Lasselanta looked over the wilderlands. She stood on a high outcropping of rock in the foothills of the Misty Mountains, just north of the High Pass. A strong breeze buffeted her body, but so strong was her stance that she did not sway. Mouse-brown hair streamed out behind her and she carried a pale leather pack and a fine grey wool cloak. Her attire and looks were most strange because everything about her, from her hair to her clothing, even her slate grey eyes blended perfectly with her surroundings, making even her sillouette undecipherable from the mountains behind her. She stepped down from the ledge and gracefully loped back toward the foothills that were her home. The sun was slowly sinking in the sky and her work was done for the day.

Within a few moments she reached a tiny valley made by a ring of high hills, the tallest of which encircled a hut that looked to be in ruins. To anyone else, it looked like the remnants of an ancient outpost from before the Second Age, but to Lasselanta, it was home. A small mountain stream ran through it tripping over rocks and hillocks to eventually join its older cousin, the Mitheithel. She strode through the icy water, heedless of the cold and wet, for she was hot and tired. She walked into the tiny hut and dropped her pack on the floor, hanging the cloak from a jagged roof beam. The only piece of furniture in the tiny room was a chair carved from the trunk of a single great tree. It had a curved and rounded back with no arms in the fashion of Rohan. The most magnificent thing about it was that it was inlaid with copper in various shades of patina in a pattern of intertwining leaves in burnished red and faded green. Lasselanta collapsed into it and stretched her legs out in front of her. After a large sigh, she gave a sharp whistle and the back wall (the one facing the hill) swung upon and out trotted Celebrindal, her grey wolf companion.

Lasselanta had found Celebrindal when she was about 13 in human reckoning and he was a tiny pup. It was winter and his loner mother had been killed while trying to bring down a sick buck by herself. She found Celebrindal curled up next to his dead mother, trying to stay warm in the winter snows. He was half-starved and had a slash across his muzzle that Lasselanta deduced had come from the sharp hooves of the hunted buck. She searched for his possible brothers and sisters, but never found them. She named him Celebrindal because although he was a dusky grey color, he had silver-white feet. That had been two centuries ago.

Celebrindal butted her hand with his nose, effectively forcing her to scratch behind his ears.

"Suilad, mellon," Lasselanta whispered, obliging his demands. She closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of wet stone and metal with a sigh. She soon drifted into the realms half-sleep where she remembered a young girl with burnished copper curls and bare feet playing beneath huge trees.

A sharply itching head soon woke her. She stayed still, her eyes already open before she woke. After hearing and seeing nothing amiss, she rose and padded down the shallow stone steps in the swinging portal of the wall. Crystal globes of white light lit themselves as she went down the stair with one curve. The walls were smooth as sanded glass punctured by small niches that held the light globes. The stair soon ended in a large round room with a domed ceiling. It was paneled with ancient burnished wood and accented by benches sculpted from revealed living stone. She sat at her table by the green tile stove and pulled off her sodden boots. Then Lasselanta leapfrogged onto the path of soft wool rugs to avoid the cold stone and down the hall to her bathing room. She opened the door and let out a soft mist of steam, for she was the proud proprietor of a bubbling underground hot spring. She stepped inside, stripped off her scouting gear, lowered herself into the water, and succumbed to the heat.

"Legolas," Gimli started.

"Hmm?" replied Legolas. Gimli sighed and hesitated. "Well?" Legolas prompted.

"Must we continue with these blasted pack animals?" he exploded, gesturing toward the pair of horses they had been riding and were now leading. Legolas threw back his head and laughed. "Is there something you find amusing?" Gimli demanded testily.

Legolas composed himself and answered with barely concealed mirth, "I thought you liked not having to carry such heavy loads."

"I do, but..."

Legolas cut him off, "But, 'Dwarves walk with their feet on the solid earth!' I know. But come, I made it through Moria without complaining," Gimli emitted a loud 'Ha!' and Legolas continued smoothly, "So I do not see why you cannot take it like a dwarf and ride. It isn't hard."

"That's what all you foolish elves say!" retorted Gimli. "It is not easy to put your trust in such a beast when your stature is... less than willowy." The corners of Legolas' mouth twitched.

"Why Gimli," he teased. "I had no idea you were such a poet. Oh wait, I'd quite forgotten that time in Lothlorien."

"You hush, Elf!" Gimli declared. "Or I'll not speak to you for the rest of our journey!" This caused Legolas to burst into sparkling laughter again and the rest of the day's hike was spent in complete, but amicable (on Legolas' part) silence.

As night fell, the pair found a small hill on the otherwise flat plain and made camp.

"How are we to make a fire with no firewood on this blasted plain!" cried a frustrated Gimli after searching in vain for fuel.

"Horse dung," replied Legolas calmly.

"It's not horse dung!" defended Gimli. "This is very serious business! I would like a hot meal for once!"

"Gimli," Legolas admonished quietly. "Use dried horse dung as fuel."

"That is foul!"

"It is not," Legolas retorted. "And furthermore, it is very effective. Although, we do not have to make a fire. We could eat lembas, drink lukewarm water, and sleep on the cold ground."

Gimli paused, then said, "I'll go find some horse shit," and with that, he left.

"Make sure it's dried, not fresh!" Legolas called laughingly as Gimli stalked off. He finished unloading the horses, drop-tethered them, and sat down with a sigh, resting against the hill.

Lasselanta yawned and stretched in the hot water. She looked at her hands, and realizing she was getting as wrinkled as a prune, hauled herself out of the stone basin. Some soft soap and a rough cloth helped restore her circulation, and a pitcherful of icy water chilled her deliciously. Then, another handful of soap took the dull dye she used for scouting out of her hair and relieved her itching head. The dye only lasted about a week or so and was water-proof, but not soap-proof. When she rinsed it, her hair gleamed dark copper in the white light of the light-globes. A quick toweling rendered her dry, but her hair stayed damp, no matter what. Only the winds of the wilderlands would truly dry it. So, for the time being, she skillfully plaited it down her back, wrapped herself in a flowing black silk robe, and padded back out to the great room.

She kindled a tiny, nearly smokeless fire in the tile stove and let what little smoke there was circulate through the stove and heat the tiles. She set water on to boil for tea, then pulled on a pair of soft leather shoes and headed for the stair, with Celebrindal once again close at her heels.

The sun was now nearly below the horizon and Lasselanta could feel the warmth seeping from the stones and the earth. She sat on her favorite flat grey stone and unbound her hair to let the swift evening breeze render it dry. Celebrindal nudged her hand when she was finished and she again ran her fingers through his thick soft fur.

Legolas had kindled the fire and was heating water for tea while Gimli roasted a small rabbit he had caught while on his hunt for fuel.

"I am glad you decided to accompany me on my last foray home," Legolas commented absently. Gimli merely 'humphed.' "I appreciate your willingness to seek out the forests of Mirkwood so that I might restore my memory of the great gardens there."

"Why do you blather, elf?" Gimli asked bluntly. "If you have ought to say, say it!"

"Very well," countered Legolas with a sly smile.

When the next few moments proceeded in silence, Gimli prompted, "Well?" He received no reply, so he 'humphed' again and returned his attention to the spit.

"Wake me when that rabbit is done," Legolas suddenly said with a grin, and proceeded to drift off into the realms of Elven half-sleep. But before he began walk the paths, something on the slowly fading horizon caught his eye. He strained his sight to its Elvish limits, but all he could make out was a dark figure in the foothills so far they misted, and a glint of something bright. Unsatisfied with that glimpse, but sure he could strain his eyesight no further, Legolas gave up his curiosity for a time, certain he could take it up again when he woke once again.

"Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen, yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!" Lasselanta softly sang the song of her childhood. It was all she remembered of what her mother had once sung to her so long ago. She combed her hair with her fingers and felt the moisture sapped from her coppery locks as she did so. Her hair was nearly dry when she stood and looked out over the plain. Off in the distance she saw the glow of a fire, but thought nothing of it, for what Elves would be passing through this place? Any elf worth his salt would stick to the Forest Road if they were traveling to Mirkwood. Besides, no one knew of her home. Not even what little kin she had left. Lasselanta sighed, turned away, and began her song of evening, saluting the setting sun, waiting for the stars to emerge.

"Legolas," said Gimli gruffly. When the elf did not stir, he said again, "Legolas!"

"What?" Legolas answered calmly and with a bit of annoyance. "I heard you the first time."

"Then answer next time!" Gimli retorted, a bit sick of the silence and the huge sky.

"What, Gimli?" Legolas asked again.

"The rabbit is done," Gimli replied.

"I believe I had rather already discovered that."

"Then are you going to eat or not? All you've done is lounge about! I've done all the work!"

"Nonsense. Besides, I kept watch all last night whilst you snored like the thunder and I'll be up again tonight. I deserve a rest."

"It's not my fault you refuse to sleep at normal times!"

Legolas sighed. "Just hand me some rabbit, Gimli." He held out his hand when he thought he heard the slightest strains of music - no, singing! Legolas cocked his head and listened intently, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Gimli asked, puzzled.

Legolas heard the strain again, this time more clearly. It was from the Namarie! "That! That music!"

Gimli cocked an eyebrow and gave his friend a look that said it all. "I hear nothing but the fire and those damned crickets."

Legolas strained his ears, but it was gone. He sighed, "Nevermind," and picked up a portion of coney. Gimli gave him another look, but merely set in to his own half. "I wonder if things will have changed since I left," Legolas ruminated to no one in particular.

"When was the last time you were home?" Gimli queried.

His elven friend gave him a half smile and replied, "Since just before the Council."

"Oh," was all the dwarf could manage.

"I wonder if the shadow of Mordor left my home in ruin or the better for it," Legolas mused.

"I wouldn't give it too much thought," replied Gimli. "Though I doubt Thranduil will have aught good to say of my coming with you."

The elf sighed and agreed, "Yes, I doubt so too. However, you're going to have to learn to hold your tongue around my father. He's not one for poorly chosen words."

"Bah!" was all Gimli said, then muttered, "Poorly chosen words indeed!" and, having finished his rabbit and tea, lay down for the night. Legolas stood, bow in hand, and perched himself on top of the small hillock to keep watch. A quick look about revealed nothing of interest or danger, so he occupied himself by watching the stars come out.

Lasselanta, fully satisfied that the stars were as beautiful as she had known they would be, gazed once more upon her birth star, then padded back inside. She hated to go in, but any longer and a stray orc might scent the wood smoke and come to investigate. It was best to go in. She grabbed her hanging cloak on the way down and her ears were assaulted by the shrieking kettle, which she sprinted to relieve from the stovetop. She set it gingerly on the smooth flat floor of a stone niche near the stove hoping that not all the water had boiled away. After scrounging up some peppermint leaves for tea, she found that she had just enough water to fill her ancient teapot. She had bought the thing long, long ago in Bree, where she was taken to be an odd female Ranger. Lasselanta smiled at this; little had they known. She warmed her hands around a handle-less soapstone cup she had carved in her early days. Her first few winters had been tough, spent hunting with Celebrindal and using up precious energy widening the tiny cellar. But that had been easy compared to when she hit bedrock, which was most definitely not made of soapstone.

Memory overtook Lasselanta and slowly drew her back:

" 'I'm sorry dearhart, but your parents, they have passed.' Suddenly, the song of mourning made sense. She knew elves had died, but not her parents. It wasn't possible! Her teacher must have seen the look on her face, and reached out to comfort her, but she wrenched away and ran into the forest.

'Lasselanta! No! Come back!' but she was too swift and small. 'Leave her be,' a low voice floated after her. 'A night in the forest will not hurt her.' 'But my lord! The spiders, the orcs!' The voice was overconfident, 'She will not stray far. After all, she cannot, she was sired by a human.'

She dashed tears from her eyes and defiantly ran further. When night fell and she had cried all she could, she crept back like only she could and snuck into her room. She quickly and calculatingly packed her stone and metal working tools, wrapping them in their leather case. Then came her scout clothes, soap, and extra boots to be shoved into her pack. Extra bow strings, fletching tools, and her whetstone joined them. She quickly threw her warmest cloak over her shoulders and rolled a blanket from her bed. She strapped her small bow and double swords to her back. She quickly raided the kitchens of some of its journey food, then headed back out into the forest. They'd never find her now."

She jerked herself out of her reverie with tears in her eyes. That foolish king. Perhaps she would still be in Mirkwood if it weren't for his words and her grief and wounded pride. Celebrindal whined, worried, and gently butted her leg with his head.

"You are right, mellon," she whispered. "What's done is done, and I can never go back." With that, she dragged herself to bed.