Ring of Fate

“You need not cry. I shall return.” He cradled her face, kissing her softly. After a last, longing glance at her face, he darted out of the cabin and into the night. She leaned against the frame of the door, letting its firm strength support her in her sorrow. She placed her hands against her stomach, feeling her baby stir. Gwyndolyn's tears fell bitterly as she watched Alaglaithion's dark outline disappear into the deeper shadows of the foliage, knowing she would never see him again.

She turned back to her small home, shutting the door behind herself. She fingered the ring that hung on the silver chain around her neck. The ring Alaglaithion had given her. A look of harsh determination marred her delicate features. Grimacing, she savagely pulled the ring, snapping the chain behind her neck. She opened the cabin door and flung the ring and necklace somewhere toward the direction of the pigsty. A wry, satisfied grin tilted her lips as she heard a wet smack.

Gwyndolyn's eyes sparkled as she watched Aria play in the pond, the girl's blond hair bobbing above the surface. She felt a light touch on her shoulder. She turned to find her husband Christopher, their four-year-old son Arthur clinging to his shoulders.

“No. I swore that she would never know of that.” She turned to Christopher, her eyes glimmering with tears. “She is my daughter.” Her voice was firmly resolute. “I will not allow him to take her from me.” Christopher glanced at her, thinking.

“It is part of who she is, Gwyndolyn. It cannot be denied. Look at her.” He pointed at Aria, her hair slicked back behind her pointed ears. She spun her fingers around in a circle in the air, a small funnel forming on the water, then rising gracefully from the surface of the pond. Arthur's elated laughter floated to the two adults as they reclined on the bank. Gwyndolyn looked away quickly, her cheeks coloring. “She is most surely an elf,” Christopher asserted. “She must know of her lineage. You keep her hair long enough to cover her pointed ears, yet short enough to allow her to fight if she so desires. That must confuse her. You encourage her to act human, but offer her all the conveniences of a destined Elven warrior.” He sighed, his tone softening. “She is but seven. What do you fear will happen?” Gwyndolyn's eyes glanced toward her children, but her thoughts were somewhere along the edge of Middle-Earth.

As she opened the door, she gasped. She recognized the colors of the jerkin. The elf on her stoop presented her with a document. The large trunk behind him briefly mystified her. She didn't have long to think upon it, though, before he introduced himself.

“Mother! Where are you?” She suddenly saw Gwyndolyn running toward her from across the lawn. She scooped Aria up in her arms, clutching her tightly. Worry flooded the small girl. “Mother, what's wrong? I do not understand.” Gwyndolyn set her back on her feet, kneeling before her.

“No, love. Papa is not your father.” She reached out, tucking Aria's hair behind her ears. She ran her fingers over the pointed ends. “I have long told you that you were a magical princess. In sooth, it was no lie, my love. Your father is an Elven king. You are his daughter. That makes you a princess.” Aria frowned again, looking over at Aurora.

“You are to leave in an hour and not return to me until the morrow. Come, now. You must prepare.” Aria hugged Aurora goodbye, making sure she pulled her hair back over her ears. She ran out the door ahead of Gwyndolyn, hoping no one saw her tears.

“Here, Aria. Your father sent this for you to wear.” Aria obediently took the dress, reveling in the feel of the blue silk beneath her fingertips. She doffed the jerkin and pants she wore, stepping into the skirt of the dress. Gwyndolyn fastened the back. She tucked Aria's hair behind her ears. Her daughter turned to her in shock, fear darting through her eyes.

“You will be among other elves, darling. You need not worry.” Gwyndolyn delved her hand back into the trunk Alaglaithion had sent. She withdrew it, her fingers clutching a delicate tiara. She settled the ornament in Aria's hair. The girl glanced in the mirror. A thin, delicate chain dropped from the silver ring that encircled her head, ending in a blue orb that rested against the middle of her forehead. She shook her head, delighting in the feel of the crystal as it brushed against her skin. She giggled.

Aria tried to look everywhere at once, attempting to absorb this world she was told was her father's. The elf led her up an immense set of marble steps. She glanced to either side of the staircase, observing the crystal clear waters that spilled down to the ground there.

He opened a large, oaken door and stepped into a grand hall. Aria almost froze in shock. Before she had time to take in any of it, the elf led her around a corner to another set of vast doors. He pushed these, too, open. He led her up to an oaken table.

“The princess Aria, daughter of Gwyndolyn.” A man nodded and waved toward the door. The driver left her standing there in the middle of the room. She glanced around quickly, trying to ascertain her bearings. The man who had waved off the driver walked around the table, coming towards her. He had dark hair cropped close to his head. He was tall, and somewhat handsome. He wore some sort of blue ceremonial robe and a silver crown. Save him, she noticed only one other person. He was leaning against a wall, his arms folded in front of his chest.

He was another elf. Tall, with a bow and quiver strapped to his back. He wore a brown and green jerkin and green leggings. His blond hair was braided at his ears and again on the top of his head. He smiled at her in welcome, his blue eyes radiating warmth. She had no longer to think on it, for she found herself in the air.

“Well, my girl,” the new man smiled as he held her. “It is a pleasure to finally see you. I am your father. You may call me Papa.” She frowned at him. There was something she didn't like in the elf's ocean blue eyes. She shook her head.

“I suppose that shall suffice.” He set her back on the ground. He pointed to his companion. “This is Legolas of Mirkwood, son of Thranduil, heir to Mirkwood.” Legolas came to stand in front of her. He knelt, taking her hand and kissing it.

“She will learn the ways of the Elves! She is my daughter and heir to the entire Realm of the Faeries! The Valar has ordained it, with Galadriel as the witness!” The yelling beckoned to Legolas's curiosity. He leaned over the railing, peering down onto the floor of the Great Hall. He glimpsed Alaglaithion outside his study. A messenger and the Chief Advisor seemed to be with him.

Legolas rushed into the room, arrow notched on the string, senses acute. He saw no attacker, only the girl on the bed, clutching her pillow, tears streaming down her face. He placed the arrow back in the quiver and set the bow on her bed. He sat next to her.

He realized, not for the first time, how young she was and how frightened she must be. This was all new to her, something she had never desired. Something she had never known of until today. It had been thrust upon her by an overzealous father, against her own wishes. He grimaced, knowing the sensation all too well. She sniffled miserably.

“What is the meaning of this? I hear my child scream and come to find you next to her as she cowers with her pillow?” Alaglaithion drew his sword, pressing the tip of the blade to Legolas's throat. “If the explanation is not fitting,” he growled, “Mirkwood shall have to find a new heir.” Legolas fiercely met Alaglaithion's gaze, his eyes cold and harsh.

“I assure you, Alaglaithion,” he spat, “that I have brought no malice against your daughter.” The king watched Aria out of the corner of his eye. Whereas her face had been buried in the pillow, she had been intently watching the scene since she had heard Alaglaithion's sword ring free of its scabbard. Her jaw was set firmly.

“You need not fear me, child. I will not harm you.” He tenderly clasped her hand in his. Aria gasped, yanking her hand away and clutching it close to herself. It had felt as if she had been holding the hand of a Balrog. A red welt formed on the back of her hand. Her eyes widened as she glanced from the wound to the ring her father wore on his hand. Fear shot through her.

“Aria,” Alaglaithion admonished, reaching out a hand for her. She drove the knife through his palm. Though the blade was small, it served its purpose. The Elven king yowled in pain, holding his bleeding hand. “This is not over, daughter,” he spat. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Aria watched the door for a moment, frozen in shock. The knife tumbled from her trembling hands, clattering on the floor. Aria leaned against the wall for support before slowly sinking to her knees. Legolas moved around to the other side of the bed. He picked up his knife, wiping it on his jerkin, then sheathed it again. Aria looked up at him, her eyes wide and unseeing.

“My death.” He froze in shock. She continued speaking. “I know not how, but he will bring my destruction. The ring he wore, the one that branded me?” She looked up at him, waiting for acknowledgement. Legolas nodded. She buried her face in his jerkin. Her voice was so soft, he almost missed the next words she said. “That had been my mother's.”

“Alaglaithion!” The king stopped, turning to the voice. Legolas stalked up to him, his face stormy. “How dare you treat her as you do? She is merely a child. A sprite! She knows no better than pure honesty,” he spat. “She wished not to tell you. You had no right to demand it of her.” The king regarded the elf, his face neutral.

“I have offended you?” He laughed, a harsh, cold sound. “It is you who offend me,” he spat through clenched teeth. “That you would treat your own daughter as you have and not show remorse.” He shook his head, disgusted. “I will gladly leave your court, never to return.” The king's eyes narrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin, white line.

“I ask not for your opinion. She is my child, and I shall treat her as I see fit.” Legolas turned back up the path. He started back to the palace, but stopped as he heard the king speak. “You have but ten minutes before I have the guards escort you back to Mirkwood.” Fists clenched at his sides, Legolas marched back inside.

She sat on her bed, tenderly rubbing the welt on the back of her hand, her eyes filled with awe. He watched her through the crack in the door, smiling softly. She filled him with such an unbelievable awe he usually felt only in the forest. It was like watching a new sapling develop into a beautiful, stately oak. Or perhaps a birch. He grinned wryly. He wasn't sure yet which this girl would become. He sighed. His time had come.

He pushed the door open the rest of the way. She looked up at him, her fingertips frozen over her wound. He smiled at her as she jumped off the bed and rushed at him. He picked her up, holding her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“And I, too, felt the pull to return to the hallway outside your door, though I can explain it no better than you can.” He put her back down, kneeling in front of her. He gently took her injured hand and kissed the abrasion. “I must leave you now, though, my lady.” Her brows drew together.

Aria stood next to Alaglaithion as Legolas swung his other leg over his horse. Once settled, he glanced at her and nodded, a soft smile of regret playing about the corners of his mouth. He sharply turned his horse to the castle gates and urged the colt on. The horse raced out of the gates and toward the forest.

A single tear slid down her cheek as she watched the dust fly down the road. Alaglaithion took her hand and led her back to the marble steps of the palace. Aria cast a glance at the waterfall fountains on either side of the staircase. She sighed, and then stared straight ahead, dutifully grasping her father's hand. As she passed, the waters in the fountains slowly spilled over the sides, weeping when the princess could not.

The ball that night found Aria learning quite quickly, and with much efficiency, the ways of the court of Erarda. Every now and again, though, the princess would look around quickly, as if watching for someone. But every time, she would return to her task with a heavy sigh and saddened eyes.

Legolas took heavily to the forest, spending most of his time there until he was summoned by the Great Council and appointed a member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Upon returning to Mirkwood, he resumed his daily walks through the forest, though he could not quite remember when or why he had begun them.

He was regarded as a hero. He had been among the Nine. He had helped destroy the Ring of Power. But something, unknown to all save one, the wizard Barumaun, had gone awry. The Ring had not been truly destroyed. A dark spell over it protected it from demise. It now rested in the possession of Barumaun, biding its time, waiting to find the strength to mount an attack on the Light of the world. Barumaun easily allied himself with the King of Erarda.

Aria felt the trouble the waters knew of, though she knew not what caused their distress. Her visits with her father became fewer and farther between. She began to long for a person she thought she had imagined. A strong, woodland Elf who would have protected her with his life if necessary.

Legolas became restless in his few months at home. He knew not why, but he felt the urge to return to Erarda. He vaguely remembered having quarreled with Alaglaithion, but he passed the recollection off as a dream. The king was still allied with Mirkwood, so there could have been no quarrel. A smile tilted his lips as the thought of Erarda brought a pleasant feeling to his heart, though he knew not why it was there.

Swords clashed, the impact ringing loudly around the combatants. Blue green eyes locked coldly with brown. A lip curled as one opponent threw the other off. The first swept out with a leg, knocking the second off his feet. A knee dropped to the chest of the fallen, pinning him to the ground, the tip of a sword pressed to his throat.

“I know. I just find the look on your face amusing.” She stepped off of him, offering him a hand up. He took it willingly. As he climbed to his feet, he smiled at her. His smile quickly twisted into a frown of concern. Aria's own smile died on her lips as she spied her brother's face. “What's wrong?” He quickly brushed her hair over her ears.

“I fail to comprehend the problem. No one is about.” She started toward the house, Arthur watching her in shock. He picked his sword up from the dust, ramming it into the scabbard. He jogged after her, gently catching her shoulder and turning her to him.

“Ask me not now, brother,” she whispered. “I want to enjoy my time with you, not spend it quarreling.” She focused on his face again, offering him a small smile. “Come,” she grinned, gripping his arm gently. “I smell Mother's stew cooking.”

Gwyndolyn glanced up as the door burst open, Margaret hiding behind her mother's skirts. Gwyndolyn smiled as she recognized her two oldest children. Aria crouched in front of Margaret, a playful imitation of a pout floating on her features. She held her arms open for the six-year-old.

“Do I not get a hug?” she asked softly. A small grin crept across the younger girl's lips before she dashed into her sister's arms. Aria scooped her up and held her close. She kissed the girl's blond curls, closing her eyes, trying to remember all that surrounded her. She breathed deep, letting the smell of her mother's cooking and Christopher's wood shavings fill her lungs.

“I would not miss it if you offered me all of Middle-Earth as well as the territory of the Valar.” She sat before Christopher's chair, Arthur joining her at her side. “What is it you make today, Papa?” Christopher shrugged, his knife slowly grazing over the block in his hand.

“And what is it you seek, little one?” The younger girl bit her lip, averting her eyes from Aria's. Aria frowned. She placed a hand under Margaret's chin, gently forcing the child to look at her. “You can tell me, Margaret. I promise not to be angry.”

“I want to see the palace of Erarda,” the girl breathed, her eyes gleaming with an earnest desire. “I hear you tell Mother of it. It sounds beautiful.” Aria tenderly held the girl's face to her shoulder, trying to avoid letting Margaret see her tears.

Aria lay awake. Arthur knew it. He could hear her breathing through the door. When she slept, as she had not been doing lately, she barely breathed. It was a light, airy sound. Like a small, slow stream trickling over some rocks. This was like a gale at sea. He opened her door.

“I was wondering when you would come,” she said without looking at him. “You have been standing there for a good deal of time, brother.” She sat up now, facing him. He stood at the foot of her bed, his arms folded across his chest. He raised an eyebrow at her. She sighed in resignation. “I must leave in the morrow. After my archery.” His brown eyes regarded her with curiosity.

“Cry, Aria. You need not be strong for me.” She obliged easily, the sobs wracking her slender frame. “You shall not suffer alone, Aria. Never. I shall be your brother until the day I die, for you will not. And I swear to you that as long as I live, I will ensure that you are never alone.” She nodded slowly, her tears abating.

The sun filtered through the trees, blinding him. He took his time aiming the target. He couldn't afford to miss this shot, not if he wanted to win. And winning was the only sure way to advance. He pulled the arrow back on the string, and then let it fly. He cursed as he watched the arrow land less than two inches off target. A small miss. But still a miss.

A self-satisfied grin from his opponent and a playful pat on the back were his rewards. He watched his adversary line up the target without even truly aiming, draw the string, and let the arrow fly. The arrow, expectedly, hit its mark. He sighed, glancing at Aria, silent laughter lighting his dark eyes.

“As it is the eve of my twentieth year, Father has sent word from Erarda that I must live with him permanently. I have no choice in the matter, and no disobedience will be tolerated.” She looked again at each member of her family, her gaze lingering on each in turn. She swallowed, her eyes brimming with tears. “As, in most likelihood, I shall not see you again-” she paused, emotions choking her. After a moment, she continued. “As I shall not see you again, I just wanted to say I love you all dearly. Mother, for caring and for letting me know that being half-Elven is not a curse. Papa, for being my papa when you didn't have to. Margaret, you are just coming into your own. Do not be afraid to make your own decisions. If you want to pick up a sword, do so. Just learn how to use it. Arthur, you are the most wonderful brother I could have ever desired. You cared enough to protect me, and enough to torment me. And Aurora. Dear, dear Aurora. You are as much my family as anyone else sitting at this table. It mattered not to you that I was not what some would deem normal. I will always love you for that.” A knock interrupted her speech. She quieted, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“We are as sisters,” Aurora whispered. “That cannot be taken from us. I will always know where you are and how to reach you. And I shall. Come. You need to prepare.” She pulled Aria over to an armoire, throwing the doors open. Aria's hand shot past her, grabbing a gown of royal blue, with silver lace surrounding the bodice. Aria quickly tugged her jerkin over her head and doffed the leggings. She turned as she slipped the dress on, allowing Aurora to fasten the back.

Aria watched the scenery of her home fade to naught but a speck out the back window of the carriage. She faced forward again, a heavy sigh welling in her breast. She absent-mindedly fingered a small, light red scar on the back of her hand. She had no memory of attaining it, but she knew its presence comforted her in an odd way.

“While I understand that, my lady, your father fears an attack on you is imminent. I am a wizard. Therefore, it stands to reason you will be safe in my company.” Aria frowned, settling back into her seat. It was a long journey to Erarda. And this “companion” could only serve to make it longer.

“As you wish, my lord.” As Barumaun walked up the steps, she frowned at his back. Once the doors closed, she sat down on the edge of the fountain. Her frown deepened as she watched the water. She dared to let her fingertips skim the water and immediately jerked back in horror.

“I wasn't aware King Alaglaithion had an heir, much less a daughter. It has been many years since I have been to his court.” He tenderly grasped Aria's hand and knelt before her, kissing it. As he glanced up at her, his eyes danced with mirth. “Forgive me, Princess.” Her blush deepened.

Alaglaithion strode down the staircase to the Grand Hall, expecting to receive Adrolas, sent on the official business of King Thranduil. The sight of Legolas, instead, on his daughter's arm shocked and revolted him. He snarled as the Sindarin Elf smiled up at him.

“You failed to inform me you had such a charming daughter, Alaglaithion.” He laughed as he observed Aria's deep blush. “In sooth, good friend, you failed to mention you had a daughter at all.” Alaglaithion stopped halfway down the stairs, puzzled. Legolas knew of his daughter. And she knew of him. Yet they acted as total strangers. Cautiously, Alaglaithion proceeded down the steps.

Aria squirmed. The smile on her father's face was too broad; it unnerved her. And the manner in which he fingered his ring was disquieting. The scar on her hand began to burn, as if it were freshly alit. She cried out in pain, wrenching her hand from Legolas's arm. She fell to the floor on her knees, clutching her hand to her breast.

“No. It is not.” He gently pulled her injured hand to him. The scar, once a dull pink, now flamed a brilliant red to rival even the purest of any Elven blood. He pressed the abrasion gently to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. He tenderly pulled her from the floor. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her body close to his, feeling the inexplicable need to protect her.

“I know that of which you think, my lord,” he whispered to the king. “They have no recollection of the other. And he remembers not your verbal sparring, nor his banishment. This could be used to our advantage, my lord.” Alaglaithion scowled down at the prince and princess.

“I am what some call a `half-breed,'” she admitted, an infinite sadness in her blue green eyes. Her shoulders squared slightly. “But I am proud of my humanity. My language is the one area I allow myself to remain fully human.” He nodded, taking her hand from his arm and kissing it as they reached her door.

She glanced around. It hadn't changed. Same large oaken bed, wooden waves crashing across the wooden headboard. Same armoire, sea creatures scaling the sides. She sighed. She slowly walked over to her balcony, glancing down into the gardens. She grinned. Perhaps a walk in the gardens would lighten her mood.

Aria sat in the gardens, fountains spewing forth around her, the sound of the droplets soothing her frazzled nerves. She knew not what her father planned, but it made her ill at ease. She rose slowly from her bench, leisurely walking down the pathway.

She found herself circling a giant marble fountain. She gently sat on its lip, letting the sounds of the water sing to her. Glancing down into the water, her own reflection smiled up at her. She wondered what stories this water would have to tell. She pulled her loose sleeve up to her elbow. She immersed her hand in the water, opening her heart to the water's unique language, asking it to speak to her.

“He will bring my destruction.” She screamed in horror as she heard another voice she failed to recollect. Even as she yanked her hand from the waters and ran down the path, away from the fountain, it rang clear in her mind, ever louder.

The emptiness in her heart after he had returned to Mirkwood. She stood again, resolutely turning to the door. Pulling it open, she raced into the hallway, looking for him. She found him leaning on the railing outside of her door. He had the grace to blush, looking away from her astonished gaze.

“I apologize, Aria. For some reason I cannot explain, I felt the urge to guard you. To keep you safe from further harm.” A soft smile played about the corners of her mouth. She stepped to him, taking one of his hands in one of hers, grasping his chin with the other. She bade him to look at her.

“Manke naa lye autien? <Where are we going?>” She ignored him and dragged him into the heart of the gardens, stopping before the marble fountain. “Mani naa ta? <What is it?>” he questioned. It seemed to be naught but a mere fountain. Granted, one of marvelous craftsmanship, but nothing to create a fuss over.

“Dina, <Be silent.>”she admonished as her eyes searched deeply into his. She tugged him down next to her on the lip of the fountain. He noticed that as she moved her fingers, they delved deeper into the water. “Look at me.” The sudden use of English caught his full attention. As his eyes locked with hers, he heard her hand splash fully into the waters.

His eyes flew open and he still sat in the garden, on the edge of a fountain, the marble cold through his leggings and against his palm. He looked to her. She bit her lower lip, her eyes filled with apprehension. He felt her palm, warm against his, and glanced at their joined hands resting on her skirts. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, his face grave.

“I know not,” he admitted gently. He kissed the top of her hair. “But the hour grows late, and your father knows not of our discoveries. Come. To bed. My room adjoins yours, so that if you need me in the night, I shall be there.” She nodded, letting him lead her back to the castle.

“Hush,” a voice whispered. “Dina. <Be silent>” Adrolas gulped, silently cursing himself for allowing this to happen. He was roughly released. He turned, hand clamped to the hilt of his sword. He froze at the laughter he saw in the blue eyes.

“My brother is to the north. In Erarda. He traveled in my stead,” Adrolas answered, confused. “I grew bored with the regular journeys, and he longed to return to their courts. The summons from Galadriel arrived after his departure.” Haldir paled.

“Some of these things are those which have been. The last, the one that fills your heart with terror and woe, is what will come to pass if Aria and Legolas do not soon leave Erarda. Do you know the ways of my brother and his house?” Adrolas nodded.

“His powers were not all they once were, and he possesses a grave evil. He holds command of the One Ring. With his magic fading, he can no longer bend it to his will. He must find an apprentice. Aria's heart is too willful and bold to suit him, Alaglaithion's too power-hungry and self-serving. Yet, he needs someone of our blood for the powers bestowed upon us by the Valar. To have a student with a natural base in magic eases the burden on his diminishing powers. You, having a betrothed, would have been safe from my brother's manipulative eyes. Legolas is not.” Adrolas nervously fingered the hilt of his sword, fingertips running lightly over the intricate carvings.

“The Valar have fated Legolas as Aria's protector, as they have ordained Aria Princess of the Faeries. Any child they conceive will have power beyond measure. If my brother could force the hand, he would turn the infant to the Darkness.” Her blue eyes pierced his, delving into the very depths of his soul. Her voice rang in his mind. And the child would be unstoppable.

“Good. I desire to.” They entered a tree-lined avenue, the sunlight filtering through the canopy and mottling the road. “The path lays straight for a distance,” he informed her. “If you care to, you could run your horse.” She smiled broadly at this.

“I care to.” And she was gone, leaning over the neck of the filly, a dust cloud blowing off the road. Legolas laughed, shaking his head. He urged his colt on, racing to catch her. As he neared, he heard the urgings she whispered to her horse. She looked over her shoulder, seeing him at her heels, and laughed. She pulled up on the reins suddenly, her horse prancing to an almost immediate stop.

“Thank you. I have been instructed in riding for several years now, as well as archery and sword fighting. But Father must never know. Imagine his face if he were to learn his only daughter, a princess no less, knew how to wield a sword and fire arrows.” She let loose a frustrated chuckle, her face slightly bitter.

“Good. Now follow me. The road diverges up ahead.” He dropped her hand and turned his horse, leading her down the main avenue awhile longer before turning onto a small grassy path she would have missed if she had been traveling the road alone.

“It is not much farther,” Legolas called to her over his shoulder. And indeed it wasn't. For as he spoke the words, his colt stepped out of the shade and into dazzling sunlight, its hoofbeats resounding on the large rock. Legolas turned to her as her own filly stepped onto the stone jetty.

A river raged past the boulder, water splattering on the grey stone occasionally, turning it a light black. He hopped off his horse, rushing to her side as she, too, dismounted. His hands found her waist, helping her down. When both of her feet were on the ground, Legolas took the reins from her horse, leading it to his own. He tied the reins of both horses to an outstretched tree-branch and turned back to her.

“Sit, Legolas. I enjoy your company.” He sat next to her, attempting not to interrupt her thoughts. She turned to him, the blue green of her eyes deepening to match the color of the river. “The river reminds me of you,” she told him softly. He quirked an eyebrow.

“I said not that, Legolas,” she grinned. “Let me show you.” His hand lay on the rock. She reached out, covering it with her own. Images flashed before his eyes. Visions of creation. Of life. Of death. He gasped as the warm contact from her palm was suddenly gone and the images vanished.

“I do not fear you,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on hers. “I fear the stirrings in my heart.” Confusion washed over her features. He sighed. “No one has ever made me doubt my love for my forest. I loved Mirkwood above all else. Now, you have awakened something in my heart that is new to me.” Her smile returned.

He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. She turned her face to his palm, her eyes closing for an instant. When she opened them again, she seemed closer than before. He bent, his lips capturing hers, his hand delving into her hair. Unexpected shivers coursed through his body, exciting him. She purred against his mouth, her free hand finding his knee.

“You are both in grave danger,” he spoke harshly, his voice low. “Mount your steeds and follow me.” He turned from them abruptly, jumping back onto his horse. After a moment's hesitation, Aria raced to her filly, wasting no time in loosing the reins and settling herself in the saddle. Legolas, too, followed suit.

“I suppose there is naught for me to say but I accept,” she said, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. Legolas's shoulders shook with silent laughter. Aria pinned him with a fierce glare. “You would think this funny!” she cried in exasperation. “The filly will most surely head back for Erarda. When my father finds her riderless, he will know I have left.” Legolas walked around the kneeling elf to place a hand on her shoulder. He placed his other hand under her chin, gently forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“Sinta amin, arwenamin,” he told her. Her brow furrowed and he chuckled softly. “Trust me, my lady,” he whispered, gently pressing his lips to her forehead. He turned to the strange elf, who had now risen to his feet. “This is Haldir,” Legolas indicated, “one of Galadriel's best guards.” Aria nodded, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“My lady,” Haldir intoned gently, his voice washing over her in soothing waves. “I apologize for the loss of your horse, but I am sure any danger to your safety can be averted. For the time being, however, the lady Galadriel waits.” Haldir's gaze darted about the clearing. He turned toward a thick patch of underbrush, motioning to them over his shoulder. Legolas followed, grasping Aria's hand and tugging her after him.

The female elf stood under a white canopy, watching their approach closely. Her blond hair hung in ringlets to her waist, and her dress was even purer than the clouds that floated past. Aria had no clue who this elf was, but her carriage spoke of high stature. Haldir dropped to a knee.

“My lady,” Haldir spoke softly. “The princess Aria, and the princes Legolas and Adrolas.” The elf nodded, motioning to Haldir to stand. The lady descended a few steps to the group, her eyes never leaving Aria's face. A voice she failed to recognize penetrated her thoughts.

“More than you could ever forget,” she answered cryptically. The lady stepped toward a staircase. She held out a hand to Aria. Aria stepped forward, Legolas hovering behind. “Stay here, Legolas. Entrust her care to me. She will be safe.” He nodded as Aria took the lady's hand.

“As you wish, Lady Galadriel.” Aria turned to him, a brief concern filling her, only to be quelled by the gentle, reassuring smile on his face. Galadriel gave a gentle tug on her hand, pulling her down the steps. They walked in silence, Aria lightly running her fingers along the rough stone of the stairwell, her fingertips quickly growing numb.

“And I am Aria. Princess of Erarda. Daughter of Alaglaithion.” A grin tugged at the corners of Galadriel's mouth, only to be suppressed. She led Aria out into a small garden, a large stone basin resting in the center of the glade. Beyond the basin, a waterfall tripped and fell down its stone path, only to land in a small crystalline pool.

The sheer beauty and tranquility of the garden caused Aria to pause, afraid that if she stepped one more foot into the place, its serenity would be eternally shattered. She clutched at the wall of the stairs, indecision flooding her. Galadriel had moved to the waterfall. Should she follow? She picked nervously at the ivy climbing next to her fingers. Galadriel looked up, a silver pitcher clasped in her hand.

“Step up to my mirror,” Galadriel instructed, motioning to a small, stepped platform. Aria ascended the steps, feeling a strong, unexplainable pull to the basin. She leaned over it, glancing down into the water. It rippled, slowly at first, then ever faster, images whirling before her eyes.

“Barumaun's powers grow weak, and he retains command over a great evil he can no longer control. He possesses the One Ring. He needs one of our blood to become his apprentice. You are too bold, your father too ambitious.” Galadriel walked slowly to her side, dipping her fingertips into the mirror, then running them across Aria's forehead. They left a trail of freezing flame in their wake.

“You are among the Chosen,” she whispered. “The Valar have preordained you to a position in this life. You are to be the Princess of the Faeries, and Legolas your protector. Your lover. Any child created from that love would have immense powers, stronger even than my own. If your father and his wizard turned that child to the Darkness, Light would never again be able to make its presence known to Middle-Earth.”

He was pensive, his shoulders tense. One hand rested on his hip, the other gripping tightly at the canopy's wooden support post. A branch snapped loudly under her foot. She winced, stopping for a moment. He continued his observation of the forest, not turning in her direction.

“There are clothes for you by the fire.” She spared a quick glance, noticing the green and brown garments folded and stacked neatly next to the crackling flames. She ignored them for the time being and stepped behind him. She dared to reach out a hand, her fingers brushing gently against his back. A slight grin tilted her lips as she felt him shiver beneath her fingertips.

“Shall not occur,” he cut her off forcefully. She looked up into his eyes with confusion. A soft smile lit his face. “Adrolas told me all. He is my brother. We keep no secrets.” She lay her head back on his shoulder, letting his strength support her. “Come. I have another surprise for you.” She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. He smiled, stepping back from her and holding out a hand. She took it, letting him pull her from the warm security of the canopy.

He stopped in front of a gnarled oak, lithely climbing the gently forked trunk. He stopped, reaching a hand down to her. She touched her fingertips to his, smiling. She hopped up onto the trunk, following him up a gently sloping branch. He stepped onto a wooden platform and bent, offering her a hand up. She took it gratefully, a wide smile splitting her face. He pulled her up onto the platform, and she gasped.

“Perhaps. Back to the Ring. Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand. It eventually caused his death. Ownerless, it lay in wait for a time before Gollum found it. It once again lay in safekeeping until it tired of him. From Gollum, the Ring traveled to the pocket of Bilbo Baggins. After owning the Ring for sixty years and withstanding its temptations, Bilbo left for Rivendell, giving the Ring to Frodo Baggins, his nephew.”

“Frodo took the Ring to Rivendell, meaning to leave it there for Elrond. But the Ring was not finished with poor Frodo. He was to take the Ring to Mordor and destroy it in the fires of Mount Doom. Gandalf the Grey, a powerful wizard, Gimli, a Dwarven friend of mine, two men, Boromir and Aragorn, three hobbits, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck, and I joined him, pledging our support.

“Expectedly, there was disquiet among us nine. Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, refused to recognize Aragorn's position. Aragorn was Isildur's heir, heir to the throne of Gondor. He was to be a great King of Men. He also did not get on well with Frodo. The Ring joyfully twisted Boromir's motives, making him starved for its power. This caused him to try and steal the ring from the poor Hobbit on several occasions. Luckily, he never succeeded. Gimli and I, too, had our disagreements, as Elves and Dwarves are known to dislike each other with much passion. That, however, was mended in time.

“Unfortunately, though, Boromir died quite early in the expedition, Gandalf fell into darkness, and Pippin and Merry, Peregrin and Meriadoc,” he added at the confusion he saw darting in her eyes, “were kidnapped. Sam and Frodo continued on to Mordor alone, while Aragorn, Gimli, and I went to free Pippin and Merry.

“We three were detained, however, at Helm's Deep by an army of Men, Orcs, and Uruk-Hai. Gandalf rejoined our ranks then, as Gandalf the White. He had managed to escape death by means unknown to the rest of us. We eventually rescued the poor Hobbits and continued toward Gondor. Frodo and Sam were guided through Mordor by Gollum and Faramir, Boromir's brother.

“Do not fret. If the Ring has not met its end yet, it now has.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His hand tightened around hers as he slid his free hand up to the nape of her neck. He tilted her head more toward his face, pushing gently on the back of her neck.

“I worry not of that,” he whispered against her mouth. Their lips met then, causing liquid fire to pour through Aria's veins. One hand slid up his arm to bury itself in his hair, the other clinging tightly to his fingers as his tongue pressed for entrance against her mouth. She allowed it, feeling as if she would surely burn alive if this onslaught of her senses did not soon stop.

“We leave for Mirkwood in the morning.” He stretched out on his side. He held an arm out to her. “Come. Sleep. You need it.” She consented, crawling against him. Her eyes dropped closed, feeling his arm wrap around her waist. He planted a kiss in her hair, humming gently to her as she fell asleep.