oh, Valar…" she said, softness creeping into her voice as she stooped over the torn remnants of Legolas' silver green tunic, the very one that he had been wearing earlier that night when he had been captured. "For a moment, I thought it might have been the arrows," she added apologetically, feeling foolish for making Aragorn stop. Her heart plummeted in her chest from the lost exhilaration of an almost-discovery. Miredhel could not afford to hope anymore. The arrows really were gone. Aragorn, her brother, and Legolas would simply have to find some other way to win this battle. There had to be some other way, another solution. If there was not…Miredhel did not want think about it.

Miredhel glanced behind at the king, only to see her sense of defeat echoed in his proud, grey eyes. She hesitated and then lightly ran her fingers over the ruined fabric. How handsome and proud her prince had looked in that silvery green! Legolas had worn that very tunic on the night when she had first met him at Caras Galadhon. He had dressed in it the night after the great archery contest when they had shared their first kiss. And the prince had worn it again only the night before, when he had confessed his love for her in the queen's garden.

Miredhel had not shed a tear in Legolas' company that night since he had been injured, not a drop; but for some reason seeing that tunic ripped and fraying, her eyes welled up, and one miserable fat tear streaked down her cheek.

"I know everything in Arda is not meant to be fair and just… but this really isn't fair."

"No, it isn't," Aragorn conceded quietly beside her, for he had knelt next to her, "but we will find a way, Miredhel. We'll have to. And your prince's wounds will mend, even more quickly with your love and help, just like you could mend the rents in this tunic."

Miredhel nodded, and the stubborn glint returned to her eyes. She would save the scraps of tunic just like Aragorn had suggested. She determinedly picked up the fabric and bunched it up when her breath caught in her throat.

For there in the dust, laying tantalizingly perfect, was one bright, silvery arrow.

Miredhel stared at it, dumbstruck really, and then in the next second, she held the arrow tightly in her hand, solid, absolute, safe. She had snatched it up faster than she had probably grabbed anything in her whole life, for fear the arrow might have disappeared before her eyes.

"Estel," she stammered… "Aragorn!" and she stuck out her arm with the arrow still clutched in her hand.

The king's mouth hinged open when he saw what she had found, and then broadened into an enormous grin.

"Quickly, let us tell the others of your find!" He pulled her to her feet, and both king and maiden took off in a dead sprint back to the campsite. They passed Captain Adrendil along the way back, who stopped in complete astonishment to see King Aragorn race past him with Miredhel in tow and a bright silver arrow in her hand.

"So they found one," he murmured and turned in his tracks to follow them back, albeit much more slowly.

Legolas and Eledhel's enthusiasm, however, matched that of their friends. They had seen them coming and met them at the edge of camp with broad enough smiles to rival Aragorn's. Eledhel caught his sister in a gigantic hug and swung her around in his arms. After Miredhel staggered away from her brother's dizzy embrace, Legolas gently pulled her into his arms and kissed her in such a way, slowly and tenderly, that made her even more light-headed that Eledhel's spinning.

True, it was only one arrow out of the nineteen Legolas had left, but still—she had found one! Miredhel remembered with glee that she had only used one of Legolas' mithril arrows before when she brought down the dragon over the Anduin.

Before dawn of the next day fell, they would meet the dragon and orcs in a fight to the death. The arrow could easily change the entire direction of the battle if used properly to fell the dragon.

It was there on the edge of camp that the friends and king decided that a trap should be set to lure the dragon away from the main battle and onto the open fields, where a clean shot could be made. One member of their party would tempt the dragon away from the main fighting, while the other would wait on the open field to use the arrow from Galadriel's set to bring down Anglachur the Black. After a short, very heated, discussion, Legolas volunteered to be the trap, and Miredhel, the bait.


Chapter 46 - Live Bravely

Chapter 44: Live Bravely

Aragorn's army moved across the plains of Gondor and followed the Anduin for three more days after the eventful night of Legolas' capture, when the king and elves had devised their plan to bring down the dragon.

The days were hot, the nights cold, and each morning damp as the soldiers rose from sleeping in their camps along the great river. The men of Gondor were quickly becoming accustomed to seeing the elves well awake as the soldiers were just rising, and some wondered if the elves ever slept at all. Take that elf captain Eledhel, for instance; he was ever-watching, ever-vigilant, and he seemed to the men particularly protective of the she-elf and Prince Legolas. The prince, they had learned, had been dealt some nasty wounds from orcs, and the men whispered amongst themselves that it was a wonder he had survived at all. Some said elves were more resilient, could heal faster, but it was clear that Legolas, whom many of the men admired as a warrior and their king's closest friend, struggled. Doubt clouding their eyes, the men watched him now, shaking their heads at the stiffness of his movements, and marveled at his determination to continue on.

Dawn sped quickly across the horizon now, streaking the sky bright with color and the grass wet with dew, and watching it, Legolas knew the day, this day, had been hurtling toward him ever since leaving Lothlorien, like an arrow with deadly aim. And now, watching the sun rise, the reality of what must happen pierced his heart with fatal accuracy. The dragon, the orcs. All those people waiting at the fort in Calenfen. As with any battle, Legolas knew the price. Blood from both sides would spill before that same sun set over the horizon. He only hoped that the plan which he, Eledhel, and Aragorn concocted would be enough to take down the dragon. It must be enough.

He gingerly loaded his weaponry and checked among the many green and gold ones in his quiver for the single mithril arrow, their one shot at salvation. He strung his bow and rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension bunching his muscles tight.

"My prince, it is time," Miredhel said, her long legs taking up the ground as she strode toward him. She had pulled her hair back from her face with some loose strip of fabric. She too carried her bow and quiver and a grim expression on her face.

She was frightened. He could tell. "Miredhel," Legolas began softly, cupping her face in his hands.

"Legolas, there isn't any time for this, for us," she protested, but did not shy away.

"It seems odd to me to worry about time now, when I never concerned myself with it before," Legolas said wistfully and settling his weapons on the ground, swiftly pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against her own. Fear and desire curled together in his belly; that he might lose her when he wanted her so much, and he recklessly deepened their kiss, bracing her slim body against his, not caring who walked by or saw them there.

His emotions felt like they were tumbling out of control inside of him. He wanted her so incredibly badly, and he did not care who knew it. Legolas had taken her to his bed in Minas Tirith, thinking he knew much about love and the elven heart only to realize later that he knew nothing of either. That night he had offered her everything, all that he was, and in the process, lost his heart to her. And apparently, so had she. Their joining that night had surpassed the physical; the result, a deep emotional bond not easily broken. He had so many things he wanted to say to Miredhel, needed to say to her, for her to hear before they went to battle. And she was right… he was running out of time. He roughly pulled away from her and then falteringly ran a nervous hand through his hair. Legolas' eyes blazed with a sense of urgency as he touched his forehead to hers and whispered her name again.

"Don't make this about good-bye," she warned him, desperately trying to hide her fear.

His lips curled up in a sad sort of smile, and he lifted her chin with his thumb, then kissed her cheeks. "It was brave what you did, Miredhel—volunteering to fight, to lead out the dragon from battle—and I won't cheapen your commitment by asking you to reconsider…" His voice trailed off as he looked at her squarely. "Please, just be careful." His eyes were deep, so blue, and earnest, and his battered appearance from his night at the orcs' camp could not lessen their radiance or beauty for her.

He was all that she had ever wanted or hoped for, and so much more. Just to be near him and his quiet strength made her feel more courageous than she was. Even with his injuries, and she was sure he must be feeling exhausted, he still exuded an ease and confidence that comforted her.

"Legolas, thank you." she said, sliding her fingers down one sleek braid in his hair. "I will be careful." She took his hands in hers and gently squeezed them and turned to mount her horse.

"Wait," he said and caught her hand, pulling her back to face him. He peered at her and then oddly glanced around them for a second. "I never planned on doing this—I mean I intended to, but not now, not like this. But I figure, now… now is all we have…" he rambled and looked down, while a very curious pink tinged the tips of his ears.

"Marry me," he said simply, resting his eyes on her without hesitation.

Miredhel's lips parted and her breath hung in her throat.

Legolas slid his family ring from his pocket and glanced down at it. "I tried to give this to you once before, back in Mirkwood, and you wouldn't have it. Do you remember?" he said, whimsy plying his voice.

"Yes, I remember." She smiled softly to herself. Mirkwood. So much had happened. Legolas had put flowers in her hair, prince's love. After the bonfire and dancing, Miredhel had met and killed her first orc. Legolas had learned of the orcs marching on Gondor and relinquished his title during the King Thranduil's council. She and the prince had shared their first real kiss, one bound by mutual longing, and not a bet, and Miredhel knew even then that she was in serious danger of falling in love.

Since then she had learned what it was like to be loved by him. The days they shared had made them close, and the nights had made them closer. He was ardent, fiercely possessive, and an unwaveringly generous lover.

"Marry me, my Miredhel?" he asked tenderly and gently slid his ring onto her finger.

She found herself nodding and smiling before the words came. "Yes. Yes, my prince."

And then of course they kissed. Only after they heard multiple whistles and wolf-howls, did the two realize that about half the Gondorian army had witnessed the exchange. Miredhel ducked her face behind Legolas' shoulder, and the elf merely grinned and waved to the men.

"She said 'Yes!'" he merrily shouted out to them, and a cheer echoed in return.

A stern Aragorn cut through the ranks of soldiers and stopped at the two beaming elves. "Don't you two realize that I'm trying to prepare these men to leave? We have a battle to fight!" He tried glaring at Legolas, but the elf's smile was irresistible. "Congratulations, mellon. And you, Miredhel." He gestured to the soldiers. "You bring them hope."

"You bring me hope as well," joined in Eledhel, who came up behind the king. His smile was genuine, but his eyes were bright. He clasped Legolas on the shoulder and kissed his sister on the cheek. "I knew you wouldn't be able to wait long to ask her," he teased his friend.

"You knew?" Miredhel asked her brother.

"I suspected," he answered slyly, hugging her so that he lifted her off the ground. "But I still can hardly believe it. I'm overjoyed for you both," Eledhel said genuinely. "It's the happy ending I always secretly hoped for," he explained to Aragorn.

"The battle isn't won yet," Aragorn added wryly. "I hate to break this up, but we must be on our way."

"Of course," Legolas conceded and gingerly mounted Arod.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about this, Legolas?"

"I must, Aragorn." The elf was adamant.

The ranger's eyes grew soft, and he nodded in understanding. "Take care, Legolas." The king gave the signal to his captains, and the soldiers began to move out. Aragorn's eyes drifted from Legolas to Miredhel, and he smiled to himself as he joined the front of the lines to lead his men to war.

Miredhel mounted her horse and checked her weapons. Seeing the men move out like that was one more grim reminder that she was going to battle. Battle! She squashed her fear back with a smirk and yell to Legolas. "You do realize that if the dragon is killed, and we both survive, that I'm holding you to this proposal, right?"

He winked at her. "I'm counting on it!" He turned Arod so they could ride side by side, and Eledhel joined their flanks. Together the three elves hastened toward battle, not realizing that Adrendil rode darkly keeping watch behind them.


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Miles they rode, and the sun reached mid-sky, yet still they kept on. Aragorn's army kept pace with their king, every footstep bringing them closer to the enemy. They would surely reach Calenfen and the orcs by late afternoon. Dread knotted inside Miredhel's stomach, and she wondered if anyone else felt the same way. She looked for fear in the faces of the stoic men and found none. She snuck glances at Eledhel beside of her; he was placid, his typically unruffled self.

"What's wrong?" Eledhel asked, noticing that his sister was staring at him.

"You would not even begin to understand," Miredhel flatly told him.

"What, are you having second thoughts about marrying that fellow?" he asked pointing to Legolas on her other side. "It's not too late to back out," he teased.

She halfway smiled and shook her head. Quashing down her pride, she forced herself to admit out loud that she was losing her nerve. She braced herself for some brotherly ribbing, but Eledhel unexpectedly did nothing of the sort.

"It would be foolish not to be a little nervous," Eledhel said with a knowing look. "I'm a little nervous too, Miredhel."

"Really?" she asked dubiously.

"Sure I am," he answered honestly. "There's never any promise of safety in battle. Anything could happen—even to the best of warriors. I've seen many battles and know this to be true."

His sister did not seem comforted by these words though. Eledhel observed that many of the men had been listening to her words as well, and perhaps they wondered that if an elf's many years of experience gave him no surety, then there was little hope for them.

Eledhel sighed, and began to sing. His voice rang in time to the stamp of men's feet. Raw, and at the same time, achingly beautiful, the elf's voice held an edge that sliced at the hearts of all who heard it; for he sang of war:

Now grasp tight your sword hilts and string your bows,

Today we shall fight to vanquish our foes,

The evil lurking to make itself known,

Orcs and dragon that flay flesh to dry bone.

Death may take us, by one or by all,

Our souls may pass on, but time will recall

An army of men, elves, and Aragorn King

Who fought and shed blood in wild reckoning.

Live bravely, die bravely, and fight your best,

When the sun folds safely into the west,

When this day is done and the battle told,

We shall again see fields of green and gold.

And so the army passed into the wetlands along the Anduin on the northern edges of Gondor. The sun had already started to sink lower in the sky, and the elves could see the fort at Calenfen, smell the smoky fires of orcs, and hear their wild drums.

Aragorn stopped his men and divided the ranks. Fear tightened in Miredhel's throat as she watched Legolas tighten his bow and ready the mithril arrow. A sharp peal rang through the air as the king, her brother, and the host of men drew their swords high.

It was time for battle…


Chapter 47 - The Battle Told

Chapter 45: The Battle Told

And so the army passed into the wetlands along the Anduin on the northern edges of Gondor. The sun had already started to sink lower in the sky, and the elves could see the fort at Calenfen, smell the smoky fires of orcs, and hear their wild drums.

Aragorn stopped his men and divided the ranks. Fear tightened in Miredhel's throat as she watched Legolas tighten his bow and ready the mithril arrow. A sharp peal rang through the air as the king, her brother, and the host of men drew their swords high.

There was a moment of silence that lingered, a great intake of breath. The air around them buzzed and tension heightened, though still in the distance one could hear the cadence of the orcs' savage drums. Miredhel's heart matched their pounding beat for beat.

Aragorn called for his riders and archers to break through the orcs' ranks. Next to the king, Eledhel whispered elvish to his fidgeting horse and gripped his bow. Then the men all shouted again and leaped forward in a cloud of dust and blur and were gone.

Miredhel glanced back at Legolas.

His eyes were cool, detached, even as he watched his friends plunge into battle, knowing that he must wait behind them. He reminded himself that this was one battle he was not meant to fight. His role was one of patience and skill; for if their plan succeeded, and the dragon made himself known, he had only one shot with the mithril arrow to bring the beast down. That arrow was the only remainder of the ones that Galadriel had gifted him. Their every hope depended on this single chance, and Legolas grimly realized, albeit slightly, how Frodo must have felt during the War of the Ring. No wonder the poor hobbit had sailed to the Grey Havens.

"Go on now," he called to Miredhel, desperately trying to keep his tone light. "You remember what to do, right?"

Her eyes flashed, but her face was very pale. "Yes, I remember." She was to ride across the edge of battle and draw out the dragon, hopefully luring him back toward Legolas and the mithril arrow. She summoned the two men who were supposed to ride along side her and headed toward the fray. They had only traveled a few yards when Miredhel stopped.

"My lady?" questioned one of the men.

She turned her horse around and rode the short distance back to Legolas. He had been resolutely sitting there astride his horse, his face schooled into a martyred acceptance of his fate of having to stand by and wait. His features softened at Miredhel's reappearance.

"Miredhel," Legolas spoke quietly, "You must go. There isn't any time. "

"I know. I just…" she faltered.

Legolas' lips curved. "Don't make this about goodbye," he said wryly.

"I hate it when you use my own words against me," Miredhel replied and looked down at the ring on her hand, his ring. Her eyes met his. "Be careful," she said and was gone.

Miredhel caught back up with her escort, and the three of them skirted the outer edges of battle. Smoke hazed over both men and orcs, over the black and occasional flash of sword or bright helm, almost obscuring them to mere shadows in the dusk; and the maddening beat of the enemy's drums exploded into a squall—thousands of stamping feet, bodies colliding, shouts, and shrieking.

All Miredhel could see was the hot mesh of bodies before her. It was all just too dense, too dim for her to make out any sign of the dragon. There was no time for watching and waiting. Their soldiers would not last the onslaught. Finding Anglachur was key. He must be killed and quickly, for without his leadership the orcs would hopefully scatter.

She turned and urged her horse and guardsmen further and further into the fight until they were swallowed by the deafening thunder. Here chaos ruled, but she had a better line of sight and could already make out the distant outline of what could only be the fort at Calenfen. And with unlooked for hope, she made out a flash of grey heading toward the old stone walls. Eledhel. Then just as suddenly, that same hope died in her chest, for she saw a great black silhouette rise against the flying ashes.

"Anglachur! It's him!" she cried to her companions, turning just in time to see an orc impale one of her guards with a pikestaff. Yet there was no time for sorrow, no time for vengeance, she had to keep going and could not afford to look back. She had to be able to pull the dragon away from the battle. She must catch his attention now. Miredhel quickened her pace, her throat dry, her temples pounding. Her remaining guard followed close behind, and both their bows sang to keep their path clear.

The dragon now circled the air, licking the sky with a spiral of flames and observing the battle which was sure to bring him victory.

"Anglachur!" Miredhel shouted to the beast as she raced closer, hoping she would catch the dragon's eye before he noticed her brother. "Black dragon!" But her cries were lost against the deafening roar of the crowds. She had no standard to raise, no pennant to wave with which to summon him, and her voice was certainly not loud enough.

"Dragon!" she shouted again and in desperation pulled her silver hafted knife from its sheath. Miredhel reached back and cut the leather ties from her hair and unraveled the braid with her fingers. A frizz of untamed curls stirred loose in the wind, one wild bevy of gold. Miredhel shook her head, and again the wind caught her hair against the light of the dragon's fire.

The unexpected burst of gold from down below caught the dragon's eye. Anglachur wheeled in the sky and then plummeted in a dead-drop free fall straight toward Miredhel. Her remaining guard from the Gondorian army visibly paled under his helmet.

"Run, my lady!" he shouted and loosed an arrow in the dragon's direction to no avail.

Miredhel swallowed thickly. Well, she had gotten what she wanted. Miredhel could feel the heat of his fire even at this distance. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her brother safely arrive at the gates of the fort.

"So you do remember me!" She shouted to the dragon and then did what any sensible person in the same situation would have done. She and horse turned tail and ran for their lives.

With her guard following closely behind her, she hurtled through the melee with the dragon's breath licking their heels, and the twisted mass of bodies and blades began to part before them. None wished to find himself in Anglachur's path.

"Faster, my lady!" the guard called frantically and then was silenced with a strangled yelp.


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From his far removed spot on the plains beyond the battle, Legolas watched with increasing horror as the dragon swooped down, claws outstretched, and seized the guard's mount from beneath him with one terrible swipe of his claws.

His fingers tightened around the grip on his bow, and the prince murmured a prayer for Miredhel: that she could draw the dragon out to him before it was too late, before the dragon caught up with her as well. He closed his eyes and vainly tried to squeeze out the image from his mind.

In a few minutes, the dragon would be his to face, his to kill.


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On the far side of battle, orcs swarmed the walls of the old fortress, Calenfen.

"They've got a troll!" Miredhel's brother, Eledhel, shouted to his fellow soldiers and pulled up short after thundering through countless lines of orcs to reach the fort.

Lips curled, the troll turned from smashing in the fort's gate and lumbered toward the soldiers.

"Shoot him," screeched Adrendil, who pulled his bow and took aim at the troll's head, but it was Eledhel who leaped from his horse and brandished his sword at the troll.

"I'll draw him away," he shouted to Adrendil. "Secure the fort! Find Belegil and Sulindal!" Belegil and Sulindal had remained at the fort with the rest of Legolas' group of elves to protect the villagers from the orc threat.

Eledhel dodged a heavy-handed blow from the troll, only to back into a nasty looking trio of orcs.

"Aye, looks like we'll have a bit of sport with this pointy-ear!" one of the orcs sneered and thumped a filthy club against his open palm. "Get 'im, ye maggots!"

With the troll closing in on one side and orcs ready to pounce on the other, Eledhel lifted his sword with a savage gleam in his dark gray eyes.

"Then let the games begin, shall we?" the elf said in a deadly low voice. The enemy's blood splashed his armor and coated his vambraces, but his face was as calm as a prairie dawn. His thick straight hair flew out behind him as he fought in one fluid motion learned through centuries of training with the wardens of Lothlorien. He was beautiful and fierce, and Eledhel was nothing, if not a survivor. On this battlefield, he was also Death.

He whipped a dagger from his belt and flung it so fast the three orcs facing him became but two in less than a second. Eledhel had caught the one who had spoken right between the eyes with his blade. He swung his sword and beheaded the second and then the third as they charged, and then quickly knelt to regain his dagger and dodge a blow from the troll still on his trail.

"You look like you could use a hand," a voice said coolly behind him. Eledhel turned and nearly wept with joy. Two of his oldest and dearest friends stood at his back.

"Belegil, Sulindal!" he exclaimed. "How did you get out of the fort?"

"Scaled down the wall," Belegil said with a grin. "Now let's get rid of this troll so we can open the main gate and let the rest of our friends join us in battle.

"We couldn't let you have all the fun," Sulindal said, "especially now the dragon has flown away."

"The dragon!" Eledhel visibly grayed before his friends' eyes. "He's after Miredhel, then! We had a plan to draw him away from the battle, so Legolas could shoot him!" And in perfect timing, all three elves' heads turned toward the dragon's peerless flight above the smoky haze of the battle and watched him swoop down toward his prey…


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Miredhel had ridden fast before today. Like in the archery contest when she had first met Legolas, she and her horse had really flown. But that was nothing compared to this. It seemed to her that she must have taken flight. Her horse had grown wings ever since he had first spotted the dragon. It wasn't just her hide he was trying to save.

The frenzied path they were taking through the battle was verging on insanity, but she knew that stopping, or even slowing down, would mean death. The open field where Legolas waited was now visible. Just a little further and they would finish their part of the task. Legolas would have his shot with the mithril arrow.

Perhaps the sight of the open field made her mount overly confident as well, because the poor horse's attention faltered and in that moment, he made a fatal error. He lost his footing and stumbled over a fallen orc in their path. Miredhel sailed over his head and landed with a thud, only to see Anglachur diving straight toward her.


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Legolas did not forget the plan he and Aragorn had made, but he chose to ignore it. He certainly was not going to sit idly by and do nothing when that foul beast of a dragon attempted to devour his beloved. He loved Miredhel, LOVED her! And no sorry, scaly excuse of a reptile was going to come between them. Damn dragon.

With an unholy glint in his eyes, Legolas forgot all about his injuries at the hands of the orcs, he forgot about his thirst for vengeance, and he did not think twice about himself. He was an elf transformed; heat sizzled from every pore and seemed to crackle in a trail of pure energy behind him. The power in Thranduillion's blood began to sing.

He saw Miredhel, knew he could help her. The dragon was close, close enough for him to have a clear shot. "Anglachur," he roared above the battle. "You will give me satisfaction!"

The dragon spotted the prince of the elves and, licking his maw, swerved toward him.

"Foolish princeling!" he snarled as he dropped down toward the elf. "I played you, played you like one of those silly harps your kind love so much. You lured Aragorn away from his precious white city. After I destroy his army here, Minas Tirith will be mine to devour!"

Legolas would delay no longer. He fit the mithril arrow to his bow, pulled the string taut, and released it. Like a flash of lightning against the thunder of the battle, the arrow raced straight and true toward Anglachur's heart.

And missed. The arrow missed Anglachur. It didn't even hit him at all. He soared upward at the last possible second, and the arrow fell short of striking him.

Legolas could scarcely believe it. Their one shot at salvation in this battle against a foe they could not otherwise defeat, and he had blown it. Now Anglachur wheeled in the sky above him and began dropping down in a free fall straight toward Miredhel. "See if your magical arrows can save her," he taunted.

"Forget about me!" Miredhel shouted to Legolas as she watched him race toward her. "Look for the arrow! It had to fall somewhere!" She drew her short sword and dodged back into the battle, hoping the dragon would lose her in the scuffle.

With Miredhel lost from his sight, Legolas continued to ride at full speed into the battle, hoping against hope that he would find her before the dragon did. It seemed that Anglachur must have lost her as well, because he had settled for doing low fly-bys over the fray and scooping up clawfuls of orcs and men looking for her.

"Legolas! I see her," a voice called from his left. His eyes snapped to the source.

"Eledhel, thank the Valar," Legolas called back. "I missed with the arrow. I think we have to go with our second plan of attack!"

"We have a second plan?" Eledhel swiped at an orc with his sword as he shouted.

"Plan B. It's called 'Find Miredhel and kill as many orcs as possible.'" Legolas took turns firing arrows at enemies between words. He swept around, losing Eledhel from sight for a moment to pull a knife and stab an orc from the side.

"I like the sound of that. Does Aragorn know about it?" Eledhel joked loudly as he fought toward the prince and then sucked in his breath as he realized he had been hit. And then hit again, and again.

"Eledhel?" Legolas called out. "Eledhel?" His striking blue eyes scanned the spot where he had last seen his friend.

"Legolas."

It was Miredhel. "We have to get moving. The dragon is circling, and you're out in the open. Let's go." She took his hand and made to pull him toward her, but fear rooted his feet to the ground. She followed his gaze and understood why in one horrible instant.

Her brother had fallen to his knees a few yards away. Three arrows pierced his chest.

With the dragon closing in, they rushed to her brother's side anyway. "Eledhel, lie back," Miredhel urged him, taking his hand. "Elvish medicine has cured worse—you'll be fine!" she assured him in a cheerily false voice.

"Legolas," Eledhel avoided meeting his sister's eyes. "Look at the arrows. Look," he hissed. "They're all mithril, like Galadriel's gift. Like the ones stolen from you. They pierced my armor, but you…" he sucked in a breath, "you can use them to kill the dragon." He placed a gray-tinged hand around one of the arrows. "Quickly, help me pull them out. The dragon's coming… Hurry."

"Legolas, no!" Miredhel caught his hand in her own. "If we pull the arrows out now, he'll bleed to death. We can't!"

This time Eledhel met his sister's eyes. "Miredhel, he must." He coughed in a fit of pain and gripped the arrow to dislodge it from his ribs. "It's the only way."

"I won't let you do this, Legolas. You'll be killing him, my brother. He's all I have," she begged, working her brother's hand free of the arrow so she could hold it. She sank by his side and put her other arm around his shoulders.

"That's not true, Miredhel," Eledhel disagreed softly. "You have Legolas. He loves you. I want him to do this, for the both of you…" Miredhel buried her head against her brother's shoulder and his hair, and Legolas wrenched all three arrows free.

Standing protectively over his fallen friend and Miredhel, Legolas wiped Eledhel's blood from the arrows. The battle raged in chaos and death all around them. Then the skies parted and the dragon plummeted through a ring of fire in the sky straight toward him. This time, Legolas vowed, he would not miss. The runes on the arrow caught his eye as he aimed, and he murmured their words like a prayer, bein nar, celeb Erulisse.

The arrow soared through the air and then buried itself in the dragon's heart.

Anglachur shrieked as he fell, raking one massive claw across his chest at the arrow that pierced him so cruelly. Legolas shot him again with the second arrow, and then again with the third, and the dragon struck the earth hard, sending soldiers and orcs alike flying upon impact.

"Eledhel, it worked! The arrows worked!" Legolas cheered. Quickly remembering his friend's injury, he knelt back down, but it was too late.

Eledhel, First Marshal of the Guard of Lothlorien, was dead.

Miredhel held her brother in his arms, and her eyes were a cold, pale green. "Legolas," she cried softly, "I can't leave him."

"It's not safe, the battle is still going. Even with Anglachur dead, we may not win. The orcs out number us, and they're not fleeing like we hoped they would."

"I can't, Legolas," Miredhel said. "I won't."

"Then neither will I," Legolas agreed, and handing her his bow, drew his long knives, and began to carve a wicked swathe in orcs around them. In the distance, he could see Aragorn and his men doing the same, and Belegil and Sulindal staving off orcs from the fort. Hopelessly outnumbered was an understatement.

Then a distant horn sounded, followed by a dreadful shout from the north deafened over the din of battle. The orcs stopped in their blood lust to look. The men of Gondor paused. Legolas checked his knives in mid-swing.

A great host had arrived in green and brown, stood waiting on the edge of battle, with bows and swords gleaming fresh and bright, led by a fierce and terrible warrior whose frightening blue eyes brought fear and loathing to his enemies.

Thranduil had come. With him the elves of Greenwood hurled themselves into battle. The orcs wisely began to flee. Since their leader Anglachur perished, they knew no reason not to retreat. Fighting an army of wild-eyed wood elves was not the same as fighting tired men from Gondor.

Tired or not, the men from Gondor let out a victory cry as they chased their foes down across the field to smite them. Aided by Thranduil and his elves, the men felt a new lease of energy consume them. An hour later, the kings of Greenwood and Gondor met in the ruins of the battle, surrounded by ash and death.

Aragorn clasped Thranduil's hand with obvious appreciation. "You could not have arrived at a better time, King Thranduil. You have my deepest gratitude."

"Aragorn," Thranduil said, placing his hand over the man's, "I have known you since you were a young man. From scruffy Ranger of the North to King of all of Gondor. I admit I had my doubts and voiced them to Legolas when he said he was joining you." The king's eyes were shrewd and earnest. "He disagreed with me. Stood up to me in front of my own council!"

"I'm sure Legolas meant no disrespect…" Aragorn diplomatically started to say.

"I am very proud of him, my son Legolas. As much as a father can be, I think, and I wanted to prove it to him…and the world of men..." Thranduil finished.

"I am glad, then," Aragorn said, amending his opinion of the hardened elf king.

"Where is my son?" Thranduil wanted to know.


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The elf king met his son halfway across the field, carrying a prone, limp form.

"Father," Legolas said brokenly, his face stained with soot and the wet traces of mourning. "Help—help me. She's dying…"

And he lowered his arm to reveal Miredhel's lovely and sad features, her eyes closed and unseeing, her skin pale and cold.
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Chapter 48 - Do Not Go Gently

Chapter 46: Do Not Go Gently

The sun bled through the smoke, a violent red slash against the horizon. And at the newly made elven camp in the shadow of the fort at Calenfen, two kings held bitter council. The battle was a success, true. King Thranduil's reinforcements had helped win the day. Aragorn had saved his city from the black dragon's attack.

But neither felt like celebrating.

Instead they both glumly sat across a miserable smoking fire from one another in some canvas and wood folding chairs the wood elves had brought. Thranduil pressed a wet compress to his forehead as if his head ached, but his eyes never left Aragorn's.

"Tell me what you know, Aragorn. Everything," Thranduil said at last.

He did not have to go into detail about the 'everything.' Aragorn knew exactly what the king meant.

Legolas. And of course, his relationship to Miredhel.

To be honest, Aragorn was sick over what had happened on the field that day. Casualties were to be expected, but… He sighed as he thought about it. Leaning over to Thranduil, he plucked the cold compress from the king's forehead and placed it on his own.

"I do not know what to tell you, Thranduil. Legolas should tell you himself." Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut before sitting up to look his friend's father straight in the eye.

"It's obvious that he's in no state to tell me anything himself right now, son of Arathorn! And how can I help him at all, if I don't what the problem is!" Thranduil seethed and then took a moment to compose himself. "He's my son," the king added gently.

"He's your son, but he's my closest friend…" Aragorn countered and then pushed his hands through his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adrendil making his rounds. If Aragorn did not tell Thranduil, then he was sure that Adrendil would. The wood elf captain would have no scruples unloading every little detail on his former king...in the worst possible way, no doubt.

Aragorn glanced toward the healer's tents, where Legolas had borne Miredhel. He leaned in toward Legolas' father.

"This is what I know, Thranduil," he said in the lowest of whispers, "From what I understand, Legolas had been courting Miredhel since he met her in Caras Galadhon. He told me they became more seriously involved in my city scarcely a fortnight ago."

"More seriously involved?" asked Thranduil, raising an eyebrow.

"Lovers, Thranduil!" A slight veil of pink rimmed Aragorn's ears. "Do I need to spell it out for you? They became lovers!"

"My son has taken lovers in the past, without ill effect," Thranduil said with a slight twinkle in his eye. He did so enjoy making the King of Gondor squirm.

"I know he has," Aragorn agreed, not at all pleased to be discussing Legolas' conquests with his father. "But on the way here, Legolas was grievously injured by a party of orcs. They nearly took all the skin off his back, and when he was brought back to camp, his first concern was not for himself, but for her, for Miredhel."

Aragorn met Thranduil's eyes once again, this time in all seriousness. "You see, Legolas told me that night that he and Miredhel had bonded."

"Spiritually bonded, Thranduil. Their feas…"

"I know what it means!" Thranduil snapped. "Better than you, I'd wager." He squeezed the fingers on his sword arm into a tight fist and then covered it with his other hand. A visible shudder rolled down his back, and for a moment, his eyes spoke of centuries' torment and longing. Then just as quickly, the moment was gone, and Thranduil schooled his face into an expressionless mask.

Aragorn's eyes softened. He and Thranduil had butted heads many times over many different things (but mostly Legolas' best interests), but he knew how much the king loved his son.

Aragorn added, "Then you know… what Legolas risks. He did not want to upset her that night because she has suffered from Grief. She still suffers…"

But Thranduil was already on his feet. He pounced on his nearest advisor.

"Drop those charts and remove my things from my tent. Send someone to the healers' tents. I want Lady Miredhel moved to my quarters at once!" Thranduil's surrounding elves buzzed into action.

"Wait!" Sounded Thranduil in a booming command. "King Aragorn and I will see to moving the Lady ourselves!" He and the King of Gondor hurried to the healer's tents without delay.

Now Miredhel rested in the palatial comfort of Thranduil's own tent. The elf king himself had gently lifted her from her pallet in the healers' tents and carried her here. He had overridden Legolas' protests that the prince should carry her, and instead turned his son over to Aragorn to have the wounds on his back treated with new bandages.

Legolas probably would not have let her go to anyone less than his father, but Thranduil he trusted. She would find more peace in the lavish comfort of the king's own tent. It would be less hectic than the busy healer's quarters. Legolas' father believed in traveling in high style, but he had given that up without pause for his Miredhel.

After Thranduil had settled Miredhel amid his splendid trappings—a gloriously plush divan strewn with feather soft pillows- he did not leave right away as he had planned. He lingered by her side and studied her with what many of his subjects would consider his typical aplomb. At first glance, his expression would seem both vague and a little serious too. But a closer consideration would reveal the softening of the fine lines around his eyes and the usual tension in his jaw dissipated.

This was his son's beloved.

And now she lay grievously ill, perhaps even dying.

Even so, she was lovely in grief, Thranduil thought, and strong too. It was true that she was no great beauty, but her hair was thick and golden, and her face was fair with a light dusting of freckles across her nose, which Thranduil found to be very fetching. He knew her eyes to be a deep forest green, and her lips were a soft pink and just a little petulant. The old king could understand why his son was so taken with her. She would have to be high-spirited to keep Legolas in check. She was everything his son needed and deserved. He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. "Sleep well, my daughter," he whispered.

Miredhel stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Legolas?"

Thranduil took a step back. "No, dear one. Though many have said Legolas resembles me the most of all my children.

Miredhel swallowed thickly. "Your eyes…perhaps the most, sir…um, Your Majesty."

Thranduil smiled kindly. It was a gesture not often used by him, but in this instance, it was genuine and heartfelt. He knelt by Miredhel's side and picked up her hand.

"Where am I?" she meekly asked.

"You rest in my tent. We set up a camp outside the fort." Thranduil answered softly.

"Why?" she rasped out the word; her throat was so dry. Then she remembered the fort, the dragon, and the painful memory of the battle and Eledhel's death slammed into her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to block the vivid images replaying in her mind of Eledhel falling on the battlefield, three arrows piercing his chest. A stray tear slid from the corner of her closed eyes, and Thranduil knew she relived every horrible moment of her brother's death.

He had seen grief before and wished that this elleth, so young, would not be tainted by it; or that his son would not have to watch her waste away. Legolas was tenderhearted to a fault, and Thranduil knew that her suffering had the power to destroy his youngest.

Still he wished to comfort her. His Legolas loved her, and that was enough for this father.

"It is my understanding, Miredhel, that you are my son's chosen one. I see you are wearing his ring," Thranduil observed, hoping to pull her from the misery of her own dark thoughts.

Miredhel's eyes fluttered open at the king's comment. She did not know what to say. Thranduil was terrifying—as a king, he had a reputation of being stern and hard, with a temper that was legend among elf kind, but here he was now—holding her hand and speaking to her in dulcet tones.

She had no strength for prevarication or cleverness now. Miredhel could only speak plainly. "I love your son," she said, her voice weak and strained. "I do not know if I ever believed that I deserved him…"

Thranduil shook his head sorrowfully. "Dear one, I did not come to chide you! I did not even mean to wake you, but I am glad for a chance to speak with you and bring you comfort. I know you may feel you are without family right now, but…" His eyes were warm and bright. "You are Legolas' intended, and I think he made a fine choice."

Thranduil touched Legolas' ring on her finger. "He chose you, Miredhel, and he loves you. Know that you are not alone, for you belong to the House of Oropher now. You have a new family, and if you ever need or want for anything, Miredhel, and it is in my power to give it to you, it shall be done."

Thranduil then kissed her hand, and with a bow, quietly left her wondering at his promise of succor. Then she slept.

The prince allowed Aragorn to tend his wounds as his father lifted Miredhel and took her away. And he knew from his father's reaction what Aragorn must have told him. Still, he had no heart for words and did not speak. Miredhel's pain was his own, and everything inside him was being rent in two, slowly and murderously.

She was dying. And he found himself wishing for the same.

Every step across the camp to join her was torture. His deep blue eyes singed any who met them. He was furious. Why should this happen to her! Miredhel, so lovely, so gentle, so his.

Now the prince entered slowly, his eyes adjusting to the steady glow of a single burning lamp. Its light illuminated the sumptuous quarters and the divan draped with all manners of cushions and rich coverlets. Miredhel rested fitfully against the smooth fabric, as if she could not wake to save herself from a bad dream.

"Miredhel," Legolas whispered against the nearly translucent tip of her ear and squeezed her hand. He wished to wake her gently, for his father's healers wanted her to drink a potion to ease her pain.

Her eyes remained closed.

"Miredhel," Legolas tried again, and this time he brought his lips to hers in the softest of kisses. Her eyes fluttered and then opened, and she returned his kiss.

"Drink this, love," Legolas entreated, bringing the tiny cup to her mouth.

"No, Legolas." Miredhel turned her head away. "Please, no more healers' draughts."

Legolas patiently sat the cup down. He settled on the divan where he could put his arm around her and rested his cheek next to hers. "Please, Miredhel." His deep eyes met hers. "You'll need your strength to fight this." He swallowed, his words feeling thick through his throat. "Please."

"I'm tired of fighting, Legolas. Eledhel was the fighter, not me. I'm just so tired…" Her eyes began to drift shut again.

"No, Miredhel!" Legolas pulled himself so he leaned over her, gently taking one of her hands to rest with his between their chests and used his other to stroke her cheek. It was pale and already cool against his fingers. It was the Grief. She shivered against him, and he pulled her closer.

She drew her eyes open, only to drown in his. The love there, oh, the love! But skilled as he was, Legolas could not hide his own pain and unspoken fears. Their elvish hearts were bound in love, and she could sense his emotions as easily as her own. They were one and the same. And once more the tears came to her eyes, and Legolas brushed them away.

"I won't let you go so easy, Miredhel. Know that. You're a part of me now," Legolas whispered to her and kissed her softly. He took a strangled breath. "Your Grief is my own."

"Then break our bond, Legolas, and free—"

"Do not speak of it, Miredhel!" Legolas commanded and pulled her tightly against him. "I would sooner cut out my own heart." He wrapped arms around her like cords of the strongest metal, as if he dared the world to try to pull them apart.

He could feel the uneasy rise and fall of her chest against him, as if she struggled not to cry, and Legolas buried his face against her hair. "I love you," he murmured.

"We knew what we risked, Legolas. I told you in the Brown Lands… I told you what the healers said," Miredhel said brokenly. "If I had been more guarded…"

"I haven't forgotten, Miredhel," he interrupted, his normally musical voice sounding strained and harsh to his own ears. Legolas swallowed thickly and willed himself to speak with more control. She was worried about him. Miredhel had just lost her own brother, but she was worried that her Grief would hurt him through their bond. Valar, how he loved her! He would never understand how one as giving and pure of heart as Miredhel be allowed to suffer as she was. And she was suffering, terribly. Legolas could see it in her eyes and the pale sheen of her skin.

She was dying.

Legolas had seen enough death to know.

She was dying, and he who had seen perhaps thousands fall on the battlefield and brought down hundreds more with his own knives and bow was troubled more deeply by the light fading in this one maiden's eyes than any of them. And if he had reasoned with himself, he might have concluded that this time the death was someone he loved and more personal to him, but Legolas was beyond any reasonable thought. He only knew what he felt. What he felt right then was that she was his, completely and without reservation. He was not going to let her go easily. And if she claimed not to be a fighter—well, he was. He would fight for both of their sakes.

"I know what the healers told you before about your Grief, Miredhel," Legolas said softly. They had warned her that letting her emotions get out of hand made her more vulnerable to future Grief, that even falling in love was a risk, that another relapse of Grief could be fatal. "But I will not believe it."

He pushed himself up on his elbow to lean over her and traced his finger down her cheek. Miredhel slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, and Legolas forced a smile.

"Did we not try our best to hate each other when we first met, Miredhel? You tried your best to get rid of me," he teased, hoping to lighten her heart. "But we fell in love anyway…from that night you let me put those ridiculous purple flowers in your hair. There was no turning back for me then."

Miredhel swallowed thickly, and her eyes were dark and shadowed. "I loved those flowers, Legolas."

"Then I'll have some brought to Ithilien. I promised I would make you a garden there, Miredhel," he said slowly. "I will plant some in the shade of the trees where we live, and I can put some in your hair every evening if you wish it. And when we have several beautiful golden-headed daughters, I will put some in their hair as well."

"Don't do this, please. Legolas," Miredhel protested softly. "Don't speak of a future I may not be able to have, when I want it more than anything."

"Then fight for it, Miredhel. If you want it, don't give in. If you want that future…" He reached for her hand again and gripped it in his, as if just holding on to her tight enough would make it so.

She shook her head ever so slightly. "I can't stop it, Legolas. I can't. I feel like I am falling and there is nothing I can grab onto for help. Even if I wanted to, even if it were possible…" Miredhel's voice trailed off and she squeezed her eyes shut. She remembered her brother catching her when she fell from a mallorn tree. Eledhel. He always seemed to be at the right place at the right time to help her. He had gotten her out of so many scrapes in the past, almost as many as he had dragged her into in the first place!

Miredhel could not make the sweetness of the memory last, though; she could not remember her brother without tasting the bitterness of her loss. Again, her grief blasted through her entire body until she could feel the chill of it all the way down to her bones.

"No, I am sorry. I'm sorry, Miredhel. Forgive me," Legolas pressed a kiss to her cool check.

Legolas covered her with a blanket and stole out of the tent. The evening had darkened, and he could see faint stars amid the curls of smoke from the men's campfires. Somewhere across the camp, elven voices rose in a lament for their fallen comrades, for their captain Eledhel. Tonight the music did not comfort him.

He strode back across the camp to the healers' tents. All the commotion inside the tent died as he entered, and any of the elves who could, stood up at once.

"How long does she have?" Legolas heard himself abruptly ask and he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. It was his father.

One of the older healers came forward, one of his father's. "We cannot say for sure. She is strong, certainly, but the shock of her brother's death… Her Grief has advanced beyond our care, I'm afraid."

"Is there any way to save her? Any hope at all?" Thranduil asked the question quietly, his hand still resting on his son's shoulder.

"She could leave these shores for the Grey Havens. There she could find peace and healing," the healer offered and sighed as Legolas and Thranduil exchanged a long painful glance; both remembered Legolas' mother leaving for the havens long ago. It was not an option that either wanted to consider.

Another healer stepped toward the father and son; it was Colmaethor. He had traveled from Lorien with Legolas and Miredhel. "I believe she can fight it."

The healer that had originally spoken turned sharply and frowned. "I thought we had all agreed not to give the prince false hope."

"False hope or not—I would like to hear what he has to say," Legolas said, stepping between them.

Colmaethor steepled his fingers and spoke frankly, "Lady Miredhel is strong and has already shown herself to be resilient. I remember the first time she had Grief, after her closest friend had died. Eledhel had asked me to look in on her from time to time; he was always so over protective and was crazy with worry. We had tried everything. Nothing worked."

"Like I said," the older healer snidely pointed out.

"But something did," Legolas said, anticipation catching in his voice.

"I believe it was a combination of two things, really," Colmaethor began. "First, Miredhel had a very close relationship with Eledhel. She clung to that, and he was there for her every step of the way. Even more importantly, he brought Lady Galadriel to visit his sister. By that time, Miredhel had mostly slipped away. Lady Galadriel used her powers to visit Miredhel in her dreams, to speak to her there; she convinced her that she still had unfinished business here in Middle Earth."

"And Miredhel woke up," Legolas looked to his father. "She mentioned this once. I believe it is worth trying."

"Lady Galadriel has undoubtedly left for the Havens by now, son," Thranduil kindly pointed out and instantly regretted it the moment Legolas' face fell.

"I told you not to say anything," the older healer snapped at Colmaethor. "You can not tell somebody about a possible cure when there is absolutely no way of actually getting it! All you've done is made things worse!" They both stole a glance at the prince whose face had drained white.

"I refuse to stand by and let her fade away," Legolas sharply informed his father, the healers, and anyone else who would listen.

He stalked out of the tent and crossed the camp perhaps even more angrily than he did only an hour ago. Aragorn who had been waiting to talk to his friend, rose to greet him as he passed and immediately caught himself at the clearly visible sheen of tears in Legolas' eyes.

The prince cautiously slid back into his father's tent where Miredhel rested. His heart clenched at the sight of her closed eyes, her long lashes fanning across the top of her cheeks. He breathed her name. She did not wake, and Legolas was not sure if that was a good or bad sign.

His memory flashed to that night in Minas Tirith after he had first made love to her. Legolas watched her fall asleep in his arms, and he had known that he could never love another as he loved her.

Now in his father's tent, Legolas silently watched her rest again, and his love for her twisted painfully in his heart. He sank to the floor in utter despair beside her, catching his head in hands as much hated tears forced their way out…

There, he wept.
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Chapter 49 - When All Lights Pass

When All Lights Pass



Later that evening when Aragorn found Legolas in Thranduil's tent, the elf was propped up against the divan where Miredhel rested, with his long legs stretched across the floor. His arms were folded across his chest, and the elf's eyes were closed. His skin still showed remnants of the orcs' cruelty from when they had captured him, but nothing could diminish the sheer beauty of Legolas' face.

Aragorn had spent much of his life in the company of elves, growing up in Rivendell, not to mention his long friendship with Legolas—elves had been his family, his friends. But familiarity would never ease the secret wonder that Aragorn felt when he looked upon them. Their natural grace and flawless appearances still held the power to make him pause.

"I would like to know why you felt it necessary to enlighten my father concerning my relationship with Miredhel," Legolas said softly and then opened his eyes to lock with Aragorn's.

"You do not think he could have guessed it for himself, after the way you brought her back in your arms, half-crazed?" Aragorn countered. "Your father is extremely perceptive, my friend."

Legolas closed his eyes and leaned back against the divan. "You know how he is about me, Aragorn. You know how he worries… has always worried…" he said tiredly.

Aragorn sank down across from his friend on the floor in the tent. "I am sorry, Legolas. I did what I thought was necessary—I saw Adrendil making his rounds, and I thought that it would be better if your father heard it from me than him."

"Does not matter now," Legolas murmured and fixed his gaze on Aragorn, "and saves me the bother of it all. Is that wrong? To want to be left alone, just let somebody else take the lead for a while?" He picked at the end of one of his braids.

"No, Legolas," Aragorn answered slowly, "You've never been one to forgo duty."

"She's dying," he whispered. "And I only have myself to blame."

"Legolas, you cannot…" his friend started, but the elf cut him off.

His elvish words, so soft to human ears that Aragorn strained to catch them all, tumbled out, "I pursued her. I pushed her. I wanted her—and even as she warned me that the healers said her heart was weak, I did not stop. I just went ahead and took what I wanted. Selfish."

"Do not blame yourself this way, my friend." Aragorn said sternly, the edge in his voice causing Legolas to look up. "Do you think things would be any different if Eledhel had died, and you and Miredhel had not bonded? I think the Grief would have already killed her."

"I think," Aragorn said deliberately, "that your bond is the only thing holding her here. You give her strength, Legolas."

"If it were Arwen," the elf said, with a long look at Aragorn, "what would you do?"

"I would try to save her, heal her," the man answered slowly. "If I could not, then I would send her to the Undying Lands to find healing and peace there."

Legolas angled his head to glimpse Miredhel still sleeping on the divan behind him and swallowed hard. He then nodded and was silent for a moment. "If you could, would you go with her? Forsake your duty to Gondor?"

Aragorn rubbed his long fingers across his temples, and then stood. "I would try saving her first," he countered. "I know you went to the healers' tent earlier. Did they give you any reason to hope?"

"None, save Colmaethor, one of the Lorien elves. He said Lady Galadriel called Miredhel out of her dark dreams even as she was fading, but she has left these shores by now. Elrond has sailed as well. None of my father's people have skill enough to save her. They are all of the mind that she should sail as soon as possible."

"You say Lady Galadriel called to Miredhel in her dreams?" Aragorn asked.

"You know as well as I do that she had the power to speak in people's minds," Legolas reminded him of their days in Caras Galadhon when they first met the Lady of the Golden Wood. "And even though I have bonded with Miredhel, I would not try to enter her mind, especially not now when she is so fragile, so weak."

"Your words just now reminded me of something that I have not thought of in a long time, not since the dark days before the fall of Sauron," Aragorn answered carefully, for he had an idea that gave him great hope, but he wanted to proceed cautiously with Legolas. It would not do to raise his friend's expectations too high. In one point, Aragorn had to agree with Thranduil—and he loathed the idea that the elf king was right—but Legolas had always been too easily ruled by his emotions, and failure in this instance would be a hard disappointment.

Despite Aragorn's careful approach, the elf's eyes sparked at his words. He stopped picking miserably at the ends of his hair and leaned forward to listen.

The man continued, "I have a notion, a hope that Miredhel's grief might be treated like the Black Shadow that had stricken Eowyn upon the slaying of the Witch King on the fields of Pelennor."

Aragorn recalled aloud the old lore which had saved the shield maiden of Rohan and Faramir, Steward of Gondor:

And death's shadow grows

And all lights pass

Come athelas! Come athelas!

Life to the dying

In the king's hand lying!

"Both were grievously injured, the light of the spirits grown cold and waning," Legolas wondered at the similarity between their malady and Miredhel's. Yet Aragorn had revived them with the herb athelas.

Could Aragorn bring Miredhel back? There was nothing to be lost by trying and everything to gain.

"Truly you are Estel," Legolas murmured. "You bring hope when there is none." He pushed his hair back from his face, and his dark blue eyes caught the light.

Once more Aragorn was struck by the youthful innocence of Legolas' face, even though he knew him to be immortal, centuries upon centuries older than he, and a warrior who had known much of bloodshed and battle. He had seen Legolas as the very face of death itself during battle, as mighty as the elf lords of old. He preferred Legolas as he was now, hopeful.

Aragorn stood and offered a hand up to his friend. "Let us go find some athelas." He had carried some in his bag from Minas Tirith, but had used up his supply the night Legolas was attacked.

The two friends left the tent and purposefully crossed the camp. Aragorn wanted to speak to Colmaethor, the healer that had given Legolas hope earlier. Before they reached the healers' tent, however, Belegil and Sulindal intercepted them.

"Legolas," Sulindal bowed his head, "Eledhel was our captain in the Golden Wood, and a brother to us. Tell us, how fares Miredhel?"

"She lives yet, but…" Legolas' voice trailed off.

Belegil sagged against Sulindal's shoulder, and both whispered words of thanks to the Valar. They had tended Eledhel's body after the battle and had worried together that Miredhel would not last much longer.

Sulindal had glimpsed Miredhel's face when Legolas had carried her in from the battle field, and a thousand painful memories of his sister Annariel's death tore his heart. Miredhel. Annariel's death had devastated her. No elleth should have to bear such a burden of grief. He ached for this elleth, one whom he had come to view as a sister.

Belegil straightened as he addressed the Prince, "When she wakes up, my brother and I wish to stand in as her family if she wishes to look upon Eledhel. We also wish to take care of the funeral preparations."

"That is most generous," Legolas answered. "He was my friend too, and—" The prince looked curiously at Sulindal. "I suppose you already noticed that I'm no longer wearing my family ring."

Sulindal smiled softly. His sharp gray eyes had detected the missing ring and had entertained the small hope that the same ring had moved to a certain lady's finger. "Well?" he inquired.

"I asked Miredhel to become my betrothed," Legolas confessed quietly.

Both Sulindal and Belegil shared a quick smile. "That is glad tidings indeed, my lord." Sulindal hesitated and then clapped Legolas on the back. He meant to reassure and comfort, knowing fully well that it was not his place to offer either.

The prince was not affronted by the small gesture—in fact, it caught him quite off guard, and he flashed a grin at the twin brothers, one that spoke of kinship and great camaraderie.

By the time Legolas and Aragorn had crossed the camp back to the healer's tent, they had been intercepted by no less than eleven different groups of elves and men all offering their best wishes for the prince's beloved's quick recovery.


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One of the elves did not join the outpouring of hope and sympathy to the prince; Adrendil had no heart for pretty words or prevarication. Instead he watched silently and waited. He had observed Legolas' anguished retreat across the camp earlier. Miredhel's Grief must be dire indeed. With the prince's attention drawn across the camp, Adrendil slipped through the draped entrance the wood elf king's tent..

Miredhel stirred when he entered, and Adrendil paused at the sight of her lovely form stretched across the king's divan. He desired her; there was no use pretending otherwise. True, Legolas had announced their betrothal, but that was before Eledhel had fallen in battle. Now Miredhel grieved again, and Adrendil only wished to offer her succor.

She brushed a sleepy hand across her eyes and then propped herself up to look at her unexpected guest.

"How are you feeling?" Adrendil asked, his eyes softening as he gazed upon her.

"Not my finest," Miredhel admitted frankly. "Why are you here, Captain?" She had every reason to be suspicious as one of her last encounters had ended with him trying to bestow a much unwanted kiss upon her lips.

"You were always direct," Adrendil remembered. "I appreciated that about you."

"Not all the time," Miredhel reminded him of when she had pushed him into the tent to ward off his advances.

"No, forgive me. My behavior that night was inexcusable."

"You were saying why you had come?" Miredhel repeated.

"I heard rumors across camp…that you were dying." Adrendil's voice broke into a whisper. "I just wanted to see for myself, how you fared. Offer my assistance to you."

Regret marred his handsome features and troubled his usually roguish brown eyes. Miredhel had never known him to look so sincere. Finally, this was a side of the captain with whom she could relate.

"Not much can be done," Miredhel confessed tiredly, "I overheard Prince Legolas say so to King Aragorn. They thought I was sleeping, and I did not mean to listen, but I could not help it."

"I understand, but perhaps all you need is time for recovery, my lady. The shock of your brother's death is still new…"

"Time—that is the last thing I want." Miredhel turned her head to look at him directly.

"Grief is pain, Adrendil. My heart aches so. I can hardly bear it. To think about days, weeks, living this way-it is insufferable." Miredhel took a deep breath and looked down at her hands and the golden ring upon her finger. "I do not wish to hurt Legolas. He already blames himself. I overheard him say that as well." she muttered.

"Well, of course he blames himself, my lady. He would feel responsible for your brother's death," Adrendil said and knelt by beside her to bring himself eye level. "He probably feels like he is reliving the tragedy of his mother all over again too, but you should not dwell on such things, my lady."

"What about his mother?" Miredhel asked abruptly and grimaced. Those sudden flares of pain were becoming more frequent now. She gripped the coverlet and willed it to pass while she despaired of hearing of Legolas' mother this way. He rarely spoke of his family.

"The prince never mentioned it to you?" Adrendil could hardly hide his disbelief. "His mother was sick with grief many years ago. Legolas blamed himself for what happened then as well. The queen and her son were out riding in the forest. Orcs attacked, but the queen and Legolas managed to escape. They were racing back to the palace, and when he looked back again, she was gone. He was very young when it happened. As soon as he reached the palace, he summoned the guards and they rode out and found the queen, alive but wretched. The orcs had done their worst. There was no way Legolas could have saved her, but he suffered cruelly." Adrendil was but a new recruit to the guard when this had happened, but everyone in the kingdom had adored their queen. She had been everything that Thranduil was not—warm, kind, gracious.

"Did she fade?" Miredhel asked in a small voice.

"No, but she never healed either, and Legolas became so distraught over his mother that KingThranduil feared for his son's well-being. It was an ill-kept secret at court that the king thought his youngest son too sensitive to emotion. So the queen sought peace in the Undying Lands." Adrendil folded his hands on his knee and studied the maiden before him. Dark circles smudged her eyes, and she looked so lost and weak that he only wanted to take her into his arms and hold her.

"I would spare him any grief if I could," Miredhel said softly to herself. "Perhaps it would be best if I left for the havens as well." As soon as she had spoken the words, she knew that she really meant them, especially if it meant saving Legolas from fading as well. Miredhel would consider any alternative over that fate for him, no matter the cost to her.

"Lady Miredhel," Adrendil said and bowed, "If you decide that you wish to leave, I offer you my service as an escort. You may find your prince very resistant to the idea of you leaving; I'm sure it would pain him greatly to let you go. If I may offer counsel, this must be your choice and yours alone, and once decided you should leave quickly and without reserve, for the longer you linger, the more Legolas will suffer the loss."

Miredhel nodded thoughtfully. Adrendil had given her much to consider. She lay back down upon the divan, and the captain sensing her wish for privacy quitted the tent after a soft farewell.


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Legolas and Aragorn entered moments later, and Miredhel propped herself back up, pushing her hair away from her face, her eyes gratefully resting upon her beloved. She was not sure if it were her bond with Legolas or just the overwhelming sense of love she felt for him, but merely the sight of him, his presence alone, soothed her spirit like no other balm.

"Legolas," she whispered his name to herself, hardly still able to believe that he belonged to her alone. Even now in the evening after a hard-fought battle, he looked glorious, and his eyes lit up when he heard her say his name.

"Miredhel, you are awake!" Legolas exclaimed and gave her forehead a swift kiss. He glanced back at Aragorn, and the two had a silent, puzzling exchange that ended with the king unquestionably shrugging.

"I will be right back, my love," Legolas guaranteed, offering absolutely no explanation of what had just happened, and slipped outside the tent with Aragorn.

The man and elf quickly strode out of hearing distance from the tent together, and both began whispering at once.

"Well, I wouldn't have thought she would be awake!" Legolas voiced his complete surprise.

"Since she is awake now, I believe we must postpone our idea with the athelas," Aragorn guessed. "It may not work the same if she is awake. Neither Eowyn or Faramir were when I worked the cure upon them."

"We'll save it for later then," Legolas agreed. "I'm going to go back, and I'm not going to mention anything to her about it. Keep the element of surprise, you know."

Aragorn nodded, and Legolas left him there, eager to see Miredhel. He was not expecting to see her sitting up upon the divan, with her face looking gray and wan, and lacing up her boots tiredly.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he inquired at the sight of her.

"How come you and King Aragorn bolted out of the tent like that when you first came in?" she asked, artfully dodging his question with one of her own.

"Oh, that—" Legolas nonchalantly brushed the hair off his shoulders while he paused and then sat next to her, "he just wanted to let us have some privacy."

"Hmm." She answered noncommittally, giving absolutely no indication that she believed him. Miredhel picked up her second boot and tugged it on. Even as she completed this smallest of tasks, her breathing was slow and labored.

"Here now, Miredhel," Legolas said concernedly, although he did not try to stop her in the middle of her task. Even he knew better than that. "Tell me what you want, and I will make it so. All you have to do is ask…"

The prince cupped her chin with his hand as though he were handling the most delicate porcelain and made her to look at him. The icy pallor of her skin and the dim light of her eyes sent him reeling inside. If he had entertained the slightest sort of denial about the gravity of her condition earlier, that one touch and glimpse into her eyes shot it down with a thousand arrows. Her condition had worsened. Considerably.

Miredhel tried to pretend not to notice Legolas' shock. His hand had trembled after he first touched her face. His hand, shaking- the very same hand that was legend throughout Middle Earth for steady grace under pressure! Legolas in turn was trying his best to act nonchalant about his reaction and knowing that he was failing miserably.

"Legolas," she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I want to see my brother."

She felt him tense, but continued, "Legolas, please. Take me to see Eledhel. I wish to see him one last time… to say goodbye."

"You know that I am powerless to deny you little," Legolas began, "but I wish you would reconsider…"

"Legolas, please. I plan on doing this," 'with or without your help' Miredhel omitted, "but I would rather not go alone."

"All right then," he answered somberly and took her hand. "Can you walk, or would you prefer me to carry you?" It was obvious which option he preferred.

'"I would like to go there of my own volition," she amended proudly, even though her voice was weak.

Legolas sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. He loved her spirit, even when it was infuriating. He helped her to her feet, and then took her arm in his own to guide her outside the tent. The chill in the night air made her shiver, and Legolas ducked back inside to retrieve a blanket, which he then folded over her shoulders like a shawl.

Both elves pretended to take no notice of the wide-eyed stares of the men as they passed; Legolas kept his gaze fixed firmly on Miredhel's face as he steered her toward the edge of camp where he knew Sulindal and Belegil kept a silent vigil over their fallen captain's body.

And even though Legolas was taken aback to see many men and elves trailing behind them in a long forlorn column, he did not mention it to the lady beside him, and if she noticed it, she made no mention of it, save perhaps a lonely tear that wandered down her cheek.

When at last Legolas and Miredhel reached their quarry, Belegil and Sulindal rose and greeted Miredhel with a kiss on her cheek from one brother and a hug from the other. They bade her wait with Legolas, so they might bring move her brother's body out from the covered wagon to rest upon a trestle where she might look upon him in the open air.

As the brothers left to move the body, the procession of men and elves that had followed the prince and Miredhel from camp now formed a large loose circle, and King Aragorn came to stand next to Legolas. King Thranduil also appeared, and with a slight nod to his son and King Aragorn, took his place on the right of Miredhel, took her free hand in his.

When at last Sulindal pulled back the finely woven Lorien cloth from Eledhel's body, Miredhel exhaled a breath she had not even realized she had been holding. She broke away from the others and knelt by his side. His face was so flawless and peaceful, if she had not known any better, she might have supposed him to be only in a deep and restful slumber.

"Oh, Eledhel," she breathed, "oh, El." She hung her head for a minute, wishing fervently that she could see his steady gray eyes mocking her just one more time. A thousand memories bombarded her, and the grief's spiking pain made her waver. Nausea barreled up her chest, and Miredhel leaned down with one hand on the cool grass to steady herself.

Legolas would have gone to her then, but Aragorn checked him. "Let her do this," he softly advised.

Miredhel inhaled and willed herself to take one last look at her brother, the last of her family in Middle Earth. She placed a kiss on his cool cheek and withdrew.

Immediately seeking the comfort of Legolas' gaze, Miredhel did not return to his side; instead she quietly addressed the group that had formed around them.

"Eledhel, son of Bragoglin, First Marshal of the Guard in fair Lothlorien," she said and with each word her voice gained strength and authority. If any doubted her love for her brother after the small quiet farewell they had witnessed, none would second-guess the height of her emotion now after listening to her.

"He was friend and brother, a leader and warrior. Eledhel loved life with all his being. Those who knew him best," she said with a long look to Belegil and Sulindal, "would speak of his unmitigated joy, of his loyalty to those he loved. This was my brother. He shall not be forgotten." She closed her eyes...

And began to sing. Eledhel had loved music. He had always had a song for everything and in between. Now she would have one for him. With the stars and soldiers and kings as her witness, she sang to her brother, her voice carrying over the fields and hills of love, and hope.

Ai! Laurie lantar lassi surinen,

Yeni unotime ve ramar aldaron!

Yeni ve linte yuldar avanier

Mi ormardi lise-miruvoreva,

Adune pella, Vardo tellumar

Nu luini yassen tintilar I eleni

Omaryo airetari-lirinen.

Si man I yulma in enquantuva?

An si, Tintalle Varda Oilosseo

Ve fanyar maryat Elentari ortane

Ar ilye tier undulave lumbule;

Ar sindarnoriello caita mornie

i falmarlinnar inbe met, ar hisie

untupa Calaciryo miri oiale.

Si vanwa na, Romello vanwa, Valimar!

Namarie! Nai hiruvalye Valimar,

Nai elye hiruva. Namarie!

'Ah! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees! The years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly. Who now shall refill the cup for me? For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars, from Mound Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds, and all paths are drowned deep in shadow; and out of a gray country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us, and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya forever. Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!'

The men listened in wonder, not understanding the words, but lost in the achingly beautiful melody, and the elves among them who listened and knew her lament joined their voices with hers, sweet and clear in the darkness, rising above the smoke of a hundred campfires and the ash scattering in the night's wind.

When she sang her last farewell, Miredhel found herself in the arms of Legolas who caught her up in a tight embrace, partly in comfort, partly because he feared she might collapse where she stood.

"Eledhel would not have wanted this," she confided to him brokenly, as he held her tight, "he wouldn't want me to fall to grief." She pulled back from him just enough to meet his gaze. "I wasn't planning on telling you this, but—I seriously considered leaving for the Havens, and I made up my mind."

Legolas' eyes widened, and he tightened his hold on her as though she might leave that very minute.

"No, no," she said, sensing his misinterpretation. "I don't want to fade, Legolas. Nor do I wish to leave you for the Havens. I wish to stay. Here. With you."

Verily did Legolas' eyes mist at her declaration, and he pulled her even closer to him and kissed her soundly, not caring that hundreds of soldiers surrounded them.

"I am going to fight this grief, Legolas." Miredhel said in a small, yet determined voice. "With whatever strength, whatever grace the Valar may grant, I will fight past the pain or learn to live with it. Eledhel would never have wanted his death to bring my own. I see that now. Ithilien meant much to him. I'm not ready to leave yet."

Legolas decided to throw all convention by the wayside and scooped her up in his arms.

"We'll find a way, Miredhel," said her prince, touching his lips to hers again. He thought of Aragorn's possible cure with the athelas and silently prayed that it might be so. He did not speak of it to Miredhel, so closely he held the hope that it might save her.

For all the other eyes watching the prince with his lady, and there were many—kings and warriors, men and elves—most filed past the couple silently, each on their way back to find rest in the remains of the evening. When Legolas finally took Miredhel away in his arms to return her to the king's tent, he did not leave her side. They would leave tomorrow for Gondor and Minas Tirith, and then from there, Ithilien.

Days of peace were at hand, Legolas reflected as he stowed his well-worn knives in his pack at the foot of the divan. Peace and healing—he had been fighting for so long, forced by circumstance ever to play the warrior for his people—Legolas hardly knew any different…but he wished he might. One glance at Miredhel perched on the side of the divan with her hair unbound and curving loose around her face, and Legolas hoped wholeheartedly that Ithilien and what they might build there would bring both of them peace. He pulled his tunic off and snuffed the lantern. Well, if anything, there would certainly be no shortage of love; he would make sure of that.


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*Miredhel's song and translation borrowed from FOTR, "Farewell to Lorien"


Chapter 50 - The Deadliest Weapon

Chapter 48: The Deadliest Weapon


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On the fourth day of their journey back to Minas Tirith, Miredhel woke once again in the early hours of dawn to find herself wrapped in Legolas' protective embrace. Her head rested against his chest, and both his arms held her close, and for a minute, she was content to listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady, under her ear. Strong and steady. Legolas. And without thinking about it, a smile curved her lips. He was so warm.

She hesitantly lifted her head off his chest and met his eyes.

Legolas had watched her wake up. He had seen that unbidden smile light her face. He felt like rejoicing, like tearing out of the tent and shouting praises to the early dawn, the Valar, and anyone else who would listen. Miredhel had smiled for the first time since her brother's death. A small part of him still feared to keep her by his side, feared that she would suffer too dearly in her grief. But not this morning! She had slept peacefully the entire night, without any of the dark dreams, the nightmares that had been tormenting her from the previous nights.

And then to see her smile? To have her turn in his arms and look at him so? Legolas was completely undone. He did not shout any praises, however much he might have wished to, nor did he race across the prairie dawn; instead, he slid his hand lovingly up her back to her shoulder, and pulled her even closer.

"You are not cold this morning," the prince observed, with a strange catch in his voice. He ran his hand back down her arm in disbelief and brought her fingers to his lips. Her hand was warm in his, and Miredhel marveled at the truth of his words. Legolas was right. She did not feel chilled, as she should have for one suffering from Grief. Grief was, in a word, coldness—it was to feel the life stealing out of you in agonizing degrees.

"I don't feel cold right now. All I feel is your warmth," Miredhel confessed. "You give me strength, just being near you." She pulled her hand from his broad shoulder all the way down his perfectly toned arm until she laced her fingers with his.

"It has to be our bond, Miredhel," he answered softly. "I feel it keenly when you are near as well." He looked down for a moment, his long eyelashes fanning across his cheek.

"My heart yearns for you," he murmured, meeting her gaze, his eyes full of longing. "I have never felt the force of anything like it, not even the call of the sea—Miredhel, take my strength, my love, anything and all that I am—because I know that I must from you. I crave being near you, with you."

Legolas lifted her hand to his lips once more and kissed her fingertips, and Miredhel then covered his lips with her own. Softly she kissed him, thinking only of him, his scent, his touch, the feel of his hands across her skin. Everything else was forgotten.


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Much later that morning, when the sun began to sneak over the brow of the farthest eastern hill, Legolas and Miredhel burrowed deeper under their blanket, both feeling quite reluctant to leave each other.

"I hear the men stirring outside," Legolas said gently and kissed her. "We should get ready."

Miredhel half-heartedly groaned, more loath to leave Legolas' warmth than anything, but she stretched and reached for her shirtwaist.

"We will be in Minas Tirith before sunset," Legolas reminded her. "I am most eager to see my sister, for I imagined she has been quite worried since we took our leave."

"Did your father give his permission for Celeril to go to Ithilien with us?" Miredhel asked sleepily, pushing an errant curl away from her eyes. She knew how much Legolas had wished for his younger sister to accompany them.

Legolas sat up and stretched. "Yes, but not without complaint," he answered mid-yawn and began quickly redressing the braids in his hair. "I am certain he would have never allowed it, save his current concern for my well-being. No doubt he intends her to keep him informed of all my doings."

"Would she?" Miredhel inquired, her surprise evident. She had befriended Legolas' sister during their flight to Minas Tirith to find aid for Farothin, and Miredhel would not have pegged Celeril for lackey to anyone, not even to her father the king. She always seemed much the independent spirit.

"No," Legolas laughed. "Celeril can snoop with the best of them, but a teller of tales she is not. Did I tell you that she had already figured out that we had spent the night together before we left Minas Tirith? She told me so when I stopped by to say goodbye before we left."

Miredhel colored slightly at the thought, and Legolas cheerily took note of this. Her complexion was better; she was feeling warmer—all good signs for her recovery. He could not wait to share the news with Aragorn and hear his opinion of it.

Both elves quickly finished dressing, and then Legolas spent a few minutes fussing over Miredhel's tangled curls, as elven lovers are apt to take great pleasure in doing. He took as much satisfaction in braiding her hair as the knowledge that he had contributed greatly to its current state of disarray earlier that morning.

Finally when they left their tent, hand in hand, it seemed that the entire Gondorian army was most eager to find their sup in Minas Tirith that evening. Aragorn hailed the elven couple from the front of the vanguard, their mounts held and ready. The sun was bright and peerless in the east, and the king of Gondor smiled to see his friend approaching with lady in hand, both sharing a quiet laugh at something Legolas had said.

The other elves were waiting there as well, including all of the ones who had stayed with the men and women at the fort at Calenfen, and many of them, Belegil and Sulindal included, exchanged smiles to see their lord and lady so at ease.

Miredhel noticed Lady Limaer basking in the admiration of some of the king's marshals and reflected that some things never do change, no matter the circumstances. For some reason the sight was a comfort to her, the familiarity of it, she supposed, and when Limaer gave Miredhel an eager little wave, Miredhel returned it with a knowing glance at Legolas and a grin.

Bright clear notes sounded across the plains, and the army began to move. The elves formed their own easy procession in a column next to the king's men. The dragon was dead, their foes vanquished, and both men and elves traveled lightly on this last day of their journey home. Miredhel and Legolas rode alongside Aragorn for the first part of that morning, the latter two discussing plans for the elven colony in Ithilien and then some grand design for a new garden for Arwen. Their plans for a hanging shrubbery, to which Miredhel had utterly no idea what that entailed, were interrupted by a wildly gesturing Lady Limaer, a few yards away. She pointed at her saddlebag and then flapped her arm like a flag.

"Ah," said Legolas with a knowing smile and he nodded his head in permission.

Only seconds later, a long elven banner, green and gold with a large leaf emblazoned upon it, fluttered in the breeze. On the very first day of their journey when the elves had just left Lothlorien, Limaer had proudly unfurled it for Prince Legolas, only to be instructed to put the banner away, as it might draw unwanted attention to their traveling party.

But with their enemies long gone and in the company of the army of Gondor, Legolas felt secure enough to let Limaer's banner fly, and he noticed for the first time that she had embroidered the name of Ithilien along the opposite side, with a message: Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta (May your ways be green and golden). Legolas almost groaned from the sad irony of Limaer's well-intended phrase, for their journey had offered very little of either. Then he turned to catch Miredhel peering at the message on Limaer's banner, and she rolled her eyes.

Legolas suppressed a chuckle. Green and golden.

If the journey had not been so, then at least he could wish it for Ithilien, for the colony he would build there, for the restoring of the woods, for goodwill between elves and men, and for the maiden riding beside him who turned and met his gaze. He wished it for her sake, that she would find peace there.

Legolas knew for himself, that if she were by his side, then Ithilien would be golden enough to please him.


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The great city of Minas Tirith gleamed in the sun's dying light, and the soldiers of Gondor let out a mighty hurrah. Somehow, to see their home preserved, unscathed by dragon's fire, made right everything they had endured; the long journey, the hardship, and the sacrifice were sweetened by their victorious return to the pride of Gondor. Then the trumpets began to sound from the white watchtowers, and many who were on horseback broke into a spirited gallop, so eager were they to reunite with their loved ones.

The great gates opened to their king and warriors, and many overjoyed subjects crowded the streets to greet them and watch for their beloved's return.

As the bright horns trumpeted from all the towers, noisy, joyous, triumphant, Celeril, Legolas' young sister peered out the low windowsill from Farothin's room in the Houses of Healing, and then warmly brushed a strand of hair from the patient's cheek.

"Farothin…" she called softly. "Farothin, please wake up! King Aragorn has returned! I see Legolas and Miredhel, and all the other elves from Mirkwood and Lothlorien are with them! And all the people are shouting and singing, 'The great dragon is dead!' It is over, Farothin…"

But Farothin did not stir at these glad tidings, nor did he open his eyes, the very same that were once so swollen and bruised from his captor's cruelty. Instead, his long fair eyelashes fanned across his almost perfect cheeks that only showed traces now of the gashes that once marred them. Would she ever even know the color of his eyes?

Celeril knew how much he had endured, how lucky he was to still be alive—but she refused to believe that he might never wake up, as she had heard the healers debate in solemn tones down the hallway. For why indeed would the Valar let his body heal, if they did not mean for him to live?

She straightened his coverlet again, not that it needed straightening in the slightest, and then picked up his hand. The healers had told her that gentle contact would be soothing, even if he were unconscious.

"Farothin…" she tried again. "The dragon is dead. You are safe. Please wake up—please…"

She squeezed his hand. Glancing at the window, she saw the procession of the king and army was making its way up to the fourth level of the city. As much as she welcomed her brother's return, a small part of her knew she would miss the solitude of the last few days. Just her and Farothin.

"Please wake up," she whispered as she leaned over him and tentatively brushed her lips against his.

His eyelashes fluttered and then opened.

His eyes were gray.

"I knew it! Oh, they're gorgeous!" she crowed and then caught herself—not to mention caught the way Farothin stared at her, wide-eyed and confused. She noticed that she still held his hand, and carefully placed it down upon his bed.

She blushed and then added quietly, "I am Celeril, and do not worry—you are with friends."

"Celeril," Farothin croakily tried out her name. "Thank you—for staying with me." And he looked down the bed at his hand, the one that she usually held, and curled his fingers and then stretched them, turning his soft gray eyes to her.

He did not have to ask. She understood and picked his hand back up from the blanket. Warm. Alive.

And this time when she tenderly squeezed his hand?

He returned the gesture.

Thus Legolas found his sister situated, still holding Farothin's hand and speaking to him quietly, telling him mostly stories about herself, Legolas surmised, but Farothin did not seem to mind in the slightest.

"Celeril!" he announced sternly, leaning one hand on the doorframe, "I had at least thought my return would merit a delighted reunion from my own sister—but alas—no one was there to greet me…" Legolas frowned, but his eyes twinkled merrily.

"Legolas!" his sister exclaimed and bounced up to throw her arms around his neck. "Thank goodness you have returned." She held him tightly for a minute, as if she were afraid that he might disappear if she let go too soon, and when she finally let go, she met his gaze, and spoke in earnest. "I am sorry that I could not meet you at the city gates, Legolas. You know that I would have been there if I could."

"Yes, Celeril, I know," Legolas admitted gently and tousled her hair, a gesture he knew she despised, but he always did it anyway. "You were always the first to find me when I came home in Mirkwood; even from the War of the Ring, there you were, sitting on the steps, waiting up for me."

"I know…" Celeril beamed at Legolas, "but this time I could not, brother, for behold! Farothin has only just woken up!" and she gave the wounded elf beside her a look of pure adoration that Legolas did not fail to miss.

"Farothin? He's awake?" called another musical voice from the hallway, and Miredhel squeezed past Legolas in the doorframe to join Farothin's side.

"It is good to see you, Celeril," Miredhel warmly said, "and I am so glad that you were here to watch over Farothin." She then attempted to give Farothin a very severe look—"and you! You cannot know how…" Miredhel's eyes misted, and she just ended up embracing him instead. "You cannot know how much seeing you awake eases my heart."

Celeril concernedly studied Miredhel's reaction, noting her poor complexion. She did not look well at all. She shifted her eyes to Legolas, intending to berate him for not taking better care of her, but his appearance made her doubly pause. She supposed she had been so busy with Farothin, she had not noticed, but— "You look simply dreadful, Legolas. What happened?"

Legolas cleared his throat. "I was in a battle, Celeril. It happens." He had yet to see a mirror, but he knew what his face felt like, and the Valar only knew what it must appear to others. From that one night in the orcs' hospitality, he sported a healing gash on his upper cheek, now scabbed over—it only hurt when he smiled—not to mention the swelling and tenderness around his right eye. Miredhel had told him it was fading, which most likely meant the bruises were only a brackish green by now.

Celeril pursed her lips. "Those do NOT look like battle wounds. It looks like someone beat you senseless, like you were tor—" she checked herself suddenly with a fierce stab of self-loathing for her predilection toward what her father called 'incessant chatter.' She glanced back to see Farothin's hand drift to his own neck, which bore an eerily identical pattern of bruising to Legolas'.

Farothin's eyes squeezed shut, and he grimaced.

Horrified, Celeril quickly changed the subject. "Miredhel, Farothin, did you know that l like to sketch, make drawings?"

Farothin opened his eyes again, drawn out of whatever terrible place his memories had pulled him, and he tentatively reached for her hand.

"I would like to see them, my lady. I bet they're wonderful," the Lorien elf murmured, light entering his eyes again as he gazed at the princess.

Legolas shifted uneasily in the doorway. "Sketching seems too small a word to convey what Celeril's drawings are," he said generously.

"While you've been away, and I've been keeping Farothin company, I've been working on something, Legolas. A present, I had hoped it to be an engagement present, for you and Miredhel," Celeril added cheekily.

"It can be, Celeril. Your brother has asked me to marry him," Miredhel confessed. Across the room, she met Legolas' eyes, so intense and full of love; she thought she might just melt out of the chair beside Farothin's bed.

Celeril was ecstatic. She sprung from her chair to hug Legolas and then Miredhel and then Legolas again. "Oh, this is the best news!"

"Yes, congratulations to you both," Farothin added with a weak, but genuine smile.

"I'm so glad that I worked on your picture yesterday and finished it! I would love to show you what I've done." She reached behind her—then paused. "Oh, seems that I left my sketch book in my room." She sighed at the inconvenience, hating to leave Farothin's side.

Miredhel stood up. "I'll go get it for you, Celeril. Some fresh air would do me good," she offered, simultaneously pleased and surprised at this new development. When she and Legolas had left Farothin in Celeril's care in Minas Tirith, neither imagined this as the result! For it seemed that Legolas' sister was well on her way to falling in love with her patient.

Legolas crossed his arms by the door. "I believe I'll just stay here," he said, eyeing his sister.

"I have the same room as before, Miredhel. My sketchbook is in my bag on the ottoman," Celeril told her.

Miredhel paused by the door on her way out. "Are you sure you do not wish to accompany me, my prince?" she asked archly, hoping to give her friends some time alone.

Legolas only shook his head. "No, you go ahead and go. My sister and I have some catching up to do…"


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After only briefly losing her way from the House of Healing to the guest quarters on the next level—all those corridors and stairs could be so confusing—Miredhel strode through Celeril's door and briefly wondered at the room's neat appearance. The maids must have already visited, she guessed. The last time she had stopped by Celeril's room when she had first arrived in Minas Tirith, she had to watch her step, for there had been innumerous articles scattered across the floor. She saw her friend's satchel, not on the ottoman as Celeril had said, but rather stuffed behind an armchair. She quickly snatched it up by its long strap and loosened the drawstrings at the top. Feeling impatient, Miredhel pulled out the top layer of clothing, various tunics in green and brown. Not a single dress! Miredhel tsk-ed to herself.

Then her breath stopped in her chest, smothered by the wild frenzy of her heartbeat.

Legolas' mithril arrows gleamed brightly from the bottom of the bag.

Her eyes blurred at what she saw there as a hoard of memories assaulted her—plunged her from one memory into another in a violent rapid succession with every beat of her heart… She saw Legolas receiving the mithril arrows in Lothlorien from Lady Galadriel, to the moment at the Great Bridge where she traced the silver runes of one before she took aim at the dragon and fell him from the sky. She saw Legolas' face drawn white as he realized the arrows had disappeared after his being held at the orcs' camp, and Aragorn's eyes shining with hope after he and Miredhel had found the one remaining arrow in the dust. And then—her heart seemed to slow to one painful squeeze in her chest—her brother Eledhel sinking to his knees before her amidst the dust and trampled grass of the battlefield. Eledhel, true and strong, her brother had fallen with three of those very same arrows piercing the chest plate of his elvish armor.

She reached with trembling hands into the satchel and pulled the arrows in question out from the bag, spreading them across the seat, her eyes clouding as she remembered everything that had come to pass. There was no doubt in her mind that these were Legolas' mithril arrows. She fingered the frayed embroidery across the hem of the satchel, and a tiny frisson of fear bloomed in her heart—orcs had never taken those arrows that fateful night when they had dragged Legolas to their camp. No, the arrows had been left in the dust, abandoned by force and then claimed by another.

Her ears pricked at footsteps down the hall, and Miredhel stiffened. She quickly shoved all the contents back into the sack, stowed it hastily under the chair, and then flew to the door.

Only to have it swing open to reveal Adrendil, Captain of the Mirkwood Guard, standing in the hallway, his sandy blonde hair swept gleaming against his dark tunic and his face bemused at the sight of Miredhel so flustered before him.

"Now here is a sight I have long desired," he jested, "the Lady Miredhel waiting for me in my chambers." His smile deepened his dimples, and Miredhel fought the urge to snarl at him. It was detestable that scum this vile should have dimples. It was just wrong.

Instead Miredhel flushed at his meaning. "Captain, you surprise me. I had thought this Celeril's room. I see that clearly I am mistaken."

Adrendil casually leaned up against the doorframe, blocking her way. "The princess's room is across the hall," he told her, appraising her carefully. He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. "And shall I see you tonight at King Aragorn's banquet? I hear rumor that our very own Prince is the guest of honor." He smiled warmly as though this thought gave him great pleasure.

He was all easy manner and charm, his handsome face, warm brown eyes, and those cursed dimples. And Miredhel might have believed him, had she not handled the evidence of his deceit only moments ago. She very deliberately withdrew her hand from his, loathing to touch the very same hands that must have brought her brother's death.

"Why, Miredhel, you are shaking," the captain observed. "Is everything all right? Is it the grief?"

Miredhel numbly nodded, so eager she was to remove herself from his presence.

"It is obvious you are unwell," he said his voice low. "Rest for a minute," he coaxed and gently guided her by the elbow to the armchair where she had just discovered his treachery.

He sank down onto the ottoman across from her and took her hands in his again. Miredhel looked down, willing herself to be calm in his presence.

"Have you given any more consideration to my offer to escort you to the Havens, my lady?" he asked tenderly. "I would not have you linger here among men and the spoilings of war to suffer needlessly in your grief." His eyes searched her own, and she looked away.

"I care too much," he whispered, hoping that she would choose him over that insufferable prince.

Miredhel bit her tongue, wishing against everything for Legolas to appear. That she was scared and angry beyond belief, she tried not to think about. She just wanted Legolas. When she was certain she could qualifiedly answer him without giving her true thoughts away, she met his sympathetic brown eyes with her own.

"I have decided to stay here with the Prince," Miredhel said carefully.

"But—but your grief, my lady!" Adrendil exclaimed. "Surely you will fade if you do not leave," he protested, disbelief written on his face. "And then what of the Prince?"

Miredhel only arched a delicate eyebrow at the captain, but inwardly marveled. Only now was she beginning to understand his motives.

"Captain," she said, "I will never cease to mourn what was taken from me so cruelly, but I will not fade. I have bonded in love with Legolas, and his strength is now my own. And," she added—she could not help herself—, "he is so very strong."

"I just think you are making a mistake," Adrendil countered, and his voice was ever pleasant, but a tic worked in his jaw.

"I really should be going," Miredhel announced. "I could not impose on you any further."

She rose from the chair, and as she did so, her eyes darted down to the satchel, only for a moment, but Adrendil heeded it. His eyes darkened, and he stood as well.

"No, I think you should stay," Adrendil insisted, and gone was the congeniality of only moments before.

He stepped forward, and Miredhel attempted to move past him to the door.

"You saw the arrows," he surmised.

Adrendil caught her by the upper arm with one very strong hand and pulled her toward him. Miredhel dared not struggle. Not yet. She knew now what he was capable of, and with him being a trained warrior, she could hardly overpower him. If there were any chance of escape, she would have to wait for it.

"You killed my brother," Miredhel leveled at him, the time for pretence over.

"I did," Adrendil said unapologetically. "I wish you had not been so…inquisitive, Miredhel. It does complicate matters."

Adrendil led her away from the door, still with the firm grip on her arm. Miredhel's mind raced, how long had she been away from the healers? Was there any chance that someone might come looking for her? Even if they did, she was not in Celeril's room! She was not even in the right place for them to find her. As independent as she always thought she was and wished to be, she knew those ideas had their own time and place. Right now, all she wanted was her prince.

But Adrendil interrupted her thoughts with a tug on her arm and a pleasant smile. "I cannot have you running back to tell Legolas about this, now can I? It is disappointing really. I had so hoped that your grief would cause you to leave the prince and go to the havens with me. I am sure I could have been very comforting, had that been the case." Adrendil said regretfully and shook his head.

"Why?" Miredhel asked brokenly.

"Legolas doesn't deserve you—he doesn't deserve half of what he's been given," Adrendil hissed. His composure was slipping, and Miredhel feared her time was running out.

"Legolas is your prince. Where is your loyalty, Adrendil?" Miredhel shot back.

Adrendil's eyes flashed, and his grip tightened painfully on Miredhel's arm.

"What of the prince's loyalty?

Where was it when he received the commendation of the king for bravery, when it was I who kept his home and people safe while he went off gallivanting on a glory-seeking quest?

I am sick of his self-entitled arrogance." Adrendil finished with a huff, and pulled Miredhel closer to him. "It's simple really—I hurt you, I hurt the prince. If he were to lose you now, and if you've bonded with him as you claim…" Adrendil grinned evilly. "The loss would destroy him."

"My disappearance will hardly go unnoticed, Adrendil," Miredhel pointed out, her mind reeling from the captain's bitter diatribe.

"Oh, I will think of something," Adrendil assured her. "Random attack in the city, robbery gone amiss, or—" his face brightened, "the lovely Miredhel, unable to cope with her grief, plunges to her death from the high city walls. What a tragedy…"

"Your jealousy has poisoned your mind!" Miredhel accused and jerked her arm as hard as she could to free herself. For a half moment, she was free.

Then faster than a snake striking its prey, Adrendil lunged at her. Miredhel darted past him, but not quickly enough, for his powerful archer's hands caught a fistful of her long hair, yanking her back into a murderous embrace.

He cupped one hand over her mouth, and the other arm snaked tightly around her chest and arms. Miredhel could not move, and she could not cry for help.

"There, there," Adrendil's velvet voice purred in her ear, "no use fighting me. I am much stronger than you."

Miredhel ground her heel into his instep, but Adrendil only tightened his hold.

"Oh, you are a little feisty one, aren't you? It's no wonder that the prince—ai!" the captain broke off.

For in that moment, Miredhel had slammed her head back against Adrendil's mouth while he whispered in her ear, and in that split second when the captain had loosened his hold, she was gone—out the door, only glancing back to see Adrendil five steps behind her, wiping the blood from his lower lip.

Miredhel raced down the corridor, furiously pumping her legs and pulling her full skirt up to her knees, lest she trip over it. She flew as though the full force of Sauron's fury might have chased her, and indeed, the elven warrior on her heels was no less deadly at that moment.

When she wheeled past a corner and saw a flight of stairs going down, she quickly turned and leapt down them. She ducked behind a column at the bottom, waiting, listening. She could no longer hear Adrendil. Had he raced past the stairs?

Just then a young man turned the corner, sporting the livery of the city.

"A guard of the citadel!" Miredhel gasped and rushed toward him, pulling him hard toward the wall.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, his face mottling red.

"You must help me," Miredhel pleaded. "I've been attacked—he's chasing me…"

Concern filled his young brown eyes. This was no ordinary lady—she was elf-kind and most wondrous fair. Certainly she was one of the king and queen's newly arrived visitors, and she was frightened, very much so.

"Roren, at your service, ma'am," he said and bowed. "You're in no danger now. Allow me to escort you back to your room, or—"

"No!" Miredhel's voice echoed down the hall. "I have to warn Legolas!"

"The elven prince?" the young guard asked, admiration filling his voice.

"Yes, but there's no time to explain. He is at the healer's!" Miredhel looked anxiously both ways and then took off down the hall.

Roren shrugged and then raced to catch up to her. Surely there was no harm in helping the lady, and he would dearly love to see one of the famed Nine Walkers up close.

They turned another corner, the guard having to sprint through the shadows of the long, dark hall just to keep up with Miredhel. She remembered that the next turn opened to the outside and a long courtyard that ran the length of the upper city walls and the king's residence.

They wheeled past the final turn.

"We'll soon be out of these halls," Roren told her excitedly. "And there will be more guards posted along the outer walls. You'll be well protected then."

Only Adrendil stepped forward from a shadowy corner into the pool of light at the end of the hall.

"Miredhel," he said and smiled warmly. "You had me worried. I've been looking everywhere for you!"

She skidded to a halt. "Adrendil," she hissed to the guard, Roren. "Do not believe anything he says. We must get around him."

Roren looked to Adrendil, who continued to smile, even though he surely must have heard what Lady Miredhel's desperate plea.

"I am Captain Adrendil of Prince Legolas Thranduillion's own company, and I mean the lady no harm, I assure you," Adrendil said smoothly, raising his hand like an oath. "She is very ill, and under my care. She left her room just now while she was supposed to be resting."

"I see no harm in the lady leaving her room," Roren replied.

"Please," Adrendil's voice dropped to a confidential whisper, and he inched forward. "Her brother died only days ago, and she was so distraught over his passing, we feared that she might do herself harm.

"Lies!" bristled Miredhel to Roren. "He killed my brother. I found proof in his room." She tugged on Roren's arm. "Please. We must tell Legolas!"

Roren eyed Adrendil again, and his hand drifted up to his scabbard.

But Miredhel's proclaimed villain remained calm, his manner easy. He merely shrugged his shoulders at her accusation, and with saddened eyes answered, "Her grief has poisoned her mind, young sir. She really should be resting, and I promise you that my prince will not look kindly to having his direct orders disobeyed."

Roren shifted uneasily beside Miredhel, studied her countenance and then looked back at Adrendil.

"I will not go with him," Miredhel told the guard in a low voice. She entreatingly held his gaze, and he gave her a quick, almost imperceptible nod.

"I do not see the harm in fulfilling the lady's request," he called to Adrendil. "Her claim is a most serious one, one I cannot in good conscience overlook."

Adrendil folded his arms, his reply haughty, "The prince will be most upset to see her up—and in her condition—"

"She was under your care, Captain," Roren pointed out. "If the prince should become angry, you have only yourself to blame." Roren looked to Miredhel once more and offered his arm.

"Thank you," she mouthed. "Be ready. I cannot think he will let me go so easily…" she whispered.

He nodded and kept his hand on his sword hilt as they approached the entrance to the courtyard where Adrendil waited.

"I believe I'll accompany you and the lady to see the prince," Adrendil announced brightly.

Miredhel stilled.

"That will not be necessary," Roren objected.

"She is supposed to be under my care. I will be going with you," Adrendil insisted.

Roren swept his arm forward. "Lead the way, then."

"Of course," agreed Adrendil, but his eyes darkened.

Miredhel only had seconds to shout a warning. "Roren, watch out!"

Adrendil spun and lunged, slashing an arc through the air with a long wicked knife that was met with a sharp clang by Roren's sword.

"Run, my lady!" the man gasped under the awesome force of Adrendil's knife bearing against his blade.

The young guard pushed off with his sword, stepping back, and then feinted with a fast follow through to Adrendil's left. The elf was too quick for him. He deflected Roren's blow and then knocked the sword from his hand.

Miredhel stopped in the courtyard, when she heard Roren's sword clatter to the ground. Turning, she saw Adrendil spin his knife in his hand as he stepped between the man and his blade.

"I regret having to do this, but you left me no choice," Adrendil said almost sadly as he moved in for the kill.

Miredhel dove into Adrendil from the side, pulling his arm down as he swung his knife across Roren's lithe frame. Sure, Roren had told her to run, and she probably should have, but she was not about to let Adrendil steal another innocent young life.

"You little fool," cursed Adrendil. He jerked his arm loose from her grip and sent her sprawling to the ground.

She had hit the stonework hard, but not so much that she failed to see her young protector crumple to the ground beside her.

"Roren," she gasped. She had not been quick or strong enough to save him; Adrendil's knife had still found its mark. Red blossomed across his proud citadel guard's tunic, and Miredhel knelt at his side. "I'm so sorry, Roren, so sorry."

Roren wrapped one arm tightly across his waist, and Miredhel thought it was as if he were trying to hold himself together, but then his hand came away with something from his belt, dark and wet. A short handled dagger. He slipped it into her palm quickly, and Miredhel looked up to see if Adrendil had seen.

The elf captain had not. He had leaned over to recover Roren's sword. Now with the long Gondorian blade in one hand and his curved elven knife in the other, all semblance of kindness had long fled his face, and his eyes gleamed darkly, cold and calculating.

"Can your grief handle this, Miredhel? Another young life stricken down before your eyes?" Adrendil cruelly inquired as he came for her.

Miredhel stood defiantly, though she kept the hand that gripped the dagger hidden behind the folds of her skirt.

Adrendil stopped an arm's length away from her. "A pity," he said, glancing down at Roren's silent figure behind her. He then ran his knife down the edge of the sword in a dreadful peal.

"This too will also be a pity," he added sadly. "Let's leave something really tragic for that perfect memory of the prince's—like wounding that lovely face of yours, perhaps."

"Perhaps not," Miredhel shot back and darted left just enough to barely miss Adrendil's first swing. There was absolutely no way she could hope to best him at blades, even if they were evenly armed, and especially not in a situation where she was armed with a tiny dagger, and he had an elven knife and a sword. She knew she had to make a tactical decision, and soon!

Miredhel took off running. She bore down with everything she had left, praying in the meantime that the Valar would grant her speed and safety. She pushed herself out of the dark hall and into the bright, sunny courtyard. "Help! Anyone!" she shouted into the wind whipping down from the city walls. Her feet flew across the grass, but in the next moment, Adrendil was there. He matched strides with her and then plowed into her with a sharp shove from his shoulder.

She slammed into the ground, so hard that she actually skidded across the turf, and then Adrendil was crouched above her, knife held aloft, with a cruel grin playing across his face.

"It is over, Miredhel," he said, and pressed the wet blade against the soft column of her throat…


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Chapter 51 - In the Arms of the Enemy

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends." -Gandalf (from "Shadow of the Past," Fellowship of the Ring)

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains…Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously…And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken." (from The Silmarillion, "The Curse of Mandos")

Building Ithilien

Chapter 49: In the Arms of the Enemy



Legolas had left the Houses of Healing some time ago and had gone directly to Celeril's room to find what was keeping Miredhel. When he found the room untouched with the sketchbook still lying on the ottoman, the prince supposed she had lost her way and had wandered off somewhere. With a chuckle, he decided to look for her by the seventh gate, guessing Miredhel had simply missed a turn. He strolled back down the long hall of the king's palace, pausing briefly to allow a bevy of ladies to pass through the door before him. They giggled as they swept past him and then admiringly glanced back at the elf lord. Legolas' keen ears could not help hearing a few of their titters, 'so handsome, even if he is wounded,' and 'I wonder if he needs someone to kiss it and make it better!'

Physically, Legolas knew he was in the worst shape he had been in ages, as many of the muscles in his back were still tender from the orcs' abuse. He had confided in Aragorn during their journey, worried that he continued to feel so appallingly weak. His friend had only commented that it was little wonder he had not died, and recovery from wounds such as his were going to require patience. Impressing a few maidens in the hall was the least of his concerns.

Thinking of the young women in the hall, there was only one maiden whose kisses Legolas desired.

Legolas permitted himself a small smile as he stepped outside. The sun had already begun to set, brightly, furiously, bathing the Tower of Ecthelion in a stream of gold, and the fresh breeze blowing off Pelennor fields was a balm to the elf's spirit. It had been too long, he reflected, since he had felt such calm. The threat of the dragon was gone, and Aragorn's city and people were once again secure. Legolas remembered having stood in almost the same spot in the Citadel, looking over the fields and lower levels after Aragorn's coronation, feeling much the same contentment. Only this time, Legolas realized he felt much more complete. His sister was with him and safe, he had a loyal group of elves willing to work with him to restore beauty to a ravaged land, and he had Miredhel. The light of her spirit, her bond with him, filled the gaping loneliness and empty void that he had suffered so long. She loved him freely, without pretension or restraint. He briefly closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of the sun's lingering light on his face.

A faint shriek followed by a cry for help broke his solitude. His every fiber coiled with dread. He knew that voice well.

It was Miredhel.

Her screams for help rent the air a second time, and Legolas was already in motion toward that sound that had initially frozen him with fear and panic. Forgetting injury or weakness, the elf raced past the scattered denizens of the Citadel toward the southern wall, his urgency lending him speed and grace that was awe-inspiring and inhuman to the several onlookers that he passed.

"Notify the king! Call for more guards—something is happening. Prince Legolas, wait!" A guard pleaded as the elf rushed past, but even then, Legolas did not stop. His one thought was getting to her.

Fear curled only tighter inside as he ran, flying past the king's palace toward the courtyard on the southern side of the city, refusing to pay heed to his crying muscles, and none of the worry and panic he felt could have prepared him for the horror his eyes met.

Miredhel, prone across the grass, the fabric of her soft gray riding skirt stained crimson to her waist. Adrendil hovered over her, red-rimmed knife in one hand and a sword in the other.

Rage snapped through Legolas, and fury, white-hot, blinding and deadly, overcame him. All thought ceased, and he only acted, only heard the primal pounding of his heart. The prince tore into Adrendil in one swift movement, lifting him away from Miredhel's body and flinging him against the city wall so hard that he bounced, his weapons clattering to the ground around him.

Legolas heeded not the outcome of his actions, for he was already kneeling at Miredhel's side, smoothing his hand gently across her face.

"Miredhel, you're alive. Thank the Valar. When I saw him…" Legolas' voice trailed off, and he kissed her forehead, as he searched anxiously across her body for any wounds.

"He killed Eledhel," Miredhel's words came in short gasps, and Legolas' head snapped toward Adrendil's direction, and the prince rose, slowly and deliberate, taking a protective stance between her and the elf. "I found your arrows, Legolas—the mithril arrows—in his room!" Miredhel explained quickly.

Wiping at the dark, red drip across his chin, Adrendil rose from the ground, blades in hand, and glared at the prince.

Legolas stared back, daring Adrendil to refute Miredhel's words. He thought back to that fateful evening at the encampment when the orcs had captured him. Adrendil had been with him that night. They had crept together to the edge of the orcs' camp, but it had been Eledhel, not Adrendil, who had rescued him, when the orcs had seized him, abused and tortured him. Had Adrendil lain in wait, watched as the orcs had taken a chain to his back, and then stolen the arrows? And to what end? His mind flashed to the fields of Calenfen as the black dragon circled, lashing its tail against the sky, and his friend Eledhel sank to his knees, his armor and chest pierced by three of the mithril arrows.

Adrendil's words from days before, unbidden, rushed back to him: 'If Miredhel's grief returned, would you let her go? To leave these lands?' If her grief returned… Eledhel, brought down by the mithril arrows. If. Adrendil had taken no chances.

"Kinslayer," Legolas hissed. "Murderer." All the relief and ease that had come with finding Miredhel unharmed evaporated against the fury burning through his body. He reached for his knives and realized with a start that he had left them with his saddlebag in his room. He had not anticipated needing them again so soon.

Eyes gleaming, Adrendil lazily spun his sword in his hand. "Seems you've lost your weapons again, Prince Legolas, and there's no Eledhel to save you this time."

"You are a coward, Adrendil. You would sneak and deceive and kill others, rather than face me openly in honest battle," Legolas baited him, his voice low and dangerous, "because you know I would win."

Adrendil launched himself toward Legolas, and only then did Miredhel remember that she still carried Roren's dagger. She flipped it up to Legolas, and in one fluid motion, he caught the small knife and flung it straight at his enemy's heart.

But Adrendil was no simple orc on the battlefield, he was elf kind, and his reflexes were every bit as honed as the prince's. Long had he waited for the chance to prove he was the better elf! His sword struck dagger mid-air and deflected it, sending it far from his opponent's reach.

Legolas did not care. He had used that split-second to gain ground on Adrendil, putting valuable distance between the fight and Miredhel. He deftly side-stepped the next violent slash of the captain's sword and reached into the blow, his forearm snapping up, his hand balled into a tight fist. Legolas struck him across the jaw, and Adrendil staggered back.

"You will never touch her again," the prince promised in a low growl.

"Lord Legolas!" a man's voice called, and a quick glance told him that their fight was no longer a private dispute. A small crowd of onlookers mixed with a few of the Citadel guards had gathered on the edge of the courtyard; with a rush of gratitude, he realized Miredhel had joined them.

"Lord Legolas!" one of the guards shouted again, and steel flashed bright through the air. He tossed the elf his sword, and Legolas caught it high at the hilt, and not a moment too soon.

Adrendil was upon him, his blade flashing, and Legolas met the challenge. He parried the blow so quickly that many of the onlookers might have missed the action, for he instantly begun his attack, anticipating Adrendil's moves. The elves moved with amazing speed against each other. Every feint, every turn and strike, each thrust and parry—all were executed with swift, lethal grace.

As the deadly dance quickened its pace, many in the crowd watching murmured uncomfortably, dismayed by the raw display of power before them. Never before had they beheld a fight between two of the Firstborn, and this was no exhibition or practice match. This was a fight to the death between two completely committed foes, whose training and expertise had been cultivated over centuries. It was awe-inspiring and belittling all at once.

Miredhel flinched at the clash of the swords, and she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was King Aragorn.

"Please, please put a stop to this," she begged him.

"I dare not order the archers to shoot, my lady. They are moving too quickly for my men to get off a clean shot." His voice was low and surprisingly calm.

"I fear Legolas will not last much longer, for he is already injured! Oh, if only he had his knives instead of a sword," Miredhel said worriedly. She could hardly stand to watch, nor could she merely look away; with every strike and turn, her anguish mounted, the much-hated grief clamoring to spill forth, barely held back by sheer will and the strength of her bond with Legolas.

Aragorn braced her, and his clear eyes focused on hers, willing her to not give into despair. "Legolas will not fall, my lady. Look at him!"

Legolas spun out of Adrendil's reach and counter struck against him, slashing through the fabric in his captain's tunic; the prince's blade was all ease and smoothness, while he moved with a feral intensity not oft seen in generations of men or elves.

"Did you ever wonder why Legolas fights with knives, not a sword?" Aragorn asked Miredhel. "I asked him one time, and he just sort of smiled, so next time I asked his sister. Do you know what she said? She told me that Legolas switched to training with the knives a century ago, because the sword was no longer a challenge."

Miredhel's mouth formed a small 'o,' taking small comfort that revelation, giving due that Legolas seemed very much a master of the sword.

"Have you ever seen such a fight?" one of the soldiers exclaimed to the other, and the crowd tittered in agreement.

Fight. Miredhel thought it seemed almost too small a word, to capture what she now witnessed, Legolas and Adrendil trading feints, thrusts and parries with lightning speed, almost impossible to follow; this was no mere fight, it was a storm—raging, dark, destructive. Their blades were glints of lightning as the elves thundered across the courtyard and toward the high walls of the sixth level.

"Are you sure about this?" Legolas asked coolly, eyes glittering, as Adrendil's offensive strikes led him to back up the stairs accessing the top of the city walls. "There is no easy way down from these walls, Captain, and my skill has always exceeded your own."

"So sure are you?" Adrendil scoffed, and his blade rang against the prince's in vehement protest. "I'm the one who has kept the lands of our people safe all these years, by my sword, my blood. You know nothing of my skill!"

Navigating the stairs did nothing to slow the speed of either warrior's attack. Adrendil continued to rain blow after powerful blow across Legolas' defenses, hoping to make the proud prince falter as he nimbly climbed the high stairs in reverse.

Legolas knew he would not be able to defeat Adrendil through sheer strength alone; his injuries left him far too weak, his stamina sorely lacking. From almost the beginning of the fight, he had let Adrendil take the offensive. The captain ranked as one of the best offensive sword masters in Mirkwood, and both elves knew it, just as they both knew Legolas' defensive skills were nonpareil. There is little room in combat for false modesty. Legolas depended on the captain's blinding pride almost as much as his own skill to help him win this fight.

The prince had determined moments after meeting Adrendil's blade for the first time in the courtyard that their fight should end here, high above Minas Tirith on the sixth wall of the city. After the first series of exchanged strikes and parries, Legolas observed that Adrendil's strength and overconfidence could very well be his weakness; the Captain consistently struck too hard, with too much momentum.

Adrendil's balance was off, and the prince was too good of a swordsman to let it go by unnoticed. Between two great masters of the sword, even the tiniest nuance could be turned to strategic advantage. Adrendil's over-powering strength could be his downfall. Literally.

So Legolas had lured Adrendil to the high stairs of the city wall, and when the elves had reached the top, the shouts and banter of the crowd below died to a murmur as they watched the dueling silhouettes of the two elves high above them. For all could see change apparent in what now transpired. Something had happened, had shifted—the prince had deftly taken control of the fight.

No longer content to play defense, Legolas pulled on the last reserves of his strength the moment he reached the top of the city wall. He attacked Adrendil with seamless grace and fluidity bought by decades of knife work, his agility and speed unmatched.

Adrendil stumbled and hastily stepped away.

Legolas did not pursue, but kept his stance and lazily spun the borrowed sword in his right hand. Far below the crowd leaned in, hoping the light evening breeze would blow snatches of their conversation down to the courtyard.

"Legolas is trying to talk Adrendil down," Aragorn surmised quietly to the lady beside him. He did not need to hear the words to know the meaning. He knew his friend Legolas.

The prince gazed down at the lower levels of the city, where lanterns now glimmered over the walks. "Surrender, Adrendil. Return to my father's kingdom for judgment," he said at last and then turned toward the captain.

"For what? Exile?" Adrendil scoffed. "I think not."

"You have to know that I've only been toying with you this whole fight," Legolas said softly. "I could have easily killed you by now."

The captain's face flushed with contempt. "Then why haven't you?" he sneered. "Too noble? Or as your father always despaired, too emotional? Lacking the killer instinct?"

"No," Legolas said grimly, "I despair for what you have done, Captain and the lives you've taken. You've forced me to be judge and executioner, and for myself, I would spill your blood across these stones in a second."

Adrendil's eyes darkened. "I won't surrender to face banishment."

"That's what I thought," the prince said resignedly. Bitterness welled up inside the elf that this task should fall to him. He would have to kill Adrendil, one of his own kind; the wickedness of it sickened him, just as the rage warring inside him ever since he saw Adrendil leaning over Miredhel, his knife at her throat, craved vengeance.

A breath later Legolas' sword slashed through the air, a violent white line in the sun's dying light. Adrendil dodged the blade, and countered, forcefully, desperately, throwing his weight behind the blow.

Legolas feinted at the last possible moment, and the captain's previous attack had left himself open, for he could not bring his sword back quickly enough to defend his center. It was all the opening Legolas needed.

The prince sliced up the underside of Adrendil's forearm to rest the point of the sword at his throat. The captain stilled, his sword arm dangling at his side, the sleeve torn and wet.

"Yield, Adrendil. Drop your sword," Legolas warned, pressing the blade against the smooth column of the captain's neck.

Adrendil's sword clattered to the ground, but little compliance registered in the captain's visage.

"I won't go in. You'll have to kill me," Adrendil said simply and smirked, "but you won't."

"You think I won't? For what you've done?" Legolas challenged with the weight and the power of his blood ringing true in his every word, his lineage resonant and as firm as the sword in his hands.

"I know you, Legolas. It was an ill kept secret within the palace that you returned from the war…unwell." Adrendil said, his words like a dangerous current, smooth. "There were whispers from the guards—Thranduil's youngest was not sleeping. You stalked the corridors of your father's palace late into the morning hours, and when you did perchance to sleep…you dreamed, did you not?"

"Do not make this about me," the prince hissed and pushed his blade's edge even more firmly against the traitor's neck.

"It has always been about you, Prince Legolas," Adrendil debated precipitously. "For all the talk among the palace staff of what ailed their beloved prince, few could put it together, but I did. I listened well enough, watched closely enough."

"Enough for what?" Legolas demanded.

"You have sea-longing!" Adrendil exclaimed loudly enough that even the people below could make out the elf's words. "I know that you do! Do not try to deny it."

Legolas did not answer, and Adrendil spoke again.

"And when Aragorn's days dwindle to naught, and you grow weary of waiting on the whims of these mortals, you will wish to leave these shores."

Legolas eyes flashed and he would have contradicted the captain, but the captain cut him off.

"You will, Legolas. The Sindarin blood runs too deep in your veins even for you to withstand for long." Adrendil eyed the blade still pressed firmly against his neck.

"But not if you kill me." The captain smiled bitterly.

"Kill me, and no gray ship will bear you hence. Your days will be unending agony," he predicted, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "All will leave. Miredhel will leave. But you, you will stay in unending loneliness, forever listening for crashing waves calling you home..."

The prince's eyes lost their focus for only a second, perhaps even less than that, but the moment was all the chance that a guileful and seasoned warrior such as Adrendil needed. He broke away from the lethal sharp edge digging into his neck and drew his own long knife from his belt. His blade caught the prince in his side with one ruthless quick jab, and Legolas staggered back.

Then faster than sight, Prince Legolas Thranduillion spilled the blood of his father's former captain.

He struck Adrendil down atop the high walls of Minas Tirith, and all watching silently below gasped to see the famous elven prince, friend to their king, seemingly all things gentle and noble as such is the way of the elves, take the life of his own captain with a powerful sweep of the sword across the chest. The elves had a name for such a perfectly timed move, meant not to disable but to kill one's enemy outright- durtha sul, a deathblow.

Adrendil wavered and then sunk to his knees before his lord, the knife rolling uselessly from his hand, and he pressed both palms across his chest, only to raise them again in disbelief. So many times had his hands been stained with the blood of his enemy, but now the captain stared at his own crimson-coated fingertips, his own blood. His face grew ashen.

At the same time, Legolas dropped his sword, and clutching his side, knelt by Adrendil's side to help him lean back.

"I did not… think you would do it," Adrendil gasped. "You… Legolas are not so different from me. I killed, because I wanted…what I could not have… and now you…" His face paled, and Legolas braced him, supporting his head.

"You have served my people for many years, Adrendil. I am sorry it has come to this," Legolas said softly, his voice holding no malice, only sorrow.

The light in the captain's eyes dwindled, but remained unapologetic. "You will never leave these shores, Legolas…never… leave" The honeyed tones of his voice failed, and so died Adrendil, Captain of Mirkwood, his face bitter and resolute, cradled in the arms of his enemy.



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Thank you for reading!

Adrendil references the "Curse of Mandos"—In The Silmarillion, the Noldor attack and slay many of the Teleri when they refuse Feanor the use of their ships. Mandos, one of the Valar, curses the Noldor to exile… (of course, Legolas is Sindarin, but hey! The idea remains: Elves shouldn't kill elves. 'nuff said!)


Chapter 52 - Remembrance

Chapter 50: Remembrance

Legolas struck Adrendil down atop the high walls of Minas Tirith, and all watching silently below gasped to see the famous elven prince, friend to their king, seemingly all things gentle and noble as such is the way of the elves, take the life of his own captain with a powerful sweep of the sword across the chest. The elves had a name for such a perfectly timed move, meant not to disable but to kill one's enemy outright- durtha sul, a deathblow.

Men clattered up the high stairs of the southern wall in Minas Tirith. Their king, Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone and friend to elves, grimly led the way, for all had witnessed his beloved friend Legolas Thranduillion duel and kill the elf captain high above the city that day.

The pain in his side was almost unbearable, and the thought of leaving Adrendil's body, still warm, amid the blood and cold stones of the wall, was even worse.

"Legolas," Aragorn's voice was soft, cautious, and the king watched his friend rise, leggings soaked in blood and his side blooming red as well. From the moment the elf had held Adrendil at sword point, no even before then, from the time the duel had begun, Legolas had already started to calculate what this debacle would cost Aragorn, in what a difficult position his actions would place his friend.

Adrendil had cursed him with his dying breath, and still Legolas felt remorse. He was surely a sentimental fool. But he could not make himself forget Adrendil's last words cursing him to never leave these shores. He knew what his friends would say, what he hoped they would say—that he had been in the right to end Adrendil's life, but even so Legolas avoided Aragorn's knowing gaze as he met him on the wall.

Legolas crashed to his knees before Aragorn, knowing full well that the people below needed to see his submission to their king, if anything to replace the vicious image of the cold-blooded warrior striking down one of his own in lethal precision. It was misdirection at its best, but neither friend discounted the inherent value of the elf's actions. Both knew the toll on the prince's pride.

"King Aragorn," Legolas said, averting his gaze, his head lowered in submission, "I humbly await your judgment."

The king did not answer but rather pulled Legolas to his feet and braced him with a hand on his forearm, meeting his eyes for the first time, saying, "Legolas, you did what you had to do."

Legolas held his gaze, not yet willing to be absolved so easily, "Aragorn…I could have disarmed him. I could have—"

The king interrupted. "Not now, Legolas. Let my people see that I support you which I do." He glanced down at his friend's abdomen darkly painted crimson.

"You've been wounded?"

"Superficial, Aragorn," Legolas said quietly. "Happened right before…" He stopped just as Miredhel joined his side, averting her eyes from the violent scene before them.

"Be that as it may, Legolas, we are still going to see your injury treated." Aragorn exchanged a glance with Miredhel. "My lady, will you take Legolas to the Houses of Healing? I will have my men see to the removal of the body."

Legolas cut his eyes to the king. "He was one of mine, Aragorn, and despite his crimes, still deserves elven tradition. We do not leave our fallen untended. I should carry him down myself, and-"

Aragorn leaned in and cut him off. "Don't be an ass."

Legolas arched an elegant eyebrow. Miredhel's eyes widened. Ah, Strider still lurked under the kingly raiment.

"Fine," Legolas agreed, and Aragorn signaled his personal guard to accompany the elves down to the House of Healing.

The crowd watching dissipated, a mixture of emotions playing across their human faces; humans never had been as adept at concealing their feelings as the First Born. Legolas unabashedly met their eyes, feeling he deserved whatever censure he read on their faces. Others lowered their eyes, unable to bear the piercing gaze of one so fearless and deadly in battle.

Miredhel took his hand in hers, sympathetic, but not in pity, never pity.

The pair of them earned many odd glances and even outright staring en route. Elves were an uncommon enough sight, but elves disheveled, blood-stained, and accompanied by the king's guard sufficiently caused a permanent halt to the usual pedestrian traffic. When Miredhel and Legolas passed the seventh gate to wind down the street to the Houses of Healing on the sixth level of the city, they unexpectedly met up with Belegil and Sulindal coming through the parting crowds.

"Valar, Legolas! We came as soon as we heard!" Belegil exclaimed, darkly glancing at the pair of them, and he gestured loosely at his lord's bloody attire. "What happened?"

"Adrendil attacked Miredhel," Legolas said flatly. "I was on the seventh level and heard her scream. They were in the east courtyard, and when I got there, he was holding her at knife point."

"What? Why?" Belegil exclaimed, his normally fluid voice cracking with disbelief.

"He killed Eledhel," Miredhel said brokenly. "I found proof, by sheer coincidence, but I found the mithril arrows in his room. He caught me there and knew that I had seen them."

Sulindal spoke up, keenly eyeing his leader. "And Legolas, you fought him?"

Legolas nodded, his mouth a thin line.

"Well, where is he now? Where are they taking him? I think we should take him back to your father for judgment," Belegil added with a wicked grin.

Sulindal shot his brother a disapproving look.

"What?" Belegil protested. "I've just heard some things about Thanduil's dungeons. That's all. Who hasn't, frankly?"

His twin brother warningly gripped Belegil's shoulder and looked pointedly to the prince, disheveled and of weary heart. The perfect lines of his face were still perfect, ever noble, but the grim set of his lips, the tension evident in his posture belied his calm appearance, and beyond the subtle, Legolas was streaked in blood from the waist down. Something grievous had happened in that courtyard.

Legolas' eyes slid to Miredhel, and his voice was low when he spoke, "Adrendil refused to surrender. We fought. I—" He looked down and swallowed hard before meeting Sulindal's steady gray eyes. "I killed him."

The prince's voice sounded uncertain, unsure—if such a thing could be credited to one who had lived his entire life in surety and steadfast will, (or at least cultivating the appearance of it). For Legolas knew his façade of confidence now to be an utter falsehood—he knew nothing, felt nothing. He was numb. He felt everything. Oh, Valar! Adrendil's blood stained his hands, and he had spilled it.

Sulindal's eyes sharpened, and he opened his mouth and closed it again. For one with a gift for uncanny observation, one who prided himself in being able to read people well, Sulindal was at a loss to guess what the prince must be feeling. That he was angry about the outcome, there was no doubt, but his eyes were so bleak, exhausted even.

"Thank the Valar then, that you are both safe," Sulindal said carefully and looked to his brother. "Tell us what we can do to help."

"Are either of you injured?" Belegil enquired softly, and Miredhel nodded with a firm look toward the prince. The brothers then set themselves on either side of Legolas and Miredhel, as a pair of very determined, severe escorts. Neither would brook any more delay, and they hastened the pair of their friends to the Houses of Healing until at last they stood in the entry way and Ioreth, the elder healer, arrived.

Ioreth was more than a little alarmed to find Legolas Thranduillion, friend to her own king, seeking aid late that afternoon. What a sight he was! Dripping blood on her newly sanded foyer floor! She had only seen him quit young master Farothin's chambers a half hour ago. Now he returned looking like a veritable battle scourge, and his lady looked just as ill as he.

"Lord Legolas," she said uncomfortably, her easy human face betraying her shock. Though she knew him to be probably older than herself, ancient even, his youthful face and wan expression tugged on her matronly heart, and before any of them knew it, she was clucking away like a mother hen and guiding the prince into the hall with a gentle hand on his back.

She led them toward a private room, not near Farothin's, as Miredhel had the good sense to request that Farothin and Celeril not learn what happened just yet, at least not until Legolas had been tended to and had been given time to compose himself.

Trailing after Ioreth and Legolas, Miredhel's eyes met a welcome sight, one she had not dreamed possible-Roren resting in bed, pale, but definitely alive. Her young guard who had risked so much against Adrendil's wrath had survived.

"Legolas," she breathed. "This brave young man saved my life. I accosted him on the stair and begged his protection from Adrendil." Miredhel's eyes shone, and Roren flushed from her praise.

"I only wish I could have really stopped him, my lady," Roren offered meekly.

Legolas' eyes lightened, and he patted Ioreth's hand to release his forearm, so he might step into the room.

"Not many could have stood against Adrendil and lived to tell the tale," the prince countered. "He was a true master, and you were showed much valor in placing yourself in harm's way to protect Lady Miredhel."

"Was a true master…he is dead then?" surmised Roren, and the young man could do little to hide his relief at the thought.

"Yes, Roren. He is dead," Miredhel answered quietly. "Prince Legolas fought him." She did not add 'and killed him,' but the words hung in the air as surely if she had.

"I think I would have liked to have seen that," the young guard intoned. "Just that sort of sword fight, between two elves, two masters—it must have been something!"

Miredhe's eyes darted to the elf beside her, fearing for a moment that Legolas would have been put off by Roren's comment, as he had seemed sorely shaken by Adrendil's death at his blade.

But Legolas had spent much time lately in the presence of young mortals, namely the Fellowship, but mostly Aragorn, and he had become accustomed to the brashness of their address and their tendency to speak without thinking. No, he was not offended, merely amused.

"Young man," the elven prince said, his voice soft and melodic, "you have had your fill of violence and action today it seems, or you would not be among the Healers' wards. But—I would not deny a request from one who saved my beloved from certain death."

The young guard's eyes widened, and for the first time upon entering the room, Legolas carefully held Roren's questioning gaze. "Yes, he would have killed her had you not intervened. For that, Roren, Guard of the Citadel, you have my gratitude and my deepest thanks, and if it should please you, I would offer you a place in my guard in Ithilien as well, where you could have the opportunity, should you wish it, to train with true elven masters of the sword." The prince smiled, a small thing, but radiant nonetheless.

Two bright spots appeared on the young man's cheeks, and he ducked his head. "I—uh, thankyoumilord—" he mumbled in a rush of words.

Miredhel then took Legolas' arm to quit the room, but before leaving turned again to Roren and smiled at him, a rare thing from her in these days since her brother's death. Legolas' own heart was gladdened to see it despite his melancholy, and Roren was practically undone at the sight of it—the two bright spots on his cheeks deepened to a full-out crimson.

"Thank you again, mellon," she said, and added mischievously, "it means friend in elvish."

They left before they could see Roren sink back onto his pillow with the most ridiculous, boyish grin on his face.


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Once they reached their own private room only a few doors down, the door was firmly shut and bolted with Sulindal standing guard solemnly on the other side. Legolas finally allowed his shoulders to sag. He slouched against the work table in the smallish healing room and pulled his hair together with one hand and with the other tentatively prodded the wound just below his ribs.

Miredhel had been collecting the necessary bandages and ointment, but turned sharply when she heard him hiss.

"Don't do that, Legolas," she said and worried her lower lip. "Here, let me help you." She was by his side in an instant, staying his hand with her own long careful fingers, and together they haltingly pulled the tunic fabric away from the angry red wound, a slash as long as the length of Miredhel's hand, but thankfully not very deep.

Miredhel dared not broach the matter of the fight, or Adrendil for that matter; Legolas' grief was far too near, and if there was anything Miredhel understood, it was loss. And guilt. She felt she could probably write an entire archive devoted to the topic; she understood better than most what he must be feeling, not just from the bond they shared, but from her own private struggles as well. She had despised those well-wishers who had meant so well but thought that talking about her grief would make her feel better. No, she would not push Legolas to talk of what happened earlier.

He would tell her when she was ready. She hoped.

Refusing to lie down, Legolas sat on the edge of the work table, and Miredhel took a healer's inventory of his bare torso as she methodically cleaned the wound. "What is this, Legolas, perhaps the third, fourth time I've had to treat you on this journey?" she asked lightly, desperately hoping to distract him.

"Only the second," Legolas protested with another hiss. Miredhel had begun to close up the wound. "The only other time was at the village of men, on the Anduin, after the orc ambush in the canyon."

"Fourth," Miredhel corrected. "Or are you forgetting the night I put the burn medicine on your back?"

In spite of himself, Legolas grinned. "No, my lady, I would not forget that time. In fact, I had considered ways to get burnt again, just so I could have the experience repeated. Still, that only makes three times I have been at your tender mercies."

Miredhel tied off the extra fabric of his bandage. "Orc camp?"

"Aragorn tended me that night, not you, my love," Legolas said and inspected her handiwork.

"For that, I am thankful," she confessed looking over his neck, across the top of his fair chest, and then back. She could still see the raised welts where his captor's chain had struck him. The wounds were healing nicely, but oh! Her poor prince! He had suffered much and then to be wounded again—the road to Ithilien had cost him dearly.

"I know what you are thinking, Miredhel," Legolas said, his voice low as he brushed his hand over her heart only to linger there, a solid, warm comfort to them both. "I see it on your face as clearly as I feel it through our bond."

"Legolas," she murmured, and covering his hand with her own, searched his eyes, so dark and limitless.

"I'm here, Miredhel," he reassured her, "and I just thank the Valar that you are safe. When I saw you on the ground in the courtyard, your dress bloody—" a tremor ran through him.

Miredhel rested her forehead against his. "It's over now, Legolas. Adrendil is dead."

He sighed and pulled away. "I should not have killed him."

Miredhel hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Legolas, he murdered my brother. Don't look for condemnation here, for you won't find it. Besides, he attacked you—would have killed you," she hedged.

"Perhaps," agreed Legolas, but darkness lingered in his eyes.

"Let us go, return to our rooms to rest and change." Miredhel decided on practicality as a much needed balm. Where words had little effect, perhaps bathing and the promise of clean clothes would. She knew enough of Legolas to recognize his deep abiding appreciation of niceties.

Both elves were surprised to open the door and find Aragorn pitching a quiet argument with Sulindal on the other side of the hall.

Miredhel and Legolas shared a grimace. "Do you think we could sneak past them?" the prince asked flatly.

"Unlikely," supposed Miredhel, and she pressed a quick kiss to her beloved's cheek.

Aragorn and Sulindal paused in their discussion, and Aragorn eyed the elven couple across the hall. Both Miredhel and Legolas curiously watched while Sulindal placed his hand on the man's shoulder and ever so slightly shook his head. Aragorn shrugged and quietly said, "It's for the best, Sulindal. It must be done."

Then the king addressed them from across the hall, and leaving Sulindal's side, came to stand before them. Aragorn's eyes were sympathetic, so much so that Legolas found himself growing mildly annoyed. Whatever the two had been discussing, Sulindal had obviously been against it.

"Legolas, the banquet in your honor tonight—I am still hosting it, if you would agree to attend," Aragorn informed him.

"What? Why?" moaned Legolas and then added, "Do you really think that is wise, Aragorn? Let's celebrate my friend, the murderer?"

"Legolas—you're not—" Miredhel returned sharply.

"I think, if anything, cancelling banquet would confirm it," Aragorn retorted, but Legolas was one of his dearest friends. The king desperately wanted to help make things right for him, to help him in any way. He placed a calming hand on Legolas' shoulder, like he would have soothed a skittish colt.

"I know my people," Aragorn assured him. "Many may have doubts about what happened today, and it is far better to assuage these doubts and rumors now, openly, rather than later."

Legolas eyed Aragorn's hand on his shoulder and then met the king's gaze. He trusted Aragorn implicitly. He just hated spectacle, always had. It was just the sort of thing his father relished and Legolas despised. He gestured for Aragorn to follow him down the hall, away from Sulindal, but especially Miredhel. He did not want his lady hearing any of what he considered telling Aragorn.

"Whatever you think is best, Aragorn. I am sorry for putting you in the middle of this."

Aragorn stopped his friend with a look. "Legolas, few could have done what you did on that wall today. You fought and killed a dangerous murderer who directly attacked one of my guards and would have killed Miredhel."

Legolas was silent.

"Nobody blames you, Legolas," Aragorn said quietly. "Your actions up there on that wall were completely justifiable."

"Aragorn," Legolas said slowly. "You know the history of my people. The kinslayings of Naglarond. Adrendil reminded me of it at the very end. What I did today was unforgivable."

"Not to me, Legolas."

"I wanted to kill him, Aragorn. I could have just as easily disarmed him, and I killed him," Legolas said vindictively, but his eyes were bright, almost wet.

Aragorn shook his head disbelievingly. "Adrendil would not have surrendered to you, Legolas. And as much as you may have desired his blood in revenge for Eledhel's death, Adrendil forced your hand in this."

"Perhaps," Legolas agreed in word, but not in look.

"You will see tonight, my friend," Aragorn coaxed. "Your people will show their support for you at the banquet. All will be well." He led Legolas back to Miredhel with the promise that they would find fresh clothes and hot water drawn when they reached their rooms.


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Neither Miredhel nor Legolas spoke at all on the return trip to Legolas' room. As soon as the door closed behind them, he pulled his lady into his arms.

"Miredhel," Legolas murmured. He lowered his head and leaned into her embrace, letting her arms come around him, burying his face against her hair, her scent.

"I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to think, period," Legolas declared tiredly, his voice strained. He needed her so badly. He wanted Miredhel next to him, under him, her body, her heat, the warmth of her spirit—to help him forget what happened, what he did.

His eyes impenetrable met hers, and he could have drowned in their depths. She was so pure, innocent in so many ways despite her grief. He was not. The violence of the war, bloodshed he had seen, bloodshed he himself had committed, his sea longing—that misery in itself—were reason enough. Then he had killed again, this time one of his own kind and had been cursed for it.

"I need to be alone." His voice was flat.

"Legolas—" Miredhel started.

"I can't think about it anymore. Please—just go for now, Miredhel."

Miredhel shuddered against him and pulled away. She knew he wanted, needed physical comfort, and she would gladly give him that, but his emotional reserve was still there, like a closely guarded wall, sheltering his innermost feelings from their bond. Did he think she couldn't tell that he was holding back, denying the fulfillment of their bond? She was no expert, but she knew that a true bond—the elves called it oira yanwien en fear- required both elves involved to submit completely to one another in trust, a complete and unreserved opening of one's fea. Mind, body, soul, oira yanwien en fear was forever.

"You ask, but you will not give, Legolas Thranduillion," she answered softly, feeling the pain and truth of her words as she spoke them, and a small part of her that had lain quiet for many days sizzled in response.

"Why won't you let me comfort you? What about after the war? Did you not bed maidens to chase away the bad memories?" Miredhel asked, fighting to keep her temper in check, as Legolas shrugged sheepishly.

"I don't understand why you would let them help you, but not me," she snapped in response. Miredhel grimaced inwardly. She was NOT going to let her temper rule her actions. She stepped away and thoughtfully twisted the ring on her finger. Taking a deep breath, she softened her voice to say "Please, Legolas. Let me share your burden. I asked this of you once before when we were only friends, and you denied me. Why?"

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Because I value you above all things. I won't hurt you like that, Miredhel. I want our love-making to be just that—out of love, not hurt or anger—and it shames me that I would even consider asking it of you, like some meaningless courtesan."

"The difference is that I'm asking you, Legolas. I love you for you, not just the perfect courtly prince that everyone else sees. I want all of you. Do not deny our bond. Do not deny me."

His eyes flashed painfully. It would be so easy to let go. Legolas clamped down on his emotions hard and shook his head. "No, Miredhel," he said, looking pointedly at the door, and when she stood her ground and refused to leave, the prince cuffed her by the arm and hauled her out.

"You have no idea—Miredhel," he hissed, "of what it's costing me trying to protect you from this," and he angrily gestured toward himself, "from me. I cannot—will not—do this to you."

"Then our bond means nothing…" Miredhel answered brokenly, and he pulled the door shut in front of her. She could hear the lock clicking into place on the other side. "…nothing, if left incomplete," she finished, tightening her jaw. He may be the prince, but she would not allow him the last say in this matter...


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Chapter 53 - Without Reserve

Chapter 51: Without Reserve

Later that evening when he knocked on Miredhel's chamber door to escort her to Aragorn's infernal banquet, Legolas certainly held no illusions about what sort of greeting he might receive. A boot hurled at his visage, perhaps? A well-aimed fist? Legolas had already admitted to himself that he probably deserved her worst. He had been suppressing their bond, keeping her out. He tightened his jaw and knocked again.

Hmm. No answer. "Miredhel, I am sorry about earlier," Legolas said stoically. He rapped again on the door, this time a bit more impatiently. "Miredhel?" Stubborn elleth.

Legolas tried the door knob and found it unlocked. He peered tentatively down the hall and eased inside her room. The candles were unlit, and the wax, still cooling. She must have left only moments earlier. The smell of soap and Miredhel's own scent still lingered, and Legolas swallowed hard.

He loved her, needed her, and had foolishly tried to protect her from himself. If her reaction this afternoon was any measure, she apparently did not appreciate his efforts on her behalf. She misunderstood his intentions. He heard what she had said on the other side of the door after he made her leave. She thought he was denying their bond, and that was not what he wanted at all. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her, with her, under a field of stars with nothing between them. Legolas reached a hand out to the nearest obliging arm chair to steady himself. Valar, her perfume was getting to him.

"Looking for Miredhel?"

A voice from the doorway made him straighten up. He did not need to look over there to know who it belonged to—it was his sister. He glared at her anyway. She had a decidedly smug expression on her face.

"What?" he all but growled at her.

"I was over here before she left," Celeril informed him and added in a small voice. "She told me about Adrendil."

A credit to his upbringing, Legolas did not flinch when she said the name…but he wanted to. Restraint had ever been his fortitude. It was only later, behind closed doors that his famed elven nerves failed him, and he threw up like a wretch. Twice.

"Celeril, I—" Legolas hardly knew what to say to his young, idealistic sister. He had slain an elf that had served in their father's halls since childhood.

"You did what had to be done, Legolas," she finished for him. She joined his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I must say it shocked me—on both counts—to find Adrendil a murderer and that you were forced to kill him."

"I don't know anymore, Celeril," he supplied honestly. "I spent the rest of this afternoon thinking about what Father would have done, how he would have handled it." Legolas met his sister's eyes and took her hand in his. "Aragorn seems to believe this banquet tonight will help somehow."

"Then it shall," Celeril confirmed optimistically, and with great aplomb, led her brother to the banquet.


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The staff of Minas Tirith, under Queen Arwen's patient guidance, had outdone themselves tonight. To throw such a gala together on such short notice, the outcome was splendid. Every silver candlestick, every silver serving piece down to the cutlery, twinkled atop long white linens and black table runners. In the middle of everything, as glorious and bright as the evening star, was Queen Arwen, smiling and pleasant, setting a friendly, easy example as she mingled among men and elves alike. Aragorn moved beside her, greeting his kinsmen and ladies with charm and grace, and flanking the king and queen, were an unlooked for boon of the evening—Faramir and Eowyn had arrived from Ithilien; their attendance tonight would do much to assuage any remaining doubts that the Gondorian court might have.

All eyes shifted toward the entrance of the main hall at the announcement of Prince Legolas and Princess Celeril's arrival. For many, that one moment completely won them over and nullified any previous considerations that the elven prince was a lethal killer who had only hours earlier stalked the city streets drenched in gore.

For in that moment when his name was announced, and he stepped into the soft glow of the candelabras, Legolas looked every inch the prince he was, so very elven and incomparable. His straight silken hair shone like fine white gold, and his skin was luminous and fair against the black and silver of his tunic—an homage to Gondor. His piercing blue eyes which had seemed so wild and unworldly after he slew his captain, were now loving and soft as he whispered something in his sister's ear to make her smile.

He was truly beautiful—magnificent even, and the crowds' brief reverence at the sight of him was only broken by the announcement that dinner was to be served.

With no slight dismay, Legolas saw that Arwen had arranged for the head table to be situated at the very front of the hall on a raised dais, but Celeril cheerfully urged him forward, hinting in his ear not very subtly that she longed for an introduction to Lady Eowyn of whom she had heard so much. Her delight increased ten-fold when Faramir and Eowyn gladly intercepted Legolas on the way to the head table.

"Prince Legolas," Faramir greeted him, "I cannot express to you how genuinely pleased Eowyn and I were to hear the news that you would be joining us in Ithilien."

Eowyn's eyes shone, and Legolas was heartened to see the young woman in the bloom of such excellent health and so obviously with child.

"Thank you, Faramir, and am I correct in guessing that congratulations are in order?" he asked with a small grin, and Celeril punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"Of course they are!" his sister exclaimed, "Not that you would be bothered with courtly etiquette."

"My sister, Celeril," Legolas introduced her with a grimace. "I tried to leave her at home, but she insists on tagging along."

Eowyn laughed, a clear lovely peal, and leaned toward Celeril. "From another little sister who always insisted on 'tagging along,' I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

Celeril beamed at Legolas.

"And you must meet Miredhel," Celeril said excitedly, once again smiling magnificently at her brother of whom her adoration and pride had no limit at the moment. "She's Legolas' intended." Celeril pointed her out from amongst the crowd.

With that delightful delivery, both Eowyn and Faramir's curious gaze swiveled from sister to brother to the prince's betrothed.

Of course, Legolas looked on with them and let out a breath that he did not even realize he'd been holding. Across the distance of the hall, he glimpsed Miredhel's long shock of golden curls and the slender, tempting line of her neck. Legolas' ears grew warm, and just at that moment, she turned from her conversation to glance over her shoulder. Their eyes met, and even with the crowded goings on of the banquet scene stretched between them, Legolas felt their bond pulse from deep within his chest. He drew a staggered breath as he held her gaze, and then it seemed as though the great hall and its banquet were swept away and replaced by a much more tender, intimate scene:

Miredhel, Legolas, both entwined and oblivious. A blush raced up her neck to her cheek as he ran his fingers down through her hair to whisper in her ear, his lips brushing the delicate tip.

Miredhel turned back around to rejoin the neighboring conversation, and the vision faded to the buzz of the surrounding crowds. Legolas swallowed hard and readjusted his tunic.

So this was how it was going to be, was it?

She had thrust that memory upon him on purpose as surely as she had left her scent in the room to torment him. Miredhel understood all too easily what had taken him the past week to figure out. He had been shielding himself from their bond. Not even deliberately at first, Legolas had merely been trying to reign in his feelings as to not encroach on her grief. He was so terrified of hurting her further that he abstained from what might have given her the most comfort. His presence, their bond, the warmth of his spirit coupled with the touch of his body knew no equal in terms of what it could do to heal.

He knew that this could happen, did happen to most elves who bonded their feas. The bond was a connection of spirits, and at its most elemental, a connection of feelings, whether it be of joy or despair, or desire. He had been shielding his deepest feelings from their bond, from Miredhel, since the battle. Earlier that evening outside his door, Miredhel had accused him of 'denying' their bond, and he had realized with a pang, that she had been aware of what he had been trying to do. If that weren't bad enough, he was beginning to discover that his efforts in trying to protect her from the darkest side of his nature had harmed their bond, resulted in an excess of pent-up emotion that should have been allowed to flow freely between the two of them. If the…

"Legolas," Celeril's voice interrupted his internal debate. "Legolas," she chided, "we should take our seats. Eowyn and Faramir offered their congratulations on your betrothal, and you just stood there, staring at Miredhel."

The elf in question simply shook his head and looked apologetically at his sister. Legolas knew better than to tell his sister what he had been thinking. He would never hear the end of it, and when one is of the Eldar, never is a very long time to be teased by a little sister.

Instead, Legolas cleared his throat and politely inquired, "What remarks did you make on my behalf?"

"Oh, I didn't even need to," Celeril assured her older brother, "because your friend Faramir just laughed it off, saying he used to get caught looking at Eowyn that way."

Legolas followed his sister the rest of the way to the long head table, noting the way that his friends, now Aragorn included, smirked at him.

Aragorn stood, framed by the backdrop of two enormous black and silver banners hanging from ceiling to floor, emblazoned by the White Tree. The Elfstone winked upon his brow, and his voice was kingly as he spoke:

"Tonight we gather here as friends to celebrate our recent victory at Calenfen and the defeat of a foe who would have surely attacked our own city, had he not been stopped," Aragorn paused as his eyes scanned the crowd. "But the Black Dragon was stopped—slain by one of our own, who placed himself in considerable danger to do so. Indeed, we owe him much, my friend, my brother-in-arms, Prince Legolas Thranduillion," Aragorn announced proudly and gestured for Legolas to rise.

The elf stood, to the modest applause of the king's guests, and hoped his pseudo-pleased expression would not give away the fact that he wished for nothing more than to crawl under the banquet table. To say that Legolas was mortified might be a touch strong, but not by much.

Then something changed unexpectedly. The court's faces shifted from pleasant sycophantry to genuine astonishment, for one of the elves rose from his seat in the middle of the hall and with a cursory glance around the room, left his place at the table to kneel before the dais in front of Legolas. Peerless and fey, with sharp grey eyes, the elf crossed his chest with his right arm and bowed his head before all.

"That is Sulindal from Lothlorien—he offers Legolas Vesta Tua Oira," Arwen whispered to Eowyn who knew little of elven customs, "an eternal pledge of fealty, loyalty in service—not something given lightly. In all my years, I have only seen it offered once. He honors Legolas greatly."

Another elf stood, almost the mirror image of the first, and Belegil solemnly joined his brother at the front of the room to the curious murmur of the crowd. That murmur faded to dead silence as the nobility of Minas Tirith watched, open-mouthed, as all of the other elves quit their tables and made their way to kneel before the dais, freely offering Legolas one of Mandos' most revered trusts.

The prince listened in equal parts awe and disbelief while so many of his friends and followers swore oaths to him, and he felt proud and deeply humbled all at the same time by their faith in him, by their apparent forgiveness and trust. And just a very small part of him whispered that he wished his father could be here to see it.

Then, as was tradition, Legolas gravely took their pledges with one of his own, spoken in elvish softly, "By the Valar before whom this pledge is sacred, I will to these elves be true and faithful, holding their service and oaths, that I might, in turn, honor and serve them."

He stepped down from the head table with an approving nod from the king and queen who were both smiling broadly and greeted his friends with a dazzling smile of his own. And for the first time the people of Minas Tirith glimpsed the king's dearest friend for what he was—not just a noble elf, nor a warrior, deadly and ancient—but a being of joy and unchecked radiance. His people accepted him so openly, and the first elf to offer the oath, Sulindal, quickly drew him into an embrace.

"Sulindal, you do me great honor," Legolas said, his voice thick with emotion.

"My friend, none that is not undeserved," Sulindal said kindly, his eyes shining. "You cannot now, in good conscience, doubt the esteem in which your brethren hold you. Put your old cares away, Legolas, and think of naught but the days ahead and the goodness they shall bring." His eyes flicked to Miredhel standing a few feet away.

Legolas followed his gaze and his brilliant smile returned. "Well said, Sulindal, and thank you…for everything."

Taking leave of Sulindal and after several more greetings from friends and well-wishers, Legolas found his way to Miredhel's side.

"My lady," the prince said gallantly, "'tis a soft night that begs for companionship."

He offered her his hand, and she, with a knowing smile, placed her hand in his.

Legolas brought it to his lips for a kiss, watching her all the while and exulting as her smile deepened into dimples.

"Hmmm, where have I heard that before?" Miredhel asked coyly, quiet laughter lining her voice.

"It's a proven favorite for when I desperately need to impress a beautiful elf maiden," Legolas confided cheekily, but as he met the dark green of her eyes, he gently squeezed her hand in his.

"Miredhel," he whispered. "Forgive me?" It was more of a question than a command, and her eyes softened.

"I already have, Legolas."

"Will you join me at the head table? There is an open seat beside me, which I believe was meant for you."

"I know—I just did not feel comfortable among all that royalty and dignitaries."

"You'll get used to it," Legolas promised, "and I really want you beside me tonight. Actually I want nothing more than to pull you away from this banquet into some dark corner, but…"

"Being the guest of honor, that might be frowned upon?" Miredhel guessed.

"That it might," Legolas agreed amiably. He offered his arm, and thrilled at the warmth coursing straight to his heart as her hand sought his. If merely catching her eye across the great hall was almost enough to undo him, then the feel of her skin against his own nearly finished the job.

Legolas smothered a grin at the fine pink blush spreading down Miredhel's cheek. He was not the only one feeling thus affected. They took their seats together, much to Celeril's delight, and she was not the only one to notice that the elven prince's gaze never left his beloved for the rest of the evening.

As the night wore on, the bright flames of the great candle centerpieces sank lower and lower across the king's long tables, and Legolas stood and pulled Miredhel to her feet beside him. Lifting her hand to his lips he placed a chaste kiss upon it, and quietly led her from the hall. If either of the couple had eyes for anyone or anything besides each other, they would have noticed Aragorn and Arwen exchange the immensely self-satisfied look of one who has newly discovered that he or she has been right all along.

Away from the prying eyes of the banquet hall, Legolas pulled Miredhel into the first available darkened corner and then up against him, hungrily bringing his lips to her own. Usually so self-controlled, so restrained, Legolas felt his will power and inhibitions slip. Need fired through his veins, and when he pulled her briefly away from him, his voice was low, rough even— "What is it that you want, Miredhel?"

He needed to hear her say it.

"You, Legolas—just you," she replied, and his mouth slanted over her own again. She leaned into his embrace, tilting her head back to give him better access, and her taste and scent flooded his senses, happily tumbling over and demolishing that dam of restraint and control that he had held onto for so long. This time, Legolas did not fight it. He did not even try. He just let it go, let all of his reasons, all the insecurities, wash away, and held tightly to Miredhel as a drowning man might a rope.

He ran his lips down her jaw and then up to caress the sensitive tip of her ear, then down her neck, and when he still couldn't find purchase enough, found that he had backed her up against the stone wall.

"Miredhel," his mouth teased her ear, "you were right about our bond—I was wrong. I had been holding back. I—I feared letting go, letting you see the worst parts of me."

She turned to face him, and even through the dark, read certainty in his eyes.

"Miredhel, I want this—I want you—so badly. I want to complete our bond," Legolas confessed.

"Now?" she squeaked, casting a glance at dark enclave.

"I can't think of a better time, but I can think of a better place," he said and led her away from the darkened hallway and into the open night air.

A few more steps and turns, and the couple arrived at the sheltered wall of the queen's garden with its open stone window overlooking the rest of the city—a thousand lights like stars upon the water.

Legolas let go of a breath he hadn't even known he had been holding.

"Yes—here, now, under the stars—as it should be," Legolas declared, and as he said it, he knew he was right, that this decision was the right one. He swept the ancient iron gate to the garden on its rusty hinges, pulling the latch tight so they would not be disturbed.

Then Legolas drew Miredhel toward him again, so gently, wrapping his arms around her lithe frame and pressing his cheek against the soft gold of her hair. "I love you, Miredhel, so much."

"Legolas," she murmured with a contented sigh, "I love you—all of who you are, not just your charming, handsome facade."

"Well, I am charming and handsome." Legolas teased.

"Yes, but that is not the sum of who you are," Miredhel said and looked into his eyes directly. "You bring me joy, Legolas, time and again, when my grief would have me believe that life held nothing but sorrow." She took his hand and placed it over her heart, and he could feel its strong rhythmic beat as surely as his own. He looked down at their hands intertwined before their eyes met again, and Legolas nodded.

Oira yanwien en fear, the joining of souls, the two elves had sparked the beginnings of this most intimate of bonds from the very first night that Legolas had made love to Miredhel, and at last the prince dissembled his final defenses to unburden his heart to his beloved in the same way that she had already shared with him during the grief and loss of her brother. Even now with as much as he trusted her, loved her, he feared letting go; he dreaded that she should see this darker side of himself.

"Forgive me, Miredhel," Legolas asked quietly. He pulled her free hand to his own heart and focused on the green of her eyes, reaching out for her fea with his own, their bond thrumming between them to the steady tempo of their own heartbeat. With great reluctance, his mind fell back to a memory long since pushed away and hidden. Legolas' breath hitched for a moment, and then he let go of it all, all of his secret misery.

The sky was dark. Night had fallen, and the Hall of Fire in Rivendell chimed with the songs of elven tales and legends. Earendil glowed luminously above the shadowed silhouette of the forest, but Legolas wandered alone, his heart heavy from the task lying before him. Mordor. The Ring. He wanted none of it. None.

A sudden movement through the trees caught his eye, and Legolas stopped, cautiously training his eyes on the figures in the darkness.

Arwen and Aragorn were locked in an embrace both passionate and tender, and Legolas found that he could not look away. The choking loneliness he felt earlier tripled at the sight of them like that, but still he looked on, as if invisible fingers wrapped around and clenched his heart mercilessly, leaving him powerless to resist the onslaught of all his pent-up despair. It pumped through his entire body, burning and whispering every malice thinkable—jealousy, fear, anger. All of his discontent accompanied by a steep self-loathing.

Legolas felt so alone and such the failure. He headed off with the Fellowship the very next morning, to Mordor and certain death, never having had what he now witnessed in Aragorn and Arwen's embrace. Tears stung his eyes, and he hated himself for it. He hated that seeing his friends' happiness should be the cause of so much bitterness, the jagged edge of a despised blade that hacked at his heart again, and again, and again, until it was utterly raw and useless.

The night darkened in his memory to a consuming void—the forge of all his nightmares during the war and since—Moria. The heavy stone walls of the mountain closed oppressively over him. No fresh air, no starlight, only torment and the shriekish cries of goblins from the deep, and the darkness buried every hope, every fond memory. Darkness, darkness, darkness…so heavy, so still and enveloping, choking…

Then it all stopped, and the crushing weight flew from his chest, and he could feel Miredhel's hand in his, her lips against his. He could feel the thrumming power of their bond, and the darkness no longer held sway over his heart.

Legolas pulled away and searched Miredhel's eyes anxiously. He had never wanted to share those memories, those dark dreams with her, for he had feared her grief, and most of all, that seeing him thus would lessen her opinion of him, that she might think him weak, a coward. Miredhel met his gaze again and shook her head ever so slightly. She then reached up with her hand and wiped a threatening tear from the corner of her eye before smoothing away similar tracks from his face and deepening their kiss.

A bird trilled in a nearby tree as Legolas took Miredhel into his arms that night in the seclusion of the Queen's garden and loved her without reserve.



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Author's note: Probably only one, possibly two more chapters left… Thank you for taking this journey with me. And I just read that the character of Legolas (played by OB) will be in the new Hobbit movie! Thank you, Peter Jackson!


Chapter 54 - Here, At the End of All Things

Chapter 52: Here, At the End of All Things

The Last Chapter


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One Year Later

Ithilien glimmered on the edge of the grassy plains before him, a verdant jewel, darkly green. Riding back from his most recent trip to Minas Tirith, Legolas paused for a moment just to look at the woods, as Arod waited ever so patiently, stoically clipping the tall grass with his teeth. Ithilien…long had Legolas and his small band of elves worked to set nature right again, after so many years of Sauron's subversion. They had brought peace and song, comfort and understanding, to the woods once more, and under the elves' careful guidance, the trees began to listen again, and the stars seemed to shine all the brighter for it.

Some time, over the course of the last year, Ithilien had become home. His home.

Legolas urged Arod on across the last reaches of the plains of Gondor and then finally through the shadowed paths of the woods. He easily marked the hidden presence of all his trained guard whom surely delighted in the return of their esteemed Lord. For if anything at all, Legolas was dearly loved by his people.

From that fateful day when Adrendil had fallen on the walls of Minas Tirith and Legolas had faced the censure of his people at Aragorn's banquet that very night, only to behold them pledging their loyalty and servitude, he had become in their minds not only their leader, but also their champion—one they could depend upon to defend them, even at great cost to himself—for had he not already done that very thing? He had paid in his own blood to secure their safety on the battlefield, then again on the walls of the White City—Legolas, young though he was by elven standards, had earned his people's deep trust and secured their fealty.

But at that exact moment, Legolas was not feeling much like the beloved leader of an elven realm; it was more likely that he felt rather hassled and quite put out. He pulled up short at the stables and quickly passed Arod off to one of the young stable boys who had come from Minas Tirith. He then stalked off to the north in the direction of the most central talan where he met with his advisors, courtiers from the king, and the like. Legolas had his own private study there, where he could think and reflect, or really just be alone if he needed solitude.

At that moment, Legolas really needed solitude. The comfortable, cushioned chair behind his desk sprang to mind. Yes, that was the very thing!

He swung open the double doors, perhaps a little harder than necessary—only to find Sulindal poring over plans at his desk…in his chair. His chief advisor looked up with a knowing smile.

"Ah, Legolas, welcome back. Should I begin the draft for the congratulatory letter to your sister on her betrothal?"

"You knew?" Legolas almost shrieked.

Sulindal bit back another smile and opted for the serious-concerned look. "Well, your lady and I suspected as much."

Legolas shook his golden head. "Conspiring against me, I see. Is nothing sacred?" The prince unceremoniously dropped his pack on an end table, clattering half the piled up trinkets to the floor.

"I answer this 'seemingly so important summons' from Aragorn—only to find out that it's nothing urgent. Except that your Farothin," Legolas said and pointed a finger sharply at Sulindal, "thought it would be a marvelous idea to ask my permission for my little sister's hand. Can you believe it?"

Suindal rose slowly from the long desk and arched an elegant eyebrow at Legolas' indignation. "Well, given the choice between asking for her hand from you or your father—yes, you would be perceived as the infinitely more amiable option."

"Why am I always the last to know?" Legolas huffed. "I hate you all."

"You knew this would come to pass, my friend," Sulindal soothed, "and Farothin loves Celeril dearly. Do you not remember how inseparable they were this winter, and over the summer before when she had tended his injuries so patiently? How at the Yule Ball she favored him for every dance?"

Legolas crossly folded his arms. "It's the principle of the thing, Sulindal. When I received a summons from the king—"

"as in the king, your dearest friend?" Sulindal interrupted dryly.

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "As I was saying, I received a summons from the king, and I immediately dropped everything I was working on—"

"Everything you were working on? Like all those important projects and meetings you had going on?" Sulindal asked with a smirk.

"I was busy!" retorted Legolas.

"Legolas, when that messenger came, I found you stretched out in your garden, braiding daisy chains for Miredhel's hair," Sulindal countered with a sly grin.

Legolas cracked a smile, and Sulindal's grin widened.

"Those were purple crown blossoms from Mirkwood, not daisies," he corrected archly.

"Either way, I am sure she looked beautiful," Sulindal said genially. "You know, Miredhel came by here earlier. She and I both thought that the message might have something to do with Celeril and Farothin's betrothal. I know I don't have to tell you that she was beyond excited." Sulindal smiled at the memory of Miredhel bursting through the door, her face lit up with joy. Seeing her like that, so light-hearted and carefree, well, it reminded him of the old days. For the same reason, he took pleasure in his service as Legolas' chief advisor and delighted in teasing the prince not to take himself too seriously.

Sulindal added mischievously, "Oh, and Miredhel wanted to remind me not to let you stay up here too long after you've arrived. Seems as though she had something cooking for you."

Legolas smothered a grimace. "I still cannot fathom why she insists on stewing up those miserable concoctions—herbal health infusions she called them. Like I need it."

"She got the idea from Eowyn—they exchange letters pretty frequently," Sulindal said and sifted through a pile of missives scattered across the enormous desk. "Speaking of letters," he began, and his gray eyes twinkled merrily, "you received one from Gimli."

Legolas sat up, his mood visibly lightening. "What does the old badger have to say for himself?"

Sulindal had the gall to look affronted. "As if I would read your personal mail, Legolas. You wound me."

"Hand me the letter then," Legolas said and stretched out his arm to take it. Upon receiving said document, he paused.

"It's open. You did read it!" the prince accused, with the air of superiority that one has when he has been proven right.

"No-o-o," Sulindal said jestingly. "Knowing how busy you are, I merely opened it to expedite matters and save you time."

"So, what did Gimli want?" Legolas asked and propped his feet up.

"Well, apparently Aragorn gossips like an old crone," Sulindal said.

Both elves weighed the veracity of Sulindal's comment before chuckling.

"Anyways, your favorite dwarf spent the first two pages berating you for being a pointy-ear, so crotchety and grand in his old age that he can't be bothered to write his dear, old friends…"

"Crotchety?" Legolas interrupted. "The dwarf said I was crotchety?"

"No, I actually threw that in for fun," Sulindal said.

"I'll show you fun," Legolas muttered darkly.

Sulindal pretended he did not hear that comment and continued blithely on, "And then he spent the next two pages doting on Miredhel, and how she was the dearest, loveliest thing, still unsure on how you managed to catch her, and—he's going to be coming down to visit in a fortnight."

Legolas' eyes brightened at the news. "We had both agreed that he should visit before the beginning of summer, but this is most welcome tidings! Miredhel will be ecstatic."

The prince stood, temporarily forgetting the threat of Miredhel's stew, and picked up his pack. He was out the door in the next moment after a hasty goodbye, and Sulindal leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up. All was well.


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Legolas hurried his way down the well-trod path, heart gladdening with every step as he heard the contented murmur of the nearby brook or spotted the tiny crocuses peeping out that had finally started to sprout from the bulbs they had planted last winter.

Well-built, sturdy talans peeked from up high, and Legolas thought back to the numerous hours all the elves had spent on each one, how he himself had spent countless more hours on the talan he had built for Miredhel, remembering his promise to do so on the plains of Gondor next to that ridiculously silly tent he'd built, and her mocking smile of his alleged skill. Now their home, long finished, was warm and sunny, and the lovely hand-carved arch over the door of vines and star-flowers had merit enough to impress even Gimli.

Turning the final corner, Legolas slowed his pace, and his fine elven hearing picked out a soft melody from beyond the gate of the round, walled garden he'd built for Miredhel. He stopped to listen to her, and a smile unbidden graced his lips, before he pulled the latch to enter.

Miredhel rested under the trees on a low stone bench, her legs pulled in beneath her, her hands folded across a softly rounded stomach. She had his flowers in her hair.

He drew a deep breath. "Well, I'm back," he said.

The End


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And there it is, shamelessly stealing the last line of LOTR!

Well, a story that I originally started eight and a half years ago (!) has finally come to an end. It's amazing to me how much has changed in my life since then—I've moved four times, changed jobs three times, had twins (that alone!) and everything in between!

I always knew that no matter what, I would finish this story. I loved it, loved the characters too much to leave them hanging. I always, from the very beginning of the story knew that I would end the story this way, with Legolas and Miredhel-together, in the garden.

I'm excited beyond words to add it finally to the 'completed' works list on Open Scrolls, and my greatest hope is that many of my readers who I've come to know (and live for their reviews…) will find that the story has at last been finished and will read it again, this time in its entirety.

All I can ask now is that whether you're a first time reader, or one of my faithful readers-- Please review. PLEASE! It means so much to me as a writer— and this being the last opportunity for this story, I would really love to hear from you, each and every one of you.

I cannot wait for the new Hobbit movie to come out; I know it's going to generate a whole new frenzy of fanfiction for LOTR. And who knows? Maybe I'll be one of them…

Ideas, anyone?
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