Undisciplined Hearts

Author's note: This is a ROLE PLAY story, meaning the text is written in blocks by two muns (players) playing seperate characters. Thusly there aren't paragraphs, since the story is being told from two points of view, but rather blocked in "posts". The name at the beginning of each block indicates the character posting that particular text. There are many characters involved in the story, but it centers around Legolas, played by a mun, and Alatáriël, played by the other.



The story has not yet been beta-read; please excuse any found errors. Also, the players try to remain as close to Professor Tolkien's canon as possible, because we love the characters and wish to do them justice. The story takes place after the Return of the King but before Legolas and Gimli sail to Valinor; about twenty-five years after Aragorn and Arwen are married.



There really is no set plot to the story. All that happens is at the whim of the characters/players involved. Bear in mind when reading. All that being said, please enjoy the story.



Disclaimer: I, in no way, own any of these characters, save for Alatáriël, who is of my own creation. All others mentioned forthwith are strict and sole property of Professor JRR Tolkien, may he eternally rest in peace.




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Alatáriël: The white ships sailed gracefully down the Anduin River. Tall and slender, it seemed as if the slightest breeze would be capable of capsizing the vessels, when in truth they were strong enough to weather the roughest storms and the highest seas. Aboard were the last of the Lorien Elves, the families who had decided not to join their kin in the Grey Havens across the seas. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had long since crossed to the lands of the west, but the remaining elves had carried on in the wake of the last war for Middle Earth. Lorien was still the lovely haven it had been; the remaining elves sang to the trees and worked their magic far from prying human eyes, but now more open to the other races of the world. They still kept their graceful beauty and longevity, forever remaining an enigma to the humans and other races, but gradually the walls of superiority and condescension had been erased with patience and time. The reason the Elves of Lorien had left their beloved home and were sailing to the White City of Men, Minas Tirith, was the crowning event of the year; the celebration of marriage between High King Aragon of Gondor and his Queen, Arwen, Daughter of Elrond of Rivendell. Relations between the races were good; representatives from each had been invited. Men, Elves, Dwarves and Halflings were expected to attend the gathering. One such debutante gazed out over the Great River from the ship’s rail with undisguised longing. Alatáriël Erennë Táralóm, known as Ren to her family and close friends, sighed in wistfulness. How she wished she could slip the silken chains of responsibility and don leather armor, sword and bow once more and set out for wilds unknown! Only barely out of adolescence, she was the only child of Valandil Táralóm, Lord of Lorien. Valandil now ruled the remaining families of Lorien with a wise and gentle hand, patient and kind, yet very shrewd. He frowned upon his daughter’s wanderlust, wanting to keep her close to home, as befitting an elven maiden. Ren sighed, a slender hand rising to push back a lock of tawny hair tossed by a playful breeze. Jade eyes stared into the forest at the shoreline, wondering what awaited just around the next bend. She’d never been to Gondor, the bastion of Men. It promised to be eventful, if nothing else. Despite all the ceremony and panache, she had to admit she was looking forward to seeing more of Middle Earth and its inhabitants.



Legolas : "Ye don't suppose yer kin will be arriving soon, do ye princeling?" Gimli had to stand on tip-toe to see anything over the parapet on the crowning level of the fair white city. Minas Tirith, now restored to some of its former glory, shined like a spiraling mountain of silver in the bright sunlight. Many men, dwarves and elves had labored long hours to repair what time and neglect had eroded from the capital of the West. Legolas Greenleaf smiled down at his short, stocky friend. Gimli's head was barely even with the wall, and only at the end of the courtyard where the wall parted for a brief space could he see anything. Still, his eyes, keen as they were, were not elf eyes. "They draw near even now, my friend. Just beyond yonder bend," he explained, gesturing with a nod to the river. He could see clearly the towering, slanted sails, stretched by the pleasant breeze. His clear blue eyes shone with amusement as he noted the dwarf squinted as if to see it for himself. "I'll take ye at yer word," Gimli said with a small huff, wisps of his thick red beard billowing free from their braids. "I'll go and see our young halflings, if ye'll excuse me." Legolas nodding and smiled, watching his friend leave. Gimli hadn't been quite the same since the Lady Galadriel had sailed with Celeborn to the Undying Lands. The elvish prince couldn't help a small smirk. No elf nor dwarf would ever have forseen the great Gimli, son of Gloin, to fall for the beauty of an "elf-witch." Perhaps the dwarf would find another to adore so, though it was sadly doubtful.




Alatáriël: Osgiliath! The River City of Gondor! Ren leaned over the railing, eagerly waiting for the ships to moor and the docks to be lowered. Her father, tall and resplendent in his robes of state, the long black hair falling to his waist, strode forward, placing his arm at his daughter’s back. “Thus is the land of Men,” he said in his lovely quiet voice. “Long years have led to this time of peace.” Ren nodded dutifully, hands folded in her long white sleeves. Although her mother had been slain by the foul agents of Mordor, Ren still remained ever her father’s daughter. The walk finally lowered and a platoon of white armored soldiers stood at attention as the elves made their stately way onto Gondorian soil. Carefully escorted into gilded carriages, the entourage clattered out of Osgiliath and headed across Pelennor Fields towards the White City. Looking ahead, Ren’s elven eyes could make out every detail of Minas Tirith, from the banners flapping in the wind to the pattern of wood in the massive gates. She could see the people bustling about on the many levels of the city proper, going about their various tasks to make sure the celebration would go smoothly. The gates opened and the Elves of Lorien proceeded into Minas Tirith, heading ever upwards along the spiraling highways until they finally reached the courtyard. The white tree of Gondor was in full bloom, flowers open and drinking of the sun’s light. Valandil exited the carriage and extended his hand to his daughter, she following suit. The elves stood in the courtyard, awaiting recognition of the High King of Men, Aragorn. Trumpets rang a clear fanfare as the king himself strode from the Hall, a broad smile on his rugged handsome face. Valandil met him with courtly greeting, but Ren was scarcely aware of the goings-on, as she was eagerly drinking in the new sights with wide curious eyes. Here gathered all races of Middle Earth! Shire-folk, dwarves and men congregated together, talking and laughing like old comrades. When she heard her name spoken by her father, she flushed lightly and returned to the business at hand. Stepping forward, her eyes downcast as was proper, she dropped into a low curtsey, white silk flowing with her deliberate movements. Aragorn murmured a greeting, which she returned demurely and rose, stepping to her father’s side, eyes still at the floor. But the sharp ears heard a crusty rumbling voice muttering about the flowery manners of elves and how things should be settled over a good mug of ale and a sporting friendly brawl. Daring a glance, she spied the culprit, a rugged, red bearded dwarf, standing well behind the king in the company of other short figures, halflings, she realized. A ghost of a smile creased her lips. Colorful, these other creatures.




Legolas : The young prince of Mirkwood quietly awaited his fair kin near the White Tree, admiring its splendor as his friend, the ranger turned king, greeted the procession with all the grace of an elf. As the leaders of each house neared, Legolas extended a polite greeting, complimented with a smile and a slight bow when proper. The silver circlet crowning his head kept his long, pale blond hair from tangling in the breeze, or so it seemed. As with the rest of elfkind, Legolas worried little over appearing perfect and graceful. It came naturally, and seemed to such a glorious people to be a common thing. His strong, elegant frame was clad in pale lavender, nearly a silver in the sunlight. The finest weave of silk, smooth and comfortable, and yet he still could not help feeling out of place in such garb. So long he had spent in leather and common threads, with a cloak of Lorien make over his shoulders, a bow and quiver upon his back with his finely crafted long knives. A prince he was in inheritance, yet a warrior and wanderer in his heart. When the new Lord of Lorien stepped forward to greet him, he had to suppress a grin at Gimli's conversation, so easily heard even by mortal ears. "Ye would think that a former ranger would know how to greet his guests proper!" the dwarf joked, "A roaring fire, fresh veal on the spit and beer ever-flowing!" Indeed, that would have been a sight, elves greeted by fire, meat and ale. He'd have been the only one of his kind to feel right at home with such... as much as an elf could be. Smiling in greeting rather than in mirth, he bowed at the waist, hand over heart, "Greetings to you, my Lord Valandil." He spoke in elvish rather than common speech, as fit for a prince such as he.




Alatáriël: Valandil, returning the prince’s greeting in kind, answered smoothly in the elven tongue, “Long has it been since the houses Lorien were graced by our woodland kin, Prince Legolas. We are deeply honored and bid you well-meet,” he finished, mirroring the gesture, slender hand over his chest. Turning slightly, he extended his hand in a sweeping gesture. “Might I present to Your Highness my daughter, Alatáriël of House Táralóm?” As protocol demanded, Ren moved forward, eyes downcast before this member of elven royalty, although she didn’t miss the dwarf standing so close, still carrying on about the hospitality of his people. An amusing regale. As she had before the King, Ren dropped into a low curtsey, smooth gold-spun waves falling over slim shoulders as she bowed her head. The pearl studded circlet kept the locks from shielding her face, but long lashes hid her eyes from the prince’s view. She knew from her father’s tales that Prince Legolas had been one of the Companions of the Ring, a Hero to Middle Earth. Worthy of respect from a youth such as she. Yet she couldn’t help but lift her lashes and dare to look upon the Prince’s countenance, wondering what she would see there. A long moment passed, nearly carrying over into embarrassment. Dimly she heard her father gently clear his throat and she became aware of staring. Hurriedly lowering her eyes, she murmured a soft demur and rose with exquisite grace and stepped lightly aside. She clasped her hands before her, not because it was proper and correct, but to keep her fingers from trembling. Green eyes downcast, she thought back to what she had seen in the prince’s face. Blue eyes akin to a summer sky, was the first thought upon reflection. Classic and noble features. But all elves were ethereal and lovely. Warmth, wisdom…and a distinct feeling of being out of place. Something she’d seen in the prince’s face hadn’t seemed real in light of all this ceremony. It was as if he didn’t belong in this white and shining city; as if he preferred to be one with the wilderness like the elves of old, living their long, long lives deep within the arms of nature. Once more, she dared lift her eyes to the Mirkwood Prince as he went through the courtesies. Elves did not age. But she thought she could see years of experience surrounding this prince; he wore them proudly, like a warrior’s battle scars. How strange, this prince… The king was inviting all into the hall while servants rushed to prepare quarters for the dignified guests. Ren remained on her father’s arm as they followed Aragorn inside, where waited his Queen and children.




Legolas : When the maiden stepped forward from her place behind her father Legolas felt an odd stirring within his breast, much akin to the feeling that accompanied beholding a falling star or gazing at the splendor of the sunrise. A lovely young thing, barely out of childhood by the reckoning of their kind, yet with the bearing of someone strong and skilled. Could she be a warrior? A guardian of the forest? Not till she lifted her eyes did he see the innocence telling him she was yet unwed, even as he was. He met and held her stare, not admonishing or haughty as were some of his stature. He did not notice the impropriety of it, so long he had been away from his people. Humans stared at him often in awe of meeting one of the fair folk, and to him it now seemed only natural to hold the gaze of someone so lovely, with shining green eyes that put the new spring leaves to shame. He murmured his greeting and inclined his head. When she rose and moved aside, his eyes followed her for a time, with fleeting gazes between greetings. After he had extended his welcome to all the Lorien elves, he took his place of honor to Aragorn's right and slightly behind, Gimli to his left. He felt a small twinge in his heart, as if their group, large as it was, seemed a few people short. As they walked into the grand throne room, he recalled days spent with a wise old wizard and a small ring-bearer with haunted, humble eyes. Gandalf had set sail with Galadriel and Celeborn, and Frodo had taken the place accorded to him for the great burden he had borne. Happy as this day was, things seemed not the same with friends so many miles across the sea, and yet more in graves. A steward's son came to mind. Legolas smiled genuinely, though, when the King presented Arwen Undomiel, Queen of Elves and Men. The beauty of the Evenstar shone all the brighter as she smiled to greet them, her hand joined with her husband's. Theirs was a rare love, the kind spun in song and passed for ages to break the hardest hearts and mist the eyes. His own blue eyes flitted back to the fair Alatáriël.




Alatáriël: The Lorien elves murmured their greetings to the Queen, with perhaps a trifle more sincerity than they had given the Gondorian King. For Arwen was a daughter of Elves, her father Lord Elrond of Rivendell. She, her husband and her children veritably glowed in the light of the Evenstar, shining even in the brightness of day. Ren watched with amazed eyes as the King and Queen moved amid the guests, greeting one and all with gracious courtesy. But the diplomacy passed quickly and the celebration began at high noon, complete with banquet and feasting. The great hall was crowded; Men from Rohan, Gondor and the Wilds mingled with Elves, Dwarves and Halflings. Ren took advantage of this bustle to slip away from her father’s watchful eye and move effortlessly through the throng, seeking a bit of adventure. She couldn’t help but lower her eyes whenever a man smiled at her, awed by her unearthly grace and beauty. But they moved aside willingly as she passed, staring after her with raptured faces. Ren made her way outside the hall, flitting easily hither and thither. She longed to explore this massive city of rock and stone, but surely her father would miss her were she to remain gone overly long. That would cause no end of misfortune. So she contented herself with exploring the inner palace, gliding down the gilded halls of the guest wings and finally wandering into the library. So much dust! Apparently the Men of Gondor had little time for reading and study. The smell of aged parchment and dried ink was thick. But here were the histories of the glories and failures of Man. A wealth of knowledge indeed. Sensitive fingers carefully ran along a carelessly lain document, surprised that some of it was written in High Elvish. It was the account of Isildur and the First War of the Ring. Ren knew the story, of course, but the actual documentation was fascinating. She longed to read the entire work, but she’d lingered long enough. With much regret, she turned and hurried along the corridor, trying to find her way back to the great hall.




Legolas : When the celebration truly began, and Gimli held a tankard in one hand and the leg of lamb in the other whilst in lively conversation with Merry and Pippin, Legolas took a moment to wander away, into the hall and corridors that wound through the great palace. He had noted that the fair maiden he'd met earlier had escaped the throng of joyous guests, and briefly he wondered if he might see her, speak with her beyond the watchful eyes of other elves. So seriously did they take even the smallest things, especially fathers. He did wish to speak with her, if for no other reason than to discover whether he had guessed correctly her talents and chosen duties. His feet moved with their own purpose, for his mind remained lost in thought. If he were to see her, it would be well, if not, then at least he had managed to steal a breath away from propriety and dutiful conversation with those whom he felt set apart from, estranged by his wanderings, his experience in the world of Men and the hardened edge brought by countless battles and many personal losses. Never had he lost a physical struggle, it was war that had taken some of the innocence from him. As it had with so many; men, women and even children. His own kind, distanced for so long, often failed to see the hardships outside their lovely dwellings in cliff-sides or in fair mallorn trees. This thought was halted abruptly when he saw Alatáriël, striding gracefully toward him... or rather on her way from the library. He smiled instantly, stopping to bow and greet her again, "Lady Alatáriël. It is well to see you here. Are you lost? Or perhaps you wander like myself?" Without thinking his speech slipped into common.




Alatáriël: Ren scarcely thought to believe her eyes as she saw the Mirkwood Prince at the other end of the expansive corridor. No doubt he’d seen her as well, as quick as her steps had been coming ‘round the corner. It would be terribly impolite to duck into an antechamber; besides, she was her father’s daughter, he’d raised her well. Thus she lifted her chin and kept her steps light and graceful, determined not to show her nervousness before this royal elf. Perhaps he would just nod and go about his way. That would be the optimum scenario. As they drew nearer the other, Ren was a bit surprised to see him pause and smile warmly in her direction. He greeted her courteously, provoking her return curtsy and greeting. “'Quel undome, Taren Legolas,” she responded automatically, belatedly realizing he’d spoken in the common tongue. She paused a moment, trying to recall her lessons in the language. “Good evening, Prince Legolas,” she said formally, translating the elven words into the tongue of Man, the musical inflection heavy in her voice, unaccustomed as she was to speaking it. But she gave him a shy smile, gazing at him through her lashes before hurriedly lowering her eyes to the floor. “I was …coming from the marde…the library.” A soft flush crept her delicate cheekbones. “…I am unaccustomed to so many different races in one place. The air was so heavy.” Falling silent, she folded her hands in the flowing sleeves, a stray lock of chestnut hair falling over one bare shoulder.




Legolas : That same warm smile only widened to show the slight dimples at each corner when she greeted him. He sensed her nervousness, though for one of his own to feel that way when near him seemed alien. He supposed it was all the time spent away from his home under the sheltering boughs of Mirkwood. He was glad for his adventures, for prior to them he had never realized how awkward he may have made others feel by his mere status. Though she seemed very unused to common, she spoke it well, and her voice was as fair as her countenance. "I know well the feeling. So long I have spent traveling that I have forgotten how to endure such celebrations for long, even joyous as they are." His speech was again Sindarin. "Forgive my common speech. I have used our own language little of late..." His brows drew upward in an apologetic expression, though he still smiled. Silently he admired her hair, a rare color for an elf, though as glorious as the Lady Arwen's locks.




Alatáriël: Secretly relieved to hear the prince lapse back into the familiar Sindarin, Ren finally bestowed upon him a fully brilliant smile, part of her shyness borne away by the absence of other eyes watching her every move and action. Answering in kind, she replied, “There is no need for apology, my lord. I have studied all manner of languages and my teachers were most thorough. Yet, the basic knowledge and the usage do not always parallel, I fear. One must experience such to gain true knowledge of such a subject.” But his words intrigued her, quite against her will. Though she was secretly yearning to know more about the air of mystery that seemed to surround this elven prince. “You hail from the north, the Rhovanion wilderness, the Mirkwood forest? The kingdom of Thranduil? Are there any families that have not yet gone to the Grey Havens?” Flushing again, she realized she’d rattled off several impertinent questions and was saved from reprimand by one of the Lorien retainers. “My Lady Alatáriël,” the maiden said, inclining her head politely. “Your father has sent for you.” Curtsying to the Mirkwood prince, the elf vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, leaving a flustered and confused Ren standing before Prince Legolas, completely at a loss of what to say.




Legolas : His mouth opened to answer, only to close promptly as the retainer informed the young maiden of Lord Valandil's request for her. As the woman left as quickly as she'd appeared, Legolas was left in a bit of an awkward moment. Her cheeks had flushed with a soft pink. Folding his hands behind his narrow hips, he angled his body to partially face the door he'd previously entered by. His words returned to common, "Do you wish to practice this tongue then? It is good to have such knowledge, and better to know how to implement it. If I may escort you to your father, we can speak a little more..." He felt it a bit improper to offer his arm, as humans so casually did, and so he kept his hands folded behind him, waiting for her to join him. He had not quite caught the breather he'd wanted, but it would suffice. If he were to stay gone overlong, Gimli would be rattling on with jesting accusations of rather improper things by the time he returned. Especially considering the amount of ale the dwarf had already quaffed. As he walked, he answered her questions with a natural kindness unmarred by years of war and struggle, "Yes, I am from the forests to the North. Thranduil, my father, remains there, as do a handful of families. Some of the houses are yet torn between the sea and the home they've never known, and the old woods and trees who have spoken to them, soothing them through many thousands of years. I myself am in such a quandary, as is your house and kin, I assume." His voice remained ever gentle, rich, soft and smooth as crystal water from newly melted mountain snows. Yet his smile seemed to sadden, ever the slightest.




Alatáriël: Ren hadn’t the slightest idea how to smooth over this awkwardness, thusly she just waited for the prince’s reaction. As he offered to escort her to her father, she lowered her lashes demurely and moved to ascend the corridor, back to the pinnacle of Minas Tirith and the Great Hall. The ceremonial guards twitched to attention as they passed, a nuance Ren found a bit unnerving; the clank of steel and rattle of blade. The elves crested the hall and stepped atop the battlement, out under the twinkling night sky, offset by the blazing fires of Gondor. As he spoke of the sea and the land, Ren’s brow furrowed in wistfulness and she nodded, keeping pace with the prince easily. How lovely was his voice, a smooth tempest upon her ear. But she answered in kind. “Yes,” she said quietly, “Lorien has changed since the Lord and Lady left these shores. There is a…sad peace that whispers in the trees’ songs. They still sing, but their words are beautifully mournful, as if they are slowly pining for what once was.” A soft sigh escaped her. “Sometimes when I sit quietly and listen, I feel tears on my cheeks from their sadness. A strange and hallowed love, theirs.” They reached the Hall and stepped through the opened double doors, once more plunging into the press of people inside. Ren took extra care not to misstep among the humans, most of whom were laughing and drinking heartily, their king among them with quiet dignity. A gruff dwarven voice roared over the din and Ren glanced aside to see the former dwarf standing atop a table, waving a tankard and hailing someone behind her. Then she spied her father and veered his way. Valandil extended his arm to his daughter and she slipped to his side. The elf’s dark indigo eyes lifted to the prince and he nodded cordially. “My utmost gratitude, Prince Legolas,” he said in the elven tongue, “for locating my daughter. I feared she might become disoriented in this labyrinthine city.” Ren lowered her eyes, long locks hiding her rosy flush at her father’s gentle chiding.




Legolas : "It would be easy to do so, my Lord Valandil." His Sindarin returned in a perfect, melodic tone, low and even. His gaze shifted from father to daughter as he added, "Though I trust she'd have found her way as easily without my aid. It is among the bustling, happy throng that I worry of getting lost." His eyes went immediately to Gimli who was in the middle of learning one of the many drinking songs of Merry and Pippin. The sight was more than comical, a hobbit on each side of the dwarf trying to keep their footing amidst Gimli's "dancing" and laughing all the while. The elf-prince couldn't help a small grin as he bowed and excused himself politely. "Be well and enjoy the party, my lord," he turned with a slightly less profound gesture to Alatariel, "And you as well, fair one." He straightened to his full height and turned away, maneuvering through the crowd with elegant ease until he reached the table his friends danced upon. A grin lit his smooth features and a sparkle shimmered in his eyes as Gimli slipped on spilled beer and fell with a resounding thud against the table, taking both hobbits with him. The thick wood shuddered beneath the forced, and from somewhere nearby Legolas heard Aragorn laugh heartily. Legolas couldn't help his following remark to his red-headed companion as the dwarf strained to rise as gracefully as one could while muttering excuses, "Have you so quickly forgotten your limits, master dwarf? I believe you have filled your tankard one too many!" Grumbling in his gruff voice, Gimli shot the elf a glare of pure indignance, "Don't ye be forgetting yer place, young princeling!" His speech was more than a little slurred, "Why, I've been drinking since me mother weaned me and I'll have no pointy-ear telling me my own limits!" He would have challenged Legolas to see just how they measured up to one another, but he recalled all too clearly how their last drinking game had ended. Gimli firmly either denied or excused it to this very day.




Alatáriël: The Lorien elves, while mingling softly with the other races, remained generally in a far corner of the Great Hall. Their pale robes reflected the torchlight with a radiance akin to pure starlight. A few of the Mirkwood elves drifted over and engaged in soft conversation, their thick woodland accents proving their forest heritage. Ren remained by her father, jade eyes watching carefully the other races. The amusing antics of the dwarf and halflings brought a smile to her lips but it faded as the Mirkwood Prince crossed her vision, heading over to their table, joined by the King. What an enigma he was. Unaware of the fact, her eyes followed him as he joined his former companions, laughing and talking among them. Far unusual for one of the Eldar. He was more at home among other races than he was among his own. She’d never known such a thing could be possible for an elf. Her father, while he supported relations with the other races of Middle Earth, still firmly believed each should remain safely ensconced within his own kin. But Prince Legolas seemed to have risen above that. Did she dare hope that she too, someday, might have such comfortable familiarity among the peoples of other lands? A frown creased her brow as her eyes lowered. Not as long as her father governed her actions. But she still longed to throw caution to the wind and set off for high adventure and see for herself the wonders the world still had to offer. A shadow fell across the floor and she looked up, surprised to see a rather handsome young man addressing her father politely. They spoke in hushed tones and Valandil turned to her with a smile. “Alatáriël, Prince Eldarion of Gondor requests a dance.” He handed her to the King’s son, who smiled and led her to the floor. “Welcome to Gondor, my lady,” he said as they moved to the music. Aragorn’s son favored him greatly; the same tall muscular frame, the same dark hair and eyes, holding a maturity far beyond his score and five years. Where his father kept a beard, Eldarion’s face was smooth and clean, his smile quick and genuine. Ren replied the proper phrases, touched indeed to garner the attentions of not one prince, but two. White silk swirled around them as he spun her gracefully, his quick movements lacking the flowing motion of the elves, but nonetheless fluid and smooth. The music was haunting and lovely, reminding her of the songs the Lorien trees now sang.




Legolas : Legolas grinned and extended a deceptively slender arm to the dwarf, helping to tug him upright again. Merry and Pippin - faces aglow with the warmth of the ale in their bellies - laughed whole heartedly for little reason, as hobbits so often do. Peregrin's hair remained the color of fall wheat, unchanged with age while Meriadoc had grayed considerably with only bits of blond threading here and there. Both had deep lines from the edge of each nostril to the corners of their mouths and crow's feet around the eyes from years of laughter and countless smiles. Worry had not been absent from them, however, and had beaten fine trails along their brows, hidden beneath abundant curls. Though holding their age well enough, they were aging. A score and five years... it seemed barely a blink to Legolas. His mirth faded just a bit as his mind briefly wondered how long it would be before he would be visiting their graves. The ever-present warmth of the life of the Eldar flowing in his veins dimmed in a slight chill at the thought. Things seemed to move all too quickly to an elf. His friends began dancing again; Aragorn was at his side clapping and singing along with the joyous chorus that erupted yet again. Songs of taverns and drinking seemed to spread grins and smiles generously through all the humans, dwarves and the few halflings present. Legolas scanned the crowd with keen blue eyes, noting that a few elves seemed genuinely amused at the sight. The Queen of Elves and Men, Lady Arwen, laughed with the clarity and quality akin to fine silver bells chiming in a soft wind. She caught his gaze and smiled at him. Politely, the prince returned it. What must it be like to be wed to one whom you knew you would one day lose? His eyes drifted to a dancing pair, Eldarion and Alatáriël, moving gracefully on the other side of the expansive hall, no doubt to much better music. Eldarion was already quite the image of his father, though with his mother's quicker smile and a mix of their personalities. Legolas had been given the honor of training him in the mastery of the bow when he was in his fifteenth year. The much older prince smiled at the younger even as Eldarion danced with the lovely Alatáriël. She seemed very pleased, and her smile made her even more beautiful. His thoughts were interrupted by the hand on his shoulder as Aragorn whispered in Sindarin, "You've been watching her all evening. I would have thought that you would be dancing with her by now." Legolas turned to see the wry smirk upon the King's face that so reminded him of a much less refined Ranger many years ago. The elven prince's cheeks dimpled in a smirk of his own, "Have I? She is lovely... but I would not spoil the fun of Gondor's own Prince." His speech switched to common and became loud enough for Gimli to hear, even over his own thunderous singing, "Aside from that, it is far more entertaining to watch a dwarf attempt to dance, drink and sing at the same time!" Legolas did favor the maiden, though he was not one for dancing except on rare occasion. The red-headed dwarf stopped to huff and gesture at his friend, "I suppose ye think you can do better then?" The prince's brows twitched upwards in that knowing manner of his, "Of course." Aragorn laughed and patted his shoulder as Gimli went into a tirade of why dwarves would naturally be better dancers than elves. To Legolas, Aragorn said, "For an elf, you are very strange."




Alatáriël: The song ended with a quiet flourish and the dancers fell motionless, still under the magical spell. But the bustle resumed as heartfelt applause was rendered for the musical enchantment. Ren, her smile and eyes bright, applauded heartily with Gondor’s prince. Eldarion, too, nodded and clapped dutifully. Before she could make the customary thanks and courtesies, the prince spoke. “Another, milady? I would be yet again honored above all to share a second dance with one so fair and graceful.” Dark eyes twinkled and his mother’s brilliant smile flashed as he bowed to her, hand over his heart; an elvish greeting. She couldn’t help but share his mirth. Speaking in common, she answered, “Of course, Your Highness. It would be my pleasure.” She held out her hand and he took it as the music began once more, this selection a faster tempo than the previous. More couples joined; the floor became a riot of color and bedazzlement. Across the room, a soft slender hand touched the sleeve of the Mirkwood prince. “Good evening, Prince Legolas,” Aragon’s eldest daughter said boldly. “I trust you are enjoying the celebration?” Princess Gilraen gave him a bright smile, golden curls and wide blue eyes so like her grandmother for whom she’d been named. The princess had just passed her eighteenth year and was very much like her mother in many regards; headstrong, unswerving and diligent. Unshy and willful, she often caused her parents undue exasperation. Yet she was loving and kind, devoted to her family and to her people. She had long known the members of the former Fellowship and she and her younger sisters regarded her father’s friends as long distance uncles, having been brought up in their shadows. Gilraen broke from her original quarry and forwent royal protocol for a moment and administered hugs and girlish kisses to the still ranting dwarf and the laughing hobbits. But she returned to her former course and approached Legolas yet again. “Come, Legolas. Won’t you dance with me?” she asked coyly, tossing a tousled lock of hair over a slim shoulder.




Legolas : All but captured by the bold little princess, Legolas chuckled and acquiesced, extending his arm to escort her... or rather be dragged by her, to the dance floor. She was beautiful, yet quite the handful. Aragorn shifted while clearing his throat softly, though it would do no good. Legolas didn't mind overmuch, though Gimli shouted chiding remarks to them as they made their way to the space allotted for dancing. "Careful laddie! She'll steal yer heart right out of yer chest, that one!" His cheeks rosy from liquor and kisses, the dwarf resumed his dancing and singing with equally merry hobbits. He let her lead him as they walked gracefully through the crowd, weaving between bodies who were busy in conversation or dancing to take up an empty space near the far edge. Gilraen held the grace of her mother, the easy laughter and boldness with words and manners, though her tact was far more human. Still, she was charming and captivating to all who had the good fortune to meet her. Legolas smiled and bowed low before taking the lead and her hand in his own. Though he seldom danced, he did so with the exquisite grace of a true elven prince of noblest birth. "You grow more beautiful with every year, Princess," he said honestly, though his eyes flitted now and again to another. He looked again at her with that brilliant smile of his, "I am sure you have garnered the attention of many a young man, much to your father's chagrin."




Alatáriël: Pleased with her capture, Gilraen tossed her head to the other ladies of her father’s court and hauled the elf to the dance floor, wasting little to no time wiggling into his embrace. A bit of girlish pride, that. But she smiled prettily and pouted a bit. “Why, thank you, Your Highness. I’m flattered you think so.” A moue of pouting frowned her countenance as she said, “Father refuses to let me have suitors. He will not permit me to marry until my twentieth year. It’s not fair,” she said petulantly. “Eldarion is allowed to have maidens by the score, adventures aplenty, and Father’s blessings, but my sisters and I must remain locked within the Tower of Ecthelion for years!” Gilraen lowered her lashes, a bit flushed by her outburst and said quietly, “But it is only because he loves us, that I know. I do ill to complain. And certainly now, in the height of summer during the celebration. Let us put such thoughts aside and enjoy it.” She laughed, the carefree mirth of the youthful and proceeded to lose herself in the music and his arms. Across the floor, Ren, still nearly dizzy with the exultation and freedom of motion the dance provided, glanced over Eldarion’s shoulder and spied the Mirkwood prince leading a radiant blonde human in time to the merry music. Her merriment slowly died to see them twirling round and round, even as she and the Gondorian heir. Eldarion, noticing her distraction, followed her glance and couldn’t suppress a grin. “Ah, my sister has captured Prince Legolas!” he chortled as he swung her around. “I cannot say I am surprised; ever has she been enamored of the Mirkwood prince. But her dreams will be short-lived, I fear, for Father will arrange her marriage elsewhere.” Ren blinked. Had she been staring, for Eldarion to comment so? Lowering her eyes and returning her attention back to her partner, she endeavored to make light the subject. “Your sibling is very lovely, Prince Eldarion. I would not think anyone displeased to have her as wife.” There, a good and human compliment to the man’s sister. To her surprise, Eldarion laughed heartily as they continued to dance. “Then you do not know my sister, Lady Alatáriël. For she is headstrong and willful; temperance is not a strength she holds to. I fear she will cause my mother and father no end of head and heartache before she is properly ensconced in her own household.” But he grinned as he watched his sister whirl by with the elven prince, both matching the other’s movements beautifully. Ren averted her eyes and concentrated on the rest of the dance, her thoughts distracted. The music finally ended and she bowed low to the Gondorian prince, begging his pardon for yet another dance. Perhaps sensing he was pushing his advantage, Eldarion graciously escorted her back to her father, taking his leave after kissing her hand warmly and melting back into the crowd. Valandil raised a brow at his daughter, but she would say naught. Elves from Rivendell approached then, commanding her father’s attention and thankfully she was able to melt into the background, returning to her studious examination of the occupants of the hall. She spied the Queen standing beside her husband, speaking quietly with a few other men and their wives. Ren would have loved to speak to the former elven princess. The love between Arwen Undomiel and her husband was legendary among the remaining elves in Middle Earth, an inspiration of hope and undying devotion. But she, still shy, hesitated and kept close beside her father, lest he lose sight of his precious daughter. Ren did dare, however, to drift as far away as she dared, seeing her father lost in conversation with the other elves. Hands clasped behind her, she merely watched and observed, smiling politely to those that passed.




Legolas : Legolas smiled graciously though she danced a mite too close for what he would consider a dance between friends. He couldn't help feeling the smallest inkling of flattery to be admired so... though it made him no less uncomfortable at times. He glanced passed the twirling dancers they were among to see Gimli still standing on a table, holding his tankard high and gesturing toward them with a laugh. Quickly did he return his attention to Gilraen, the slightest bit flushed. "Yes, your father does love you and your sisters very much. His protectiveness is well placed in regards to you. When he permits, I am sure you will have more suitors than you know what to do with!" He grinned and spun her gracefully before pulling her back to his formal embrace. The song ended shortly, and she talked him into another dance. His eyes wandered again, now seeing Alatáriël standing beside her father again, shy and perhaps unsure of what to do aside from playing shadow to her esteemed father. Unknowing, his eyes watched her until she happened to look toward him, at which point he looked quickly back to Gilraen. They danced and talked and he humored her well, all the while wondering if he should ask the Lorien maiden to dance before the night was over. She had now moved a little ways from her father. His impression of her was that she was curious, and much like Gilraen, she tired of her father's constant watch and strictness.




Alatáriël: “Mae govannen,” Ren heard a quiet voice say behind her. Turning, she looked upon the radiance of the Queen of Elves and Men, Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond of Imladris. Hurriedly curtsying, Ren replied in kind. “Well met, Your Majesty,” she replied in Sindarin. “May the grace of the Valar ever shine on you and your husband; may the years you share be rich and filled with naught but joy and happiness.” Arwen smiled gently and nodded. “Welcome to Gondor, Alatáriël Erennë Táralóm, our house is graced by the presence of the Lorien elves.” The proper curtseys went on as proper, then the Queen took the young elf by the arm and strolled with her around the crowded hall. Still speaking Sindarin, the Queen said, “I could hardly not notice your dilemma, dear Alatáriël. Thus my intervention.” She smiled warmly. “I well remember my first encounter with the world of Men. Quite a shock from what I had once known. They are a tempestuous, willful people, but good at heart and skilled. Do not fear the future, or what you will find therein.” Ren, a bit awed by her escort, nodded dutifully and listened with all her heart to the Queen’s wise words. “Come, I shall introduce you to some you will no doubt find interesting.” With a benign smile, Arwen led the still-nervous Ren around the room, taking care to see that the young elf overcame her initial shyness and rose to the challenges. Which she did with quiet grace. Her head spun from all the different names and titles bestowed upon the respective lords and ladies. Eomer, King of Rohan, Eowyn, Eomer’s sister and her husband, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, Hama of Rohan, countless others, and finally Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves. Three members of the Fellowship she’d longed to meet and speak with. Resolutely refusing to shame her father and herself, Ren rose to the challenge yet again and made polite, pleasant conversation with all three, noting that hobbits were generally a fun-loving and merry people, while dwarves were indeed coarse and gruff individuals. But Arwen indulged Gimli’s crustiness with a soft smile and Ren blushed a rosy pink from the dwarf’s teasing. After a bit, however, she was laughing and smiling to the hobbit’s antics, while speaking of the elven lands with the Queen and her husband.




Legolas : After the next song - and their second dance - ended, Legolas politely excused himself from her company, gesturing to the small crowd of onlookers that held several interested young men. After indicating she should share her company, his eyes searched the Lorien elves again, only to find Alatariel missing from among them. Thinking she may have found other interesting persons to meet, the prince found himself wandering towards his friends once more, where he was most at ease. His surprise showed briefly upon his fine features and sparkled in his eyes as he found her among them, the Queen by her side. All were in lively conversation, and the hobbits, as seemed to be their habit, were the center of attention. He couldn't help smiling at seeing her laugh more openly. His short friends had a talent for bringing mirth to others and allowing for a much lighter atmosphere, so different from what most gatherings were like without them. It really was too bad Sam had duties of his own to attend. He really would have enjoyed this celebration. Legolas made a note in his mind to visit the Shire soon, to see how the shy hero was faring now. Merry and Pippin had invited them all to see their rather expanded families, as well... Taking his place in the small circle of friends new and old, Legolas addressed Alatáriël with a smile, hands folded before him, "I see the Queen has pulled you from your father's shadow, for which we all are grateful, judging by the jovial conversation." He spoke in common not only by habit but also that the others may understand. "You are in the finest company that can be found, my Lady, whether in the courts of Elves or Men." He nodded toward his dear friends with a silent mirth twinkling in blue, bright eyes.




Alatáriël: Ren couldn’t help but be amused by the antics of the hobbits; truly to live such a carefree life must be a disguised blessing. Although she was part of the conversation, she found herself falling yet again quiet in presence of her elders. Though not in years, mayhap, but certainly in experience. She was content to just watch and listen, however. But she looked up with bright anticipation as the King stepped aside and, wondering at the newcomer, lowered her eyes in modesty as the Mirkwood prince joined them, apparently having finished his obligatory dance with the princess. She colored faintly at his words about her father’s paranoia, knowing it to be truth indeed. But she was determined to keep her spine straight and earn her place in the circle. “Yes, Your Highness,” she said in a clear voice. “I am honored indeed to be beside heroes of the fellowship whose deeds shine akin to the brightest stars to all races of Middle Earth. The legends of your journey and sacrifices will live in many hearts and songs forever, to remind us that there is hope and courage deep within even the smallest person.” The hobbits lowered their eyes at the reminder of those they had lost and even the dwarf ceased his gruff laughter for a moment. Ren thought she’d violently misstepped, but Aragorn gave her a gentle smile and said, “Yes, Lady. There is always hope. No matter the vessel in which it is carried.” Ren nodded and lowered her eyes, staring at the floor as was proper. A retainer appeared at the king’s elbow and spoke in a quiet whisper. Aragorn nodded, offered his arm to his wife and excused them both. Suddenly bereft of her hostess, Ren began to make her farewells to the others and somehow find her way back to her father.




Legolas : Legolas could almost feel the tension in her now, her timid nature returning all too quickly. Though Aragorn had saved her somewhat from embarrassment, however unwarranted it was. Gimli's sage smile showed even through the alcohol in his belly, "Aye lass, hope endured and has paid off at last. These are happy times, and every day brings much cause for celebration. And more the cause for celebratory ale and mead!" He lifted his mug in a toast with the hobbits and with others who stood nearby. Legolas wondered briefly how much more the dwarf could possibly drink. Then once Aragorn and Arwen departed, Alatáriël seemed to shrink once again into herself, making a quick effort to excuse herself from them. Gimli and the hobbits smiled and nodded while replying to her farewells, Merry and Pip taking a respectful bow each. Just as she spoke her farewell to him, Legolas quickly extended his hand, squelching his somewhat shy nature before the opportunity slipped away. "My Lady, may I ask a dance of you? That is, of course, if Eldarion did not tire you..." His smile was sheepish and charming at the same time. He ignored the chuckle and expression he caught from his stout, bearded friend.




Alatáriël: A quiet touch on her arm halted her near frenzied (to elven eyes) flight. Ren paused and turned, a bit surprised to see and hear Prince Legolas asking for a dance. A warm curl of pleasure tinted her cheeks and she nearly swallowed her tongue at his gentle smile. Not trusting herself to speak at the moment, she just softly nodded and gave him her hand, a bit surprised to feel the strength and slight roughness in his grip. Most elves, those that she knew anyway, were quiet and demure, not prone to any physical extremes, thus their skin remained fair and smooth. But the prince was an enigma to her; she supposed the differences came from wielding not only the bow but the blade in the battles in which he’d participated. A true anathema. Such a contrast to the world in which she’d always known. One she longed to see. Touch. Feel. From Eldarion she’d expected the differences, the otherness. He was, after all, of the world of Man. But from one of her own, a true Son of the Valar, it was a startling contrast. And somewhere deep in her very locked away heart, she could whisper to herself the knowledge that she was drawn to him, even if she herself didn’t understand the workings of such. But she returned his shy smile and said quietly in Sindarin, “I would be honored, Highness.”




Legolas : His grip on her hand was strong, yet careful as he led her to the dance floor from whence she had just come not long ago. He marveled at the softness of her hands and reminded himself that most elves had that softness of touch, the smooth and perfect skin. All but those who were in constant battle, he and perhaps a very, very few others. Always he and his dwarven companion were seeking battle with the remaining villains of Middle Earth, of which there still were many if one knew where to look. And know they did, well from years of experience. They made it ever a contest to see who could conquer more foes, tackling quest after quest, much to his father's dismay at him being forever away from home. He couldn't help but smile as he turned to Alatáriël when they reached their destination, his hands taking their places - one on her waist, the other still grasping her slender hand gently. They began their most graceful motions to the lovely music, a lilting tune meant for dancing close. He couldn't help but think perhaps his friends had a hand in the sudden change of atmosphere, jesters they were. Oh, Gimli would see to it that he never forgot this evening. Not that the prince would need help remembering. As appropriate to the music, he held her the smallest space closer, leading slowly, gracefully. He spoke in Sindarin softly as they spun and stepped with the ease of movement only an elf could possess, "Your father no doubt keeps you close and guarded as a rare treasure. I rarely see my own kin, and I will not waste this opportunity. So tell me about yourself, Alatáriël. I would know more of you, even aside from the beauty of your face..."




Alatáriël: Ren allowed the prince to escort them to the floor, amid the other slowly moving couples. She found herself in sudden close proximity with the elven prince as the music’s slow gentle strains began and he led them in the deliberate swaying movements, sashaying with exquisite grace along the marbled floor. Her hand remained within his grasp, the other resting lightly atop his shoulder. Such was the mood of the haunting music that the dancers moved within a tight circle with their respective partners, thus Ren found herself dangerously close to the Mirkwood prince. A breathtaking nuance, she discovered all too late. She was determined to remain polite and aloof, but her eyes instinctively rose to his as he spoke his query within only her hearing and she found herself unable to look away. Such was the quiet entreaty and earnest within those blue eyes. Eyes that had seen so much of the world, she could hardly fathom. Eyes that knew sorrow and suffering, death and pain. Eyes few other elves remaining in Middle Earth could possess. Ren discovered her lips parting and the words spilling from her throat before she could stop them. Replying in kind, she heard herself saying, “I am my father’s only daughter, Prince. My mother was Lady Erennë, distant kinswoman to Lord Celeborn.” A soft pause as she spoke of her mother’s fate. “She was slain by the agents of darkness many years ago, sire. My father has never put her memory to rest, I fear. He refuses to speak of her at all. But my other family still sings of her, when the melancholy is hard to bear.” A soft smile curved her mouth. “My father fears I shall become like her, willful and headstrong. Sometimes, I think it is so, for I long to venture from Lorien to see the rest of the world and all it has to offer. I am skilled in the use of the bow, but there are other weapons I yearn to handle, but am forbidden by my father’s vehemence against such. He would see me sheltered and demure all our long years, I fear.” Her brow creased, Ren suddenly realized what she was saying and hushed abruptly, knowing better than to rant about her father to this elven prince! How unseemly! Lowering her lashes, she murmured an apology and focused again on the dance steps, staring directly at the open throat of the prince’s tunic.




Legolas : Genuine sympathy showed in his kind eyes, so much so that they seemed to darken to the color of the sea. A soft, melancholy smile remained on his lips until she halted her tale abruptly. Did she feel guilty for speaking of such with him? He hoped it wasn't so. To put her mind to rest, he responded to the returned question he knew she had not the boldness to ask. "I am my father's only son. His only living child, in fact. My mother has long since journeyed to the Undying Lands to the west, after my younger sister was lost to the arrow of a raiding party of orcs near the easternmost boundary of our land. The grief weighed heavily on my parents, more upon my mother. My father wishes I would stay home and be a fitting prince, but my heart lies in wandering... in adventure. You see, my lady, I do not believe we two are much different." He smiled warmly as he loosened his grip enough to twirl her, then brought her close against him, a little more than previously. His voice softened, as did his eyes as he spoke again, "Your father, noble as his intentions are, would do us all a better service to allow you to blossom into a fine, strong warrior with the skill of legends. At least I think as much. So few of us remain here... it would be only right for us to see as much of this Middle Earth as we can, before we are to leave it and its peoples forever." The last he spoke sadly and his eyes told her how torn he truly was in the decision.




Alatáriël: Ageless sadness filled her eyes as he spoke of his family, the loss of his sister and mother. “Oh, my lord, I am truly sorry…to have caused you pain and grief of remembrance. It was unthinking of me.” She lowered her eyes in respect, but then his former words registered and she gazed up at him, wide-eyed. A bit breathless, she ventured, “…you understand… You know what it is to feel obligation to stature and protocol, when your soul wishes to slip the chains of obedience and follow the calling of your heart!” Her voice rose a bit with her exuberance at the knowledge she wasn’t alone in her yearnings and she unconsciously tilted forward. She paused, then withdrew yet again. “But…you do not have the burden of adolescence to hinder you, sire. You are no longer a child under your father’s protection. I cannot yet claim such status.” A bit of stony rebellion crossed her features. “And if he keeps his ways, that’s all I shall ever be. A child. Nothing more.”




Legolas : His expression turned serious, his brow furrowed in thought. True that she was young as far as elves were concerned, but a child? No, she was inexperienced, but a child she wasn't. Not to his eyes, and he was wise enough to know that much. He felt saddened, not so much by the memory of his family, or even of leaving this land that had been his home from birth, but more by reason of this demure, caged woman aching forever for a freedom she may never have. It was as wrong as locking a bird in a cage. It could stay alive, but never truly live. His next words were spoken on impulse, with little thought. "What would it take for your father to grant you some measure of freedom? Do you have any inkling?" Again his intentions could almost be seen in his darkened eyes, his mouth now a straight, thin line set in sharp, flawless features. He would see this sparrow freed, if he could do so.




Alatáriël: Ren was so surprised she froze for a long moment, jade eyes wide and shocked. Unusual, for an elf to be caught off guard, but the Mirkwood prince had managed it quite nicely. Falling completely still, ignoring the other dancers whirling around them, she finally blinked and blurted, “I really do not know, sire, for I have never asked it of him. Where would I go, alone and on my own, with no knowledge of the world? My father would never permit me to do such an undisciplined thing.” The song ended and the dancers stilled, even as the torches fluttered; the evening was waning, the night deepening. Aragorn began to speak from the dais; thanking his guests for their participation and announcing that quarters were now prepared for all and everyone was welcome to remain in Gondor for as long as they wished. The drinking and talking resumed, but only at half the pace as before. The evening’s activities were catching up with respective patrons; not a few were being carried from too much enthusiasm.




Legolas : A smile eased back onto his face, though his brow remained creased. He could scarcely believe the words that came next, and come they did, in a pouring, unceasing flood until all were spilled. "Perhaps he should be asked, then. You would not be alone. I admit it is a dangerous adventure, but one worth living at least once. I and my friend," he gestured to the dwarf swaying unsteadily and leaning on the hobbits, who swayed with him, "We travel many months at a time, to wherever we will or where there is need of us. Gimli and I are both skilled in battle, and you could have no better guardians. I myself would greatly enjoy your company, as I am certain he would. Between us, you will master many skills in a short time and see as much of this world as your father and time would permit..." Immediately he felt silly for suggesting such. Of course her father wouldn't permit it. It was absurd to any form of elvish thinking. Any that is, except for his own. Legolas smiled sheepishly, chuckling quietly after the rush of words had tumbled from his lips. The dance quite over now, he bowed low in respect, one hand over his heart, the other still twined with hers. "Of course... it would all depend on what you wished, even if Lord Valandil allowed for it..."




Alatáriël: His protocol triggered her own and Ren curtsied in response, still reeling from his offered proposition. Her father would no doubt refuse politely, then, when he had his daughter alone, would scold her severely for the audacity of such a thing! The very notion of such a tongue lashing made her cringe even in its imagining. But to be permitted…her soul cried with rapture and anticipation. “Oh, sire…!” she said breathlessly, a look of wonderment crossing her face, “I could wish for nothing more in my lifetime, than to accompany you and the others. Of such a high honor I am certainly unworthy.” A puzzled frown marred her brow but a moment. “But…to where would you travel? The lands of Ithilien? The green hills of the Shire? Or the hidden lands of Imladris? All I have only dreamt of.” With a warning glance, seeing elves of her father’s retinue looking their way, she hurriedly pulled the prince into the crowd, as to avoid the penetrating eyes of the Lorien elves.




Legolas : He chuckled at her response, following obediently with the knowledge that such conversation was best kept away from keen elven eyes and ears, save for an understanding few. It really was a silly idea, but the joy it seemed to bring her was nothing short of marvelous. It warmed his heart, too, though for what reasons he could not discern. "I intended to visit the Shire and my friend Samwise Gamgee who resides there. He was unable to attend this event. After that... I know not. Seldom are our paths planned far in advance. We move as events and people warrant, visiting old friends or hunting familiar haunts for enemies - of course we won't do any of that should you come with us!" he amended all too quickly. Well, not on purpose anyway, his mind added silently. Away from the Lorien elves, they could speak a little more, for the crowd was in no hurry for the night to end, even with the official announcement that it was coming to a close. Friends mingled and talked a while longer, drank a little more in some cases. Legolas found himself for once grateful to be surrounded by so many bodies, for they offered a little more time for conversing, nay, plotting with this maiden! Such a silly, splendid dream.



Alatáriël: He spoke so familiarly of places she’d only dreamed of. Ren’s heart soared, but the knowledge of her father’s imminent refusal brought her plummeting back down to the ground. “…I cannot ask my father,” she whispered fiercely in Sindarin. “He will be most vexed, though his refusal will be nothing short of loving and kind,” she added with a trace of bitterness. “And I shall have to live in Lorien, knowing I have disappointed him most greatly.” She shook her head, locks of thick chestnut falling across her face. “There are times I cannot bear this existence!” she exclaimed with vehemence. Suddenly unable to think clearly, she choked back a strangled sob and pushed away from him, slipping through the drunken throng and bursting from the hall into the clear starlit night, unshed tears threatening to spill down ashen cheeks. The guards said nothing as she passed, a ghostly figure in white floating past the white tree of Gondor, stopping beside the battlements to stare out over the fields of Pelennor. The wind blew softly, a quiet lament on its gentle arms, soothing her. Ren closed her eyes and willed herself to be borne far away, to a land where she was no longer her father’s daughter but simply a wandering soul, free of all restrictions and obligations. To live… what a wondrous adventure…



Legolas : He could do nothing but watch her flee and feel as if he'd committed some great sin, or made a tremendous mistake. He had taken the idea too far and let her dream of something she felt could never be. It probably could not, could it? She could not ask her father, and therefore she would never know. Unless perhaps... no. No. It would seem more than inappropriate for him to ask! Yet... she had seemed on the verge of tears. So distraught that it tore at familiar strings within his heart. He, too, felt like that at one time, though he had the luxury of knowing one day there would come a time when his father would have to admit that he was a capable man who could make his own decisions. That was a luxury she did not have, believing she would forever be kept under a sheltered, familiar forest. It struck him that she reminded him of another woman who had longed for a chance to prove her skill and valor, also repressed by her elders and her father figure. That woman, Eowyn, strode into a battle with little hope of victory and accomplished what no man or elf ever had: she had defeated the Witch-King of Angmar, Sauron's most feared servant. What if she had been so obedient, so dutiful that she remained behind as Theoden had wished? Things certainly would have gone differently, and not in the good sense. Yet there was so little he could do. Her father would not easily be swayed by anything, not even his own request, he was fairly certain. Having nothing to offer to ease her, he turned and made his way silently back to his own room, having stayed for several days already. Gimli was too full of ale to be much for intelligent conversation, and would likely tease the young prince. He was in no mood for it tonight.