Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, not mine. Why do we even do this? The Valar know if we actually owned any of this, we’d be publishng it and making millions!

Chapter 1: Revelations

Legolas wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. The sun beat down unrelentingly, and the late summer air was still and thick on the practice field. He had been target practicing for hours, he realized, as he noted just how high in the sky the sun was. As soon as dawn had broke, he had wandered out onto the field, and began aimlessly embedding his arrows into the various motionless targets.

It was mid-August, which meant that September was nigh. September was the month of his birth. Normally, it was hardly recognized each year that an elf grew older, since there were simply too many of them. Once, though, in the life of each elf a huge feast was held in their honor, on their day of birth. That was held the year that they came of age, into full adulthood, and were novices of their crafts no longer, meriting in full their rank and title, if they possessed any.

In not three weeks time, one of these special days was to take place in Mirkwood, in honor of its youngest in the royal line, Prince Legolas. It was to be his day of honor, and praise, and far more attention than he wished to think of. All his friends and relatives, and many who were not, had been journeying to the woodland realm for the occasion. All of the realms had sent some representatives to congratulate the Prince on this monumental achievement in his life. The parties from both Lórien, the Grey Havens, and several other smaller elven realms had already arrived within the last week. They waited now only for Imladris’ entourage to come. Legolas was looking forward to that arrival, as he had several old friends in Imladris.

Still, with so many visitors, the palace was becoming extremely crowded. Finding time to himself was increasingly difficult. And he had heard enough congratulations and words of advice to last him several centuries already.

Then, of course, there were the she-elves. Legolas was sure the King’s Hall’s would not have seemed half as suffocating, if not for the hundreds of them bustling back and forth. All of them vied constantly for his attention, haunting his steps. It was exhausting. Though, this was nothing that the Prince wasn’t used to. He had been fending off overly interested she-elves for decades now. Most of those in Mirkwood had taken the hint after a while. Now he contended with an entirely new group from the other realms.

That established, the only time he seemed to be able to escape the throng was as he did now. Each morning he would race with the sun to the practice field, and then dash back to his chambers before the rest of the novices came out to practice.

Legolas fit his last arrow to the bow string and aimed at the target. Before he could release the string, another arrow whizzed through the air passed his ear, and landed dead center in his target.

For a moment the Prince was startled. Few elves could sneak up on him in such a manner. Then he sighed, realizing that his position was compromised, and that he must now actually face whomever it be. Legolas winced as he turned around, hoping he would not come face to face with one of the many fawning she-elves. His contorted face loosened as he saw before him a close friend, one of few elves he did not wish to escape from.

The pretty, red-haired she-elf held her bow out before her, aimed at Legolas’ chest, though arrowless. Her name was Araré, and she had been a close friend of the Prince practically from birth. The two had grown up together, nearly inseparable. She was the only person Legolas knew he would not feel suffocated by.

“How slowly you learn, my friend,” she chuckled, lowering her bow. “You never could see me coming, could you?” Araré returned her bow to its place, and favored Legolas a pleased smile, knowing that she was one of an elite few who could catch the Prince off guard.

Slightly more relaxed now, Legolas smiled in return. “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But it matters little, for you always seem to appear just when I need you,” Legolas placed a hand on her shoulder in gratitude. In his constant attempts to remain out of reach in the last week, he had nearly forgotten there were some whom he did wish to see.

Araré placed her hand on Legolas shoulder in return, looking warmly at him. “I will always be here when you need me, mellon nín,” she assured him.

“And you know I promise the same,” he said in return.

The two friends walked together to the weapons store room, conversing as they went. They talked with the ease common of long time companions, speaking of their friends and various interesting goings on in the Palace of late. Legolas was eager to hear news, since he had veritably gone into seclusion a day or two after the parties arrived. Araré was telling of recent betrothals that had been announced.

“And it was just announced this morning that Mithfalas of Lórien has asked for the hand of someone you would not believe,” Araré said with barely stifled shock.

Legolas did not know Mithfalas very well. He had competed with him in last year’s tournament, and the Lórien warrior had ranked fairly high, as he recalled. He could not really guess to whom he was now betrothed, so he merely shrugged in question.

“Merenwen,” Araré blankly stated.

Legolas’ eyes increased to twice their normal size, and he stopped in his tracks, giving her a look of disbelieve.

“Yes, I looked much the same way when I first heard,” Araré agreed.

“I did not even know Mithfalas was courting Merenwen,” was all Legolas could say.

Merenwen was another friend of the two. She was a few decades older than both Legolas and Araré, and her craft was healing. She often traveled to study her healing arts, and mostly she went to Lórien. It had struck Legolas as odd that she chose the Golden Wood and not Imladris, which housed renowned healers, until now. Now it made perfect sense.

“Do not feel bad, Legolas. You are not alone,” Araré assured him. “None of us knew anything about it.”

Legolas frowned. “Why would she keep such a thing secret? Certainly she knew she could not hide their betrothal, so why hide before?” he wondered aloud.

Araré quieted, and looked down. Normally she could speak to Legolas of anything that troubled her, and all things that did not, even though she found it difficult to speak to most others. Still, matters of romance were not her favorite subject to talk about with him.

“You know why she would keep this hidden, though you may not remember,” Araré informed him, still intent on the path she walked, avoiding contact with the Prince’s gaze.

Legolas deepened his frown in thought. He thought back to the tournament the year before. He had won the contest with much graciously accepted praise. Araré had come in second place with equally as much fanfare, yet she always seemed to draw the attention away from herself, usually back to Legolas. Legolas smiled inwardly at such a thought, for it was so very typical of Araré. She disliked being the center of attention almost as much as she disliked large crowds. Legolas felt in many ways the same, but being a Prince, he had learned to handle those situations in most respects. Unlike Legolas, Araré seemed genuinely scared when confronted with theses obstacles. As a result, whenever feasts or gatherings were held, you could usually find her somewhere near the back of the room or hall, perhaps conversing with a close friend, but generally trying to go unnoticed. She seldom danced or sang on such occasions, though Legolas could testify that she was very skilled at both. This stubborn shyness was something he had been trying to help her come to grips with for centuries, with very little success. She never allowed anyone, save Legolas, to see what she was truly like.

Except for the week following that very tournament, Legolas finally remembered. That time, for a brief moment, she lifted the veil she wore to hide herself from the world, even though Legolas knew that the true colors underneath very beautiful. Mirkwood saw its Lady Araré in all her splendor for a few brief days. She let go all her fears, and opened up to all, often singing clearly and loud through the forest paths and gardens, greeting all warmly and cheerfully.

The reason for her sudden change had been the warrior ranking third in the tournament, Mithfalas. He had been very impressed with Araré’s archery skills, and had let her know so. After the tournament, Mithfalas had approached her and asked her to be his partner at the feast that night. Araré had accepted, and before he knew it, they were spending all their time together. That Legolas remembered, for he has felt rather ignored. When in the presence of Mithfalas, Araré tended to forget he was there. He also distinctly remembered disliking that particular he-elf. He had come off as a little snobbish, and Legolas felt that he didn’t deserve Araré.

However, Legolas’ worries had mattered little, for the day before Mithfalas’ was to return to Lórien, had called off there budding courtship. He had used some childish excuse that Legolas couldn’t remember, and in the process had broken Araré’s heart. She had been very hurt, never having felt the sting of heartbreak before. Legolas had hardly been able to keep her from falling to her knees.

The following week, Araré had returned to herself, encasing a shell around her that no one, save Legolas, was allowed to see through. Only this time it was made of stronger stuff, afraid of being hurt again.

Now Legolas understood perfectly why Merenwen would choose to tell no one. If word of such had reached her friend, she might have been very hurt. She may be very hurt, Legolas realized.

“Araré, forgive me. I did not remember . . . ” his voice trailed off, as he did not wish to speak of it, for fear the memory was painful. He put an arm around her shoulders for comfort. Yet, she waved away his words as they entered the weapons’ room.

“Worry not, my friend,” she said pulling away from his grasp to return her bow and quiver to their places. “It is but a memory, if a painful one, and a thing of the past. I’ll not allow it to go on hurting me.”

Legolas sighed with relief. He had wondered how he would nurse his friend back to life if this had dealt a crippling blow to her heart. She was brave, he knew, and she would not allow others to see when things pained her. But he saw, and he could see that she was being truthful in that she wasn’t dying of heartache. Yet, it still hurt her, whether she wished to admit it or not.

He smiled. “It’s just as well,” he said. Araré looked surprised by his words, and perhaps a little stung, for they seemed slightly uncaring. But he continued, “I never like him, if you’ll pardon my blatancy. Even when you and he were . . . close, I felt as though he cared little for you, that he was only interested in your newly found status because of the tournament. You deserve so much more than someone like that, Ara.”

Araré’s look became shocked once more. “Legolas, if you had felt this way about Mithfalas, why did you never speak to me of it?” she demanded. He knew that she valued his thoughts and opinions above all others.

“I could not find the heart to say so. You were so happy when he was here, Ara. You came out of the dark place you always hide in around other elves. I did not want to take that away from you. I thought that perhaps my misgivings were only the product of jealousy, since I seemed to have lost my best friend that week,” Legolas admitted. He silently cursed himself for not having said so a long time ago when he could have averted much sorrow. He looked back to Araré, hoping that she would not be angry with him.

She was not. Instead she was touched by his admission. “I’m so sorry, Legolas. I did not realize I had neglected you so,” she fervently apologized.

“It is the past now. Think nothing of it,” he implored. “I assure you. I have quite forgotten it.”

“Still,” she continued, obviously very distressed that she had hurt him. “Promise me that if you feel thus again you will tell me. Do not allow such things to go on unspoken.”

“You have my word,” he promised with a smile. She returned the gesture. Legolas replaced his quiver and bow on the shelf, the first in the line of novice weapons.

“Not two fortnights from now, and your weapons will belong there no longer,” she remarked, with a playful jab to the ribs.

Legolas cringed. “Do not remind me. It has been exhausting enough already!”

“Oh, come, my Prince, you cannot tell me you are not excited. It is a crowning achievement to come of age. I know I look forward to when I shall do so in the spring. Besides, I know you too well, my friend. You are as excited as are we all, though you feign irritation at the attention,” Araré coaxed.

Legolas pretended to disagree, but at her raised eyebrow, threw up his hands in defeat. “All right! Yes, it is rather flattering,” he conceded. Araré looked pleased with having gotten the better of him. “However,” he continued. “I am straining my patience with the hordes of she-elves that all seemed to have taken an interest in me at once.”

Araré laughed, though with understanding. “Dear Prince, just wait and see how many dinner partners you will have for the feast!” she crowed. Legolas groaned with exasperation, which caused Araré to laugh all the harder.

“Oh, have peace!” he cried. “You will have many more opportunities to laugh at my expense, I’m sure, before the month is out.”

Araré tried to stifle her laughter, only succeeding partially. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.

Legolas sighed, with relief. “Well, then, speaking of feasts, I’ve been about since dawn, and have yet to break my fast. Would you join me?” he asked, offering her an arm.

“No, I would not join you for breakfast,” she answered, though she took the proffered arm, confusing him. “I would join you for luncheon, Legolas, for it is well past noon,” she chuckled.

A look of surprise came over him. They left the room arm in arm, heading back to the Kings’ Hall’s. “I had not thought it to be so late in the day,” he said. “Why is it that none of the other warriors came to practice? I was on the field for hours, and yet I saw no one.”

“There was to be no practice this morning, my friend. All have been busy with preparations. The party from Imladris arrives today,” she explained. Looking to him, she saw him shake his head in remembrance, obviously berating himself for having forgot. “Do not tell me you have forgotten that as well, my Prince,” she taunted, realizing the answer. He feigned irritation with her.

“Must you always tease me so?!” he asked.

“Of course I must,” she answered cheerily. “Someone must keep you properly teased, and the Valar know that no one else would dare to, my royal friend.”

Legolas rolled his eyes, but smiled, with good nature. The two friends passed under an archway and into one of the many corridors of the Halls. Legolas cringed involuntarily, knowing that he was stepping back into the firing zone. He felt somewhat more at ease with Araré by his side, though. There was strength in numbers. How much strength that was he was about to find out. They could see at least five she-elves skipping down the hall, giggling amongst themselves.

Araré felt Legolas’ arm tense with hers locked in it. She pitied her friend, knowing how she personally felt in like situations, though they occurred to her decidedly less often. She leaned closer to him. “Relax,” she whispered. “Do not let them intimidate you! Treat them the same as you would any elves.”

“Much easier for you to advise than for me to accomplish,” he replied, hoarsely. His arm tightened further.

“Well, you will have to find some way to do it, because you are cutting off the circulation to my wrist,” she gasped.

He whispered an apology, and relaxed his arm muscles, allowing blood to flow back into Araré’s lower arm. Before she could come up with any more words of encouragement, the five elves spotted them and recognized the Prince. Legolas held his head high and tried not to make much eye contact. Araré’s gazed drifted to the polished marble of the floor when she saw that the curious eyes of the she-elves had spotted her as well.

Much to Legolas surprise, he saw a look of disappointment come over each of their faces. Instead of lingering about, trying to draw his attention, each one merely said a few words of greeting as they passed, and favored Araré with a look of disdain. Legolas was so perplexed that he could not even be angry with them for treating her so disrespectfully. Then it struck him that she was the reason they had let him be. He was walking arm in arm with another she-elf, and that apparently had gotten the message across.

Legolas smiled in relief and realization. “Why had I not thought of this before?” he asked no one in particular. Araré looked up at him from her steady observance of the marble tiles, an eyebrow raised in question. “Having you to decorate my arm seems to have scared them off!” he exclaimed.

She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’m glad I could help,” she replied, less than enthusiastically. Araré was quiet for the remainder of their walk. Her gaze returned to the polished marble, her face deep and brooding.

Legolas looked at her, wondering if he had something wrong. After a moment of thinking he decided not to ask her about it. She always acted so, he knew. It was part of her nature. If something truly bothered her, he had no doubt she would speak of it eventually. She always did.

They reached the breezy balcony off the main dining hall with little further incident. They did not encounter any more of Legolas’ admirers, though they did pass by several other elves, and Araré’s father, Culrûn, who was the March warden of Mirkwood. Each one they passed raised an eye at them, as if they had never seen the two walking together before. Which was, of course, ridiculous, since Legolas and Araré had accompanied each other nearly everywhere since they were old enough to get into mischief. Their expressions puzzled Legolas to know end.

They sat opposite each at the small table on the far end of the balcony. From where she sat, Araré could see the gates of the city’s walls. Two guards stood at either side, and another in a watchtower above. She could see also into the forest beyond. It was green and shifting in the light breeze.

After a small meal had been brought for them, they ate in silence for a few moments. Legolas wished to speak of how odd he found the reactions of the elves they had passed in the corridor, but wondered if he should. He didn’t wish to trouble her with something that was decidedly insignificant. He was not even sure that she had noticed their expressions, so intent had she been on the pattern of the floor tiles. Still, as the minutes passed, it nagged at him, and he decided to risk a comment.

“Did you notice the, um, strange looks we were getting from the elves we passed in the hallway?” he carefully asked.

Araré came back to him from her mind’s wandering. She had been staring at the city gates, he realized. She shook her head, and smiled. “Ah, you mean the look of suspicion and question that my father favored us with?” she asked.

Legolas furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “Well, yes, his among others. Why did they look as though they had never seen us walking thus before, the March-warden above all? Surely our friendship has not been such a secret for so many centuries past,” he was utterly confused.

Araré laughed at his complete lack of an explanation, causing his eyes to go wide with surprise. “Do you not realize it?” she gasped.

Legolas shook his head, completely unawares. “Realize what?”

Araré straightened, attempting to regain control. She needed to explain this in the best possible way, if he truly could not see the answer. “Legolas, you are come of age now,” she began, for some reason feeling a knot begin to form in her stomach. “And so, when you are seen in the company of an elf maid . . . it is not seen in the same light as it once was,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

Legolas still looked confused for a moment, but slowly Araré saw the muscle’s in his face pull back as he put the pieces in place. Finally, a look of shock and realization drove out the confusion. “Oh,” was all he could manage to say.

“You have no idea how many rumors were likely started with our little stroll today,” she groaned.

Legolas sighed. “Well, we can’t stop that now,” he stated. “Besides, it is only gossip. We know it to be false.”

“Yes, but my father does not,” Araré mumbled. She was concentrating on stirring her tea, avoiding eye contact again, he noted.

Legolas cringed. “Will your ada be . . . ,” he fumbled for the right word, “angry?”

Araré frowned. “Angry? No,” she assured. “But he will tease me to no end.”

Now is was Legolas turn to laugh.

“Have peace!” she shouted. “You know as well as I that his teasing is a torture of it’s own!”

Legolas had to concede to that. He had grown under the instruction of Culrûn, as had all the novices for centuries. He was kind and a good mentor. Yet, most times you would rather risk angering him than enduring the torture of his jests at your expense.

He desperately choked his laughter. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said sympathetically.

“Well, you should be,” she agreed, sulking. “After all, it is your fault.”

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye, and with a bow of mock humility.

“Hmm, let me see . . . ” she feigned deep thought, looking away. “I don’t know.”

“Then what if I promised you the first dance at my much anticipated feast?” he suggested.

“Oh, all right,” she agreed, pretending to be disappointed. “I suppose that will have to do. Though, it is an empty gesture. It is not as though I ever dance with anyone else,” she reminded.

The two shared a laugh, knowing how very true that was.

“But, perhaps not this time,” she remarked, noting his raised eyebrows. “Many elves are visiting from afar. We have friends from Imladris whose company I look forward to, at least.”

“Yes, I as well am looking forward to seeing Faron and Eärmané and Beleth,” he gave her a playful look, which she immediately disliked. “And of course, the sons of Elrond, Elladan and . . . Elrohir,” he sneered.

Araré’s eyes narrowed, and she glared at him. “Now who is teasing whom,” she shot back, but she could not hide the color that flooded her cheeks, nor the faint sparkle in her eyes.

“Hah! So what Eirien tells me is true!” he crowed in victory. “You have your eye on the youngest twin of Rivendell. I truly dislike being the one to inform you, but you are not the first maiden to be smitten with him, or his brother for that matter, my friend. The twins have stolen many hearts.”

“I know,” she mumbled, then she seemed to remember his former comment. “Eirien?!” she exclaimed. “My sister has told you?! How dare she?!” Araré fumed.

Eirien was Araré’s older sister. She had married three centuries ago to an elf from Lórien, and had chosen to live in the Golden Wood, but she was visiting presently. They were the only daughters of Culrûn. Their mother and oldest brother had died when Araré was only little more than two centuries old in a rock slide in the Misty Mountains. Araré rarely spoke of her, and Legolas did not make it a point to bring up the subject. Eirien was always worried about her sister, and knew that Legolas was the only person that could get through to her. Hence, she had chosen to allow Legolas in on this well guarded secret.

“Yes, I’m disappointed that you could not tell me yourself, mellon nín,” he said, pretending to be hurt. “But, worry not, for Eirien told me only because she felt I knew something of this matter that you might wish to know.”

Araré raised her eyes suspiciously.

“Shall I tell her?” he questioned himself, giving her a wicked grin. “If I do, I may have to endure yet another giddy she-elf in my midst.”

“Oh, out with it, you great cave troll!” she demanded. “You best tell me before I throw you over the rail for that comment.”

“Well if you are going to be that way about . . . ” he snickered, enjoying this immensely.

“Legolas Greenleaf, either you tell me, or I’ll-,” she was cut off by the blasting of trumpets that announced an arrival at the gates. Araré stood and brushed passed Legolas to stand at the far rail. She watched as the gates parted, and a good sized host poured forth, with the first horses bearing the symbol of Imladris on flags.

“They’re here,” she whispered.

“You mean he’s here,” Legolas snickered behind her. He had to duck to avoid a blow to the head. “Well I suppose it is my duty to greet our guests,” he casually remarked. He made for the archway leading back into the dining hall and the corridor beyond. “By the way,” he stopped and turned to regard Araré still watching the gates. “I thought you might wish to know that Elrohir has taken an interest in you too, “sneering to himself, he crossed back into the dining hall.

Araré was rooted to the floor in shock. Had he really just said what she believed he had? As his words sunk in, she shook herself from a dazed stupor, and realized that he had left. She turned heel and quickly dashed after him. “Legolas, wait!” she cried.

He stopped, now nearly having reached the corridor, and turned to wait for her to catch up. She reached him a moment later, putting her arm in his once more. “Has he inquired anything of me?” she asked, a wide grin spread across her face, eyes twinkling.

“Ai! What did I tell you,” he groaned. “Another giddy she-elf!”

***

Well, that was the first chapter. Pm me and let me know if you liked it or not, or if you just want to say anything at all. If anybody’s got an idea for a better name, I’d be more than willing to listen. Thanks for reading!:D

Print Friendly, PDF & Email