Hello!

This is a little story I thought of after getting some reviews on a Legolas and Tauriel story of mine where most of the reviewers wanted Tauriel to go to the meeting at Rivendell with Legolas and later on, be accepted into the fellowship. So this story is kind of for them and for my plot bunny (that's such a funny word, don't you think?), so I hope you'll like it!

This story will have nine chapters (one for each member of the fellowship) and will be about their time in Rivendell before leaving for the journey to destroy the Ring. It will be the members meeting Tauriel and their thoughts/impressions of her.

I do not have a specific updating schedule, but I'll try to update every two days, if I can.

I do not own any characters or places; J.R.R Tolkien or Peter Jackson and Co do.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Boromir and the Warrior

The training yard was empty as Boromir entered, his steps sounding loud and heavy even to his own ears. Rivendell was a calm place, unnaturally so. A delicate place, hidden from the rest of the world, with the air fresh of some power he did not know and the sounds of water flowing and birds chirping gave the whole valley an illusion of being safe and unreachable. The elven valley possessed some beauty, Boromir could admit, but it wasn't a beauty that spoke to him in a pleasant way. Sorcery, he knew was searing through this place and he did not like the way it could bewitch his mind, if only for mere seconds. The sooner they would leave this place, the better. Outside, he was in control of his own fate.

He drew his sword even though he had no one to fight. He doubted that would be the case once he and his comrades left the valley. Sighing, he stroked the flat side of his wide sword with his thumb, feeling the cool surface of the blade. It gave him a true sense of being safe than the shimmering illusion of Rivendell.

The sword was strong in his hand, a gift from his father. The brief thought of his father made him frown. He would not be too pleased with him going on this journey, a journey that could mean that he would never return. He was sure that his father would've agreed; that the Ring was better off being used to their advantage than to destroy it.

Thinking of his father, his thoughts unconsciously turned to his brother. Faramir would've loved it there; the magical atmosphere and buildings – so unlike Minas Tirith – , the elves and the knowledge that one could gather if you were interested enough. Boromir's interest for books and knowledge of great times of old were not nonexistent, but small compared to the love he held for weaponry and adventures. He had no doubt that Faramir would have been the better option as a messenger and negotiator, but when it all came down to going on a quest that could possibly be like walking towards ones death, Boromir was glad that Faramir had not gone in his stead. In Minas Tirith, Faramir may not be the happiest, not even the safest, but he had at least an army of Gondorian soldiers to help protect the city and its citizens. A small comfort.

Boromir sighed and raised his sword, admiring the way the beams of the sun caught the steel and colored it gold. He swung it around, enjoying the familiar feeling. In the lack of opponents, the air would have to do, even though it was not the most dangerous of enemy. Closing his eyes, Boromir could see his old sword instructor, his friends and the ones he used to spar with. He knew their every movements and it became easier to swing his sword at the air. After all, it was something he was born to do.

He did not know for how long he had been there, fighting opponents that only existed in his mind and was far away from the training yard of Rivendell, when he suddenly was interrupted.

"An impressive enemy", he heard a soft, female voice say with the faintest trace of mockery in her voice.

Boromir turned around, not lowering his sword and his grey eyes narrowed at the sight of the newcomer. He recognized the elf before him, not only for her bright, red hair, but also because he had seen her tiptoeing around the elven prince that would join Boromir and the others on this quest of doom in an attempt to save Middle Earth.

The elf regarded him with alert eyes he could not say the color of and she seemed to seize him up with her gaze, as if trying to decide if he was worthy her time and attention or not. Boromir lowered his sword, but did not put it back in its sheath. He stared back at the woman, because there was something intriguing about her.

She was tall, but then again weren't all elves? She was dressed in what he thought was the elvish way of an armor; not the shiny, metallic sort that was heavy and rustled when you moved, but simple tunics in the colors of the forest, strong in its own way, with leather jerkins. The elves valued speed over strength, Boromir knew this and looking at the female elf, the way she was dressed and how she held herself, it only confirmed what he had been told as a young boy about the elves unique way of fighting.

Boromir felt uncomfortable as she held his gaze with hers. There was certain wildness in her eyes, very different from the elves of Rivendell. It both unnerved him and made him feel curious.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked him politely, tilting her head to the side and taking a step forwards.

He instinctively took a step back and the elf raised an eyebrow at him. He cursed inwardly.

"If you wish", he said curtly.

She nodded in thanks. Boromir returned to sit down at one of the benches. It felt as if his weight would crush it, which was silly, but he could not grasp how something as delicate as the furniture of elves could keep up the dead weight of mere mortal beings.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the task ahead. He moved the whetstone over the blade, the sound harsh against the other so calm atmosphere. Through the curtain of his light brown hair, he studied the elf. She had taken out a bow and placed a couple of arrows nearby. It was with deadly precision and a steady hand she drew her bow – an elegant thing in wood, crooked, with fine lines – and let the arrow fly. The yard was wide and the targets were placed at a distance Boromir knew that no Man could ever reach. Yet the elf's arrow hit its target with a soft 'thud' and even though Boromir squinted his eyes, he could still not see if it had it the center of the target. He moved the whetstone down his blade again as the red-haired elf picked up another arrow.

"Do you practice archery?" she asked him, not looking at him, but eyes firmly set on another target.

Boromir startled and he looked up at her, not seeing any point to pretend not to watch her any longer. He cleared his throat.

"Not anymore", he said and his voice was low. "I did when I was younger, but I've always found the bow, however useful it might be, to be a coward's weapon."

The elf turned to look at him, but she didn't look offended. She furrowed her brows as if deep in thought and he wondered if he should not have kept silent. The air felt thick before the elf spoke again:

"A coward's weapon", she repeated and let go of the arrow.

Boromir flinched ever so slightly as it connected with its target, because the elf had not broken eye contact with his as she had let go of the arrow. Was it just him or had the sound of the arrow hitting its target and the gleam in the elf's dark eyes been a bit foreboding? Boromir sat up straighter, his grip on the sword handle so tight that his knuckles appeared white. The elf lowered her bow.

"It is not a coward's weapon", she protested and her voice was determined. "It is a weapon that requires skill and sharp senses. It is a challenge. Anyone can swing a sword and cut someone to death, but to shoot an arrow…. It takes practice and a keen eye, a steady hand and a strong mind. Archery is a challenge."

She sounded passionate when she spoke about the art of archery; she seemed more alive than he had ever thought an elf could be.

Boromir clenched his jaw, feeling humiliated at the easy way she had waved away the art of swordplay. He raised his chin defiantly and put down the whetstone on the white bench he was sitting on.

"Swordplay is not by any means easy", he informed her in an offended voice.

The elf looked at him with quite the emotionless face, almost looking unsure if she had offended him or not. Boromir had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He continued:

"It requires strength to wield a sword. It is a weapon of justice. The one wielding the sword holds the power."

His words seemed to fascinate the elf. Her eyes got a faraway look in them and she looked out over the yard with its white stone floor and yellowing trees without really seeing it. Boromir's lips stretched into a small, winning smile. Then, as sudden as the elf's faraway look had appeared, something in her expression changed and her eyes were hard as they fell upon him next.

"No weapon is one of justice", she said wisely and something haunted flickered in the depths of her eyes.

"It is if the man in control of the weapon is", Boromir responded seriously.

The elf's lips quirked into a bitter smile. It looked as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Instead she asked:

"Are you a good swordsman?"

The question surprised him, but he tried to not let it show.

"I am quite good."

"How so?"

"I am one of the best at home", he replied stiffly and felt like a stupid little child when the elf let out something resembling a snort and an apologetic smile.

"Forgive me", she said, still with that small, amused smile. "I am not familiar with what the Men would call their best swordsmen. My knowledge of the skills of Men is mediocre, I'm afraid to say."

"If you want to spar, I can show you", Boromir offered, though the tips of his ears turned pink at the feeling of wanting to show this elf of what he could do, wanting to impress her. He guessed – not without some bitterness – that this was how Faramir must usually feel around their father and he frowned.

The elf raised an eyebrow again at him and he felt a bit foolish under her gaze that had seen so many things.

"Spar with you…." She drew out the words as if they were foreign to her.

"Or are you afraid?" he challenged her, readjusting his sword in his hand.

The elf expression changed to one of stone and her eyes became dark, a furious spark nestling itself there. Boromir recoiled at her sorrowful glare.

"I have fought spiders in the size of large boulders", she said and her voice was steady, cold and with a hint of something fierce. "I have battled Orcs that did not fear death or pain. I have faced a dragon, which burned everything that would come in his way. So I am not afraid of a Man holding a sword, no matter how sharp it may be."

The silence that followed her words was tense and Boromir wondered if there would be wise to spar with her. He could see now, now when he was looking, that she held herself like a warrior, that her haunted eyes were those of a warrior. A wiser and lesser man might have taken back his words of sparring, but Boromir would not. After being surrounded by elves with cool and polite expressions, it was refreshing to be in the company of the red-haired elven woman. She had a fire within her.

"Shall we?" he asked her when it looked as if she had calmed down and gestured towards the empty yard.

She regarded him with a look he could not read, before smiling slightly.

"We shall."

Boromir stood up, stretching his legs and shoulders. It was needed after hours spent of sitting in the Council of Elrond. The elf put away her bow and took out two elegant knives she had hanging at her sides. Boromir watched them apprehensively.

"You do not use a sword?" he asked her, though it was obvious.

"No."

"Yet you have ruled out the art of swordplay as a lesser way of defense", Boromir concluded and couldn't help the smile of disbelief breaking out across his face.

"Show me that I am wrong, then", the elf challenged him and without waiting for an answer, she charged at him.

Boromir barely had time to raise his sword and the sound of steel against steel rang out over the quiet yard. He gave her a half nod of appreciation before going to attack.

When watching the elf fight, Boromir knew that there was a very slight chance that he could ever win. Her movements were quick and graceful. She was like flowing water; whenever he thought he got close enough to touch her, she slipped away. He suspected that she was only playing with him, testing him for her own reasons.

Her attacks were practiced and each of her knives was like snakes, waiting to strike. Boromir felt heavy and clumsy when he fought her and after a while, sweat broke out across his forehead. He grit his teeth and continued fighting, clinging to a desperate hope that he might win this duel.

Eventually, she sidestepped him and suddenly, he had one of her knives pointing at his throat. He stood completely still, panting slightly and his tunic clinging to his back with sweat. The elf did not make any move to put away her knife, but she had a pleased smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"You're good", she complimented softly, though Boromir thought it sounded as if she was talking to herself. "You will do."

She drew back her knife and straightened up, not looking the slightest bit disheveled. Boromir put down his own sword, not knowing what to say or do next.

"You seem to manage without a sword", he spoke and watched as her eyes seemed to twinkle merrily.

"Yes", she agreed. "Though I do believe that you are very skilled in your art, by the standards of Men, at least. Those few Men I've seen fight have not had the power you had. You're in control, balanced when you have a blade in your hand."

Boromir found that he could not look at her anymore and averted his eyes, tongue tied. The elf seemed to understand and she did not speak until he had gathered his thoughts and was being able to meet her gaze again.

"It was an honor to spar with you, Boromir of Gondor", the elf said with a hint of a smile and gracefully bowed her head to him.

Boromir shook his hair out of his eyes and returned the smile, albeit a bit grudgingly.

"Likewise, Warrior of Mirkwood", he replied, not forgetting the lessons in courtesy he had been forced to sit through during his younger years.

The elf smiled wider now, almost looking a bit embarrassed. Boromir blinked, the inhumanly beauty of her striking him for a second and made the surrounding area seem dull in comparison of her fiery hair, pale skin and high cheekbones, grace and gleaming eyes.

"I shall not disturb you further", she said and her expression became one of softer neutrality. It made it easier to look at her. "The prince awaits me."

With one last nod in Boromir's direction, she took up her bow in one hand and slung the quiver over her shoulder. Her steps were confident as she walked away down the path, her hair gleaming in the light from the slowly setting sun.

Boromir run a hand through his hair and sunk down onto a bench again. He did not think that he ever would understand elves. They were in a world of their own even though they walked amongst the mortals. This red-headed warrior was no exception.

So, that was the first chapter!

I would very much like to hear what you thought so far; if it's good or not (if it's not, I would like to know why and perhaps some suggestions of what I could've done better/do better). Thanks for reading!