Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, only Celanor.

Prologue

Celanor was the youngest of the four children of Elrond and Celebrian, and the younger daughter. She was close to Arwen in age, and old enough to remember clearly the passing of their mother into the West. She could not claim optimism during that time-she missed Celebrian as dearly as the rest of her siblings, and after nearly a thousand years could still feel the distinct sting of loss.

However, it was the anniversary of her one-thousandth birthday, and the sting was dimmed by excitement and love of her family. Arwen had returned from Lorien for the occasion, radiant as always in her blue riding cloak, joined by Celeborn. Galadriel, needed in Lorien, had sent her wishes and laments on to Celanor through Celeborn.

She had missed her sister in the years that she had been away, and immediately endeavored to spend more time with her. So, in the afternoon hours before the celebration was to begin, Celanor and Arwen prepared together in their rooms.

"You ought to wear your hair up this evening, Anor," Arwen suggested, eyeing her sister as she brushed her hair with a fine comb. The younger elleth wrinkled her nose.

"I never wear my hair up, why do it now?"

"Because, you're going to be a millennia old, and it's a traditional thing!"

"No it isn't, Arwen. You just want to put my hair up."

"Maybe. Just one braid?"

"Fine."

Celanor, insisting on sitting on the windowsill for some fresh air, held a tree blossom in her palm while Arwen combed and braided her hair into a traditional warrior style, handing the blossom to Arwen when she asked to place it on the bottom of the final central braid.

"There. Now it shows you're both strong and beautiful."

Arwen had finished, but Celanor paid no attention. She was intent upon observing a party of visitors that their father was greeting in the courtyard.

They had silver hair, similar to her grandfather's in length and texture, and stunning blue eyes paired with quite possibly the whitest skin she'd ever seen, even compared to her sister's alabaster tone. She fingered her own wavy golden strands, envying these obviously Sindarin elves in their beauty. She had always been told her hair was like sunshine, but she suddenly wished for the starlight hair of her mother's family, and was glad for the style Arwen had given her that hid the almost curly texture of her hair.

So focused on vanity as she was, she almost missed when her father bowed to the elf at the front of the party. Intrigued, she leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the unknown elf. He was quite beautiful, with a strong jawline and an archer's build, and yet had a gentle look about him that was rare among the others in his party. All of her curiosity drained out of her to be replaced by embarrassment when the elf seemed to sense her gaze and looked up at her.

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, she resisted the urge to give an awkward little wave and instead lowered her gaze and retreated from the window, grimacing when she turned away. Arwen was grinning at her, eyebrow raised in admonishment.

"Shut up," the elleth muttered, stepping to the wardrobe and selecting a gown rather than meeting her sister's gaze.

"You've already made a fool of yourself, I'm just watching it happen!"

"Please stop." Celanor groaned and stepped behind the dressing curtain, desperately trying to ignore her older sister as she dressed.

"That's Legolas, if you wanted to know. Prince of Mirkwood."

She resisted the urge to smack her forehead, stepping out from the curtain to meet the gentle teasing eyes of her sister. "Are you done now, my dearest sister?"

"Yes, I'm quite finished. And you look wonderful, Celanor."

Celanor looked at herself in the mirror and shrugged indifferently. She had opted for a simple flowing white gown and silk golden shawl with pearls and sparkling white stones sewn in at the waist. Arwen had added the same white jewels to her hair, sparkling like stars. Celanor touched them gently, recalling her previous wish for silver hair, and felt it again just as strong. In the dimming light her hair seemed yellow, her unnatural freckles more pronounced.

Forcefully dispelling of her negative thoughts, she placed her circlet upon her head, nodded to herself in the mirror, and turned to Arwen with a bright smile.

"Shall we go greet our visitors?"

"Your visitors, Anor. They're here for you, remember that."

"Really wish they weren't."

"Oh, shut up."

Arm in arm, they set off together for the courtyard where their father stood. He was now joined by Elladan and Elrohir, their two brothers, twins in body and soul. Furthermore, Legolas had joined the little greeting group, to Celanor's great dismay. As soon as she spotted him she began dragging her feet as Arwen pulled her along.

"You're such a little sister, Celanor."

"Oh, really? I had no idea."

Both brothers, hearing their youngest sister's sarcastic laments, turned with matching grins to greet their sisters. "Late, as always," Elrohir commented, this directed to Arwen, who made a face at him.

"Why, Anor's ever so eager to arrive, look at her!" Elladan added, grinning wider at Celanor's huff of annoyance. "This is your party, you know, dear one."

"Shove off, Elladan," Celanor replied, the corner of her lips twitching.

"Ouch, already so old and crotchety!" Elladan clutched his heart in mock-hurt, looking to his brother. "Elrohir, who knew she could spit such venom!"

"I don't even care that I look nice right now, Elladan, I will tackle you," Celanor made to crack her knuckles, but then her father sighed and finally turned around.

"Please don't, you two," he admonished, though with an amused smile. "Why so disgruntled, my daughter?" Elrond asked, directing his dark eyes to his youngest child, who turned her matching ones on him with a raised brow.

"Ada, you try preparing for a celebration with Arwen."

Lord Elrond began to chuckle while Arwen attempted to fight for her dignity, causing Celanor to release a grudging smile. "I suppose it's been a good decision of mine not to do so, hm?"

"You'd be right in that assumption," Celanor grinned up at her father, who placed a kiss upon her forehead.

"Welcome to one thousand years, Anor."

To anyone else within the courtyard, it seemed then that Celanor glowed far brighter than any elf in Rivendell, resembling the sun for which she'd been named.

"Thank you, Ada," she murmured, so pleased with this small act of affection that she was nearly unable to speak.

"Ah, and let me introduce you to a friend of Elrohir and Elladan's, whom you have not yet had the chance to meet," Elrond gestured, and Legolas joined the circle from where he had been speaking with Elrohir briefly. Celanor, barely remembering her earlier embarrassment, smiled and bowed to the prince of Mirkwood.

"Well met, Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm," she greeted, meeting his gaze. She was a little surprise to find that he was smiling, and he inclined his head to her.

"You are far more beautiful than your brothers have claimed, Lady Celanor of Rivendell," Legolas replied. His voice was melodic and gentle, and Celanor quickly found herself coloring at his words, not knowing quite what to say to that.

"My sister rivals the sun herself," Arwen came to her aid, smiling at her, and Celanor immediately found her footing.

"I do not," she demurred, but smiled indulgently to ease the firmness of her words, "for the lady Galadriel rivals both the sun and stars, as you and I well know." Celanor thought she saw Arwen's gaze dim in disappointment for a moment, but the moment was gone as the time to go to the falls for the celebration had come.

Celanor nodded to Legolas once more, who joined her brothers, though she noticed he still looked at her with something like a twinkle in his eyes. Feeling her father's palms on her shoulders, Celanor looked to him with a small smile.

"There are some things I will need to discuss with some of the Woodland elves today, daughter, but you will remember to save me a dance, yes?" Lord Elrond asked, and Celanor found herself nodding, even as she wanted to ask him what they would be discussing.

"Celanor!"

Confused, she looked around to find the source of the voice, until she was ambushed by a hug. Laughing, she returned it to the young man. "Estel, I am truly blessed to see you today."

"I've brought you a gift, my friend," the young man stepped away, brushing his dark hair from his face-Celanor felt a moment of sadness, he was aging so quickly, only twenty years had passed-and smiling at her as he held something out.

Astonished, Celanor took a long look at the beautifully crafted sheathed sword he held out to her. The sheath itself had engravings depicting the last Alliance that fought against the forces of Mordor, with Isildur and her own father at the front. "Aragorn-"

"Go on, take it!" He urged, grinning excitedly.

Very gently, Celanor took the blade from his hands and pulled it from the sheath. If she was astonished before, it didn't hold a candle to her shock now. It was a perfect sword for her, curved near the end in the true Elvish style, perfectly balanced, and engraved in the language of the Noldor and of the Sindar, named Sunspear.

She raised her gaze to Aragorn, who continued to grin. "The name is fitting, I think, don't you?"

"I don't know what to say, my friend-"

"It's all right, the look on your face says enough," he laughed, happy and bright. "Use it well, Celanor." In those words, a touch of his usual uncanny wiseness showed, and Celanor smiled.

The evening continued in a whirl, though Celanor refused to drink the strong wine that the other Elves were taking pleasure in. She spent most of it at the table observing the whole affair contentedly, with her new sword resting at her hip in a reassuring manner.

Aragorn's gift was one that she already treasured, knowing that she would in fact use it well in the years to come. She was trained as a warrior, which was the reason she was allowed the privilege of wearing her hair in the way Arwen had done it, and was keenly aware of the growing darkness in Middle Earth. Where others found relief in company, she found it with both that and a weapon at her side.

Even so, she found it difficult to bring forth the desire to dance, hit with a painful longing after a quiet conversation with Celeborn-she wished her mother was there. She was often hit with these moments, where she felt a hole in her heart that could not be filled, as though all the love she gave her mother every day was sucked away, leaving nothing behind to be given. She didn't know if her siblings ever felt this way, but knew her father coped with something far more difficult as he loved Celebrian deeply and had a great bond with her.

She wished Celebrian was there to dispel of her worries, her self-consciousness about the beautiful Sindarin elves that filled the celebration, with their silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes. She wished she were there to remind her of her spirit, to reassure her of her worth in ways that her siblings and her father were simply unable to.

So she watched from afar as Aragorn and Arwen fell in love, and smiled as her brothers told boisterous stories to groups, slipping away as soon as the opportunity arose.

By the river and under the trees, she could breathe, and let the sadness clutch at her heart. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to force the physical pain of it away as she rested her other on the pommel of her sword. Sighing, she sat on the rocks at the riverbed, taking off her slippers and allowing her toes to dip in the water, taking off her shawl and resting her sword near her hip as she did so. She leaned back on the heels of her palms and blinked up at the stars, watching as they winked into view as night came.

Out in the air, the oppression of loss wasn't so deep, and she took a deep breath and said a quiet prayer for her mother off across the sea. Even now, she could hardly remember the sound of her voice, but wished deeply to hear it again.

Her braid brushed the ground behind her, and she had the sudden urge to take out all the pins her sister had used, to let it flow freely in the air, but knew she must return to the party at some point.

It was then that she sensed someone joining her, and turned her head slightly to greet them, quite surprised to see Legolas moving through the brush toward her. Seeing her looking, he greeted her quietly, and she responded in kind, not reacting as he sat beside her. He looked up at the sky, so she resumed her thoughtful watch of the stars, unconsciously picking out the patterns of constellations that she had been taught. She had begun to immerse herself in her thoughts again when Legolas spoke.

"I am rarely greeted with the sight of the stars at night in Mirkwood," he murmured, and she looked at him in curiosity. "I often forget how they look, and how bright their light is."

Celanor smiled at that and looked back up at the sky, "I hadn't thought of that. I feel as though I would become quite lonely without them, but of course in Mirkwood the trees tell their own stories."

"Do the stars tell such stories?" Legolas asked, and she glanced at him again, her smile widening of its own accord.

"Well, of course, but you must learn them as one learns to speak to the trees, and each group of stars has a great many stories," she replied, turning to him again to find him facing her as well.

"Then you must teach me, one day," he said, glowing in the starlight as he smiled.

"I would be glad to," she spoke softly, and felt her cheeks flush as her heart fluttered.

They stared at each other for a moment, before she remembered the party and gathered her things, ignoring both her shawl and her slippers and simply carrying them with her sword as Legolas offered her a hand to help her up.

She accepted, and they walked back together, Legolas complimenting her sword with a warrior's eye, and Celanor took a moment to gush about it, letting him hold it once they reentered the area of the party where there was much better light so he could see the engravings.

He studied it for a moment in silence, reading the inscription, before he abruptly looked up at her with twinkling eyes. Taking her slippers and shawl as well and setting them aside at her table with her sword, he offered her his hand.

"Would my Lady do me the honor of being her first dance of the night?"

"Ah, you were paying attention."

"You were being somewhat reclusive, if you'll permit me saying."

She took his hand with a grin, "I don't have to permit you of anything, you're the prince in this situation, Your Majesty."

"And what situation is that, Celanor?" his eyes still twinkled, teasing, but Celanor still found herself stumbling over her words, before giving up.

"Honestly, I've no idea, but if you'd like to enlighten me I'd be ever so grateful," she replied, acutely aware as he rested his hand on her waist, and then at the small of her back as she moved closer.

"We're dancing, obviously," Legolas teased, and she grimaced.

"Right. Missed that. Could have used that, missed it."

"Did your wit evade you?"

"Shut up."

Legolas laughed with gusto, throwing his head back, and she started to giggle a little, feeling lightheaded and intoxicated without drinking a single drop of wine.

They were observed, of course, by the other elves. Elrond looked on with a slight smile, having noticed her earlier reclusiveness, and also pleased that his own plans with the Woodland elves would be untroubled.

Their conversation faded away gradually as they danced, instead preferring to simply enjoy each other's company as the night grew late. Celanor was struck by how graceful a dancer he truly was, and wondered how it may be reflected in his style of combat. She knew Mirkwood elves were largely private about their own weaponry and war strategies, as well as their many unique customs. Unlike the Elves of Rivendell, Mirkwood Elves rarely, if ever, allowed Men or Dwarves into their company. She yearned to ask him questions, but despite his kind nature felt that it would impose upon his privacy.

Instead, she politely stayed silent and found her mind and eyes wandering as they danced. She was pleased to find that Rivendell and Mirkwood Elves mingled together rather than remaining in their respective groups. Indeed, she was surprised that the Mirkwood Elves had even deigned to participate in such a small event, even going as far as to send their prince. Of course, Thranduil remained in his home, not having traveled from it since his beloved queen died.

However, she was mildly suspicious of Legolas's attendance. As a prince, he would not come unless there was truly something important to discuss with her father. Although she yearned to ask, she knew it wasn't her place. She wondered, then, why he chose to interact with her aside from mere politeness. She felt a slight pang of insecurity; she wondered how she must look, with her golden hair and freckled skin, next to the epitome of a Sindar Elf.

"You seem to get along well with your brothers," Legolas prompted, wrenching her from her thoughts. She blinked at him, then smiled.

"Well, yes, they're insufferable, but they're family. Arwen and I get along better with each other than we do with the twins, as they largely enjoy their own company," Legolas chuckled at this, and she shrugged. "Their heads are quite large, it's a bit difficult to enjoy them when they're so thick."

"I haven't any siblings of my own, but I imagine the four of you have had—"

Legolas was abruptly interrupted as a sentry burst into the clearing, stopping in front of Lord Elrond. Quickly on alert, Celanor removed herself from Legolas' grasp and moved to observe, retrieving her sword as she did. Her father stood suddenly, and calmly looked around at the guests.

"Friends, I'm afraid Rivendell's borders are unsafe at the moment due to the presence of a group of goblins," he stated, spreading his hands wide. "The Elves on watch will take care of this, and we will send more to aid them. At this time I suggest relocating the party to the Hall." With that, he clapped his hands, and Elves quickly began gathering their things and heading back up the path, with Arwen leading.

Celanor, however, joined her brothers in front of Lord Elrond, waiting for orders.

"Celanor, this is your party, you should be there to continue it," he said, frowning.

"With all due respect, My Lord, I'm also one of your best warriors," she replied, her eyes narrowed. "Some of my friends are on watch right now, and it's my duty to protect them and Rivendell."

Elrond sighed, "Very well. You, Elrohir, and Elladan—and Legolas, if he wishes—are to ride out as soon as possible and attack the goblins from the far side."

Elrohir nudged her with his elbow, "You may want to change out of that dress first."

Celanor responded with a rude hand gesture, and whirled around to sprint toward the stables with Elrohir, Elladan, and Legolas on her heels.

"Do you perhaps want to grab some boots first, sister?" Elladan teased, and Celanor flashed him a begrudging grin as she rolled her eyes.

"Don't really need them, brother."

"Hey! You just responded all nice to him!"

"Maybe he's the likeable twin, ever think of that?"

"Aw, you're too sweet, dear sister," Elladan gushed, batting his eyes, and Celanor wrinkled her nose.

"Don't get used to it. The three of you have weapons to grab, yes?"

The three Ellons glanced at each other, and branched off to retrieve weapons while Celanor set to work readying horses, not bothering with saddles as they needed to be on their way. Her own hot blooded stallion sensed the atmosphere, snorting and tossing his head repeatedly, ready to go. She tapped her bare foot impatiently, holding the reins of the four horses and attempting to soothe each of them as they shifted around, just as impatient as she was.

Elladan returned first, laden with a bow, quiver, and two swords. She handed his reins to him, and he mounted quickly, circling his mare as they continued to wait. They didn't say a word to each other, now both serious as they felt the impact of the situation—goblins, right on Rivendell's border, weren't a good sign.

Legolas skidded down the path next, and took his reins from her, armed only with a bow and a knife. He leapt onto his horse as quickly as Elladan had, just as Elrohir sprinted to them and snatched his reins from Celanor's hands.

She mounted her stallion in time with Elrohir, feeling the chill of her new sword at her hip, and nudged him forward with her legs, only offering a quick command over her shoulder. "Let's go."

A/N: Aaand welcome to my first LOTR fic! I have plenty of ideas for this one, and I'll probably be doing an Aragorn/OC in the near future as well. Celanor is kind of a fun character to write, I'm working on making OCs actually distinguishable from each other lmao. Elves are weird, though.

Review if you want, tell me what you like and dislike, where you'd like to see this go. Thanks homies