Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot.

Author's Note: Let's just say that Arwen should be around 16 in human years, I cannot do Elven ones.

This started out as a 250-300 word prompt about a character that I haven't written about and getting lost. It ended up as this:

She urged her mare forward through the trees, not minding the way that the birds stopped singing when they passed. There was so much anger pent up inside of her, and she needed to let it all out. Her fists were clenched around the reins, and her legs were squeezing her mare faster and faster and faster. Why had he not kept his rude mouth shut? This had been the last time that she would take insults from him—no more. The mare underneath her followed the commands that she gave, but she knew that the mare did not like to disobey its master. Gaeralagos was her brother's horse, yet still was reluctant to bear her against her brother's wishes. Her whole family knew how adventurous she was—she often got in to a great amount of trouble wherever she went, no matter if it was serious or not. That was why most—if not all—of the horses in Imladris were for forbidden to carry her without their master's consent. All of them had obeyed. Save Gaeralagos, it seemed. Maybe the mare had sensed the elleth's mood and taken pity on her.

Arwen was furious with her brother. Not the brother who's horse she was riding; the other one. Somewhere inside of her, she knew that he had been joking, or something of that nature, but she still could not control her anger. He had no right—no right at all!—to say what he had said. For an Elf of his age, he should have realized that a younger one like her would take his words seriously, no matter if he had meant them or not. The light was fading, shadows trailing behind her as she pushed the mare faster towards the loom of the mountains. She would not be going back home for a while, if she could help it. There was no way that she could face her family any time soon—especially with the way she had stormed out into the gardens after that extremely long lecture from her father and Lord Glorfindel. She could not even remember what the lecture had been about…perhaps about throwing inside. There was no apology in her heart for that, Elladan deserved every text that had been thrown at him. Mayhap that was it then, they could have been telling her not to damage ancient books.

Whatever the case, it had not been a very good idea to ruin her mother's favorite clump of flowers afterwards. Now she was stuck on a hesitant horse with a pack strapped behind her on the saddle and a bow and quiver slung across her back. She supposed that she would ride to Lórien, and hoped that she would have enough food to last the journey. Thus her first though of veering around and returning to Imladris was born. She did not think that she had enough food to last the month or so that it would take her to get there—she had counted yesterday—and her hunting skills were not ones to brag about. With a sigh, she shoved her worries down and continued riding. If she turned back, she could never face the embarrassment, nor the teasing, nor the fact of seeing her brother quite so soon. She also knew that she would have to stop soon. It was darkening greatly and Gaeralagos was tiring. The mare had shown great strength; she had galloped on for hours without so much as a snort with the young elleth on her back. In a few minutes, Arwen finally pulled her foaming mare into a halt and slid gently off her back. With a delicate hand, she stripped Gaeralagos of her saddle, saying softly, "Please forgive me, friend. I was angry and paying no heed to your hardships. I was selfish, and only thought of myself." The mare only lowered her head so that her muzzle grazed the ground. It had been three days since they had left, and both of them were feeling the speed that they had departed with. Arwen hoped that Gaeralagos would not be angry with her, for she still wished for a horse on her journey.

The elleth looked around her, unsure of where to lay down. She had forgotten to bring a bedroll, or anything of the sort. The nights before, she had found a semi-comfortable patch of grass on which to rest. This time, she propped herself up against a tree and pulled an apple out of her pack, then dropped the saddle down next to her. She did not bother to tie her mare up, for she knew that Gaeralagos would not leave her, no matter how much the horse's heart ached to return to her master. Soon her apple was finished, and she lay her head against the trunk behind her. Tomorrow they would continue on towards their destination, whether they liked it or not.

Underneath the moon, she again cursed her brother for getting her into this mess. Why could he have not simply stopped speaking before he said that thing again? It hurt her to think about it, for she knew that it was not true, and that he was insulting her harshly. Before she knew it, tears were brimming in her eyes, and she had to swallow roughly to keep them from falling. She tried to keep her mind from drifting back to their conversation, but as usual, she failed.

She had been climbing a tree, trying to impress her brothers as they watched, but she had missed a branch and fallen, and now they were smiling softly at her. "Arwen, little one, you should not try to climb that high, not yet."

"Why not?" She had pouted, confusion evident on her face.

"You could fall, sister. Like now, but worse. We would never forgive ourselves if you were hurt," Elladan spoke.

She gritted her teeth and looked down at the ground. "But all of the others can climb almost—if not—perfectly. Even the elflings can. Why can I not?"

Her brothers exchanged a glance, and with a slightly mischievous grin that made Arwen's heart sink, Elladan told her his favorite insult. "You are not as Elvish as they are, little sister. You have Edain blood, and they do not. It makes you the tiniest bit less graceful than they."

She had chased him into the library, where she had assumed that he thought Erestor would help him out, and thrown everything that she could find at him. The only problem had been the ruckus that they had caused, and Lord Glorfindel had to interrupt his conversation with Erestor in a quiet corner to come check on what all the commotion was about.

The tears were falling by then, trickling down her face. She knew that she was an Elf, and she was proud of it. Mortals were unwise and…and they did not seem to have time. They rushed every little thing, and got angry so easily. Men were weak and inferior, the Eldar were strong and superior. As she lost most of her awareness, she repeated to herself, She was immortal. She was an Elf.