Summary: Before Bilbo Baggings, before Thorin set out to reclaim Eredor, before Bard's children were ever an idea, there was a warrior of legendary skill. She was the daughter of steel.

Disclaimer: If I owned LotR and the Hobbit, Tauriel would be an actual character and she would be with Legolas. As it is, I only own Micaiah and any other unrecognized characters.

Confession: I am a spinster. At 17. Because Ancient Roman law states that girls can be married by 12 and boys by 14 with their parents consent. Later law states a girl (at least 12 years old) and a boy (at least 14) may marry WITHOUT their parents consent. Current laws in some US States read the same. I am 5 years older than legal marrying age. Umm...

Note: I know Legolas is old enough to have walked with Jesus, but for the sake of avoiding a perversion of his moral character, I kindly ask that you see him in this story as an Elf in a state of adolescence. Exactly how adolescent is up to you. As we all know, it is impolite to ask an Elf his age.

Chapter III - Steel is an Art

Benjamin left early the next morning after assuring himself that the woman in his home wouldn't try anything fishy while surrounded by water for miles on each side.

Bard, however, was less sure. He watched his father prepare to leave with a tight expression.

He'd not spoken, wary of their sleeping visitor, but made certain that his father was aware of his discomfort.

Before leaving, Benjamin squeezed his son's shoulder. "We need her help, Bard. It's your job to provide—not to mother your sister."

Bard fought the urge to shake his father's hand off. "It's your job to provide." He argued. "Ma abandoned us. Taking care of Sigrid is my job."

Benjamin frowned, pleading with Bard to understand. "It shouldn't be."

"There is no shame in caring for a family!" Bard hissed.

"No, my son. No shame at all. But just as your mother left and taught you the hard way how to feed yourself and care for a child, so too will I one day be gone. I don't want you to too late have to learn to work for the bread. Learn now. This opportunity is a God-send. The girl will keep house and raise your sister for two weeks. After that, she will be returned to your care."

Bard, albeit begrudgingly, nodded. "Aye, Da. I know." The dooming thought of one day being without both of his parents weighed heavily upon him.

It happened to everyone, did it not?

"Take care, son." Benjamin bid him farewell and set out for his barge.

Bard sighed heavily, staring after him for only a moment before turning to face the curtain partition that separated him from the new girl who was to take his sister out from under him for fourteen unsupervised days.

His jaw tightened. "Micaiah?" He called quietly.

When he received no answer, he pushed back the curtain. "Micaiah." She lie, wrapped in a thin blanket, completely oblivious to the world of the awake.

Bard moved closer, laying a single hand on her shoulder. "Micaiah."

She was awake in an instant, her sharp green eyes snapping open and her hand shoving his away.

He backed off, narrowing his eyes at her.

Upon taking stock of her surroundings, Micaiah relaxed and pulled her blankets around herself. "Apologies, my lord." She murmured.

"It is time to feed Sigrid." Bard informed her, his deep voice sounding miffed by her reaction. He turned away. "And stop calling me that."

Micaiah watched him leave before dropping the blanket around her waist.

Why Men insisted on growing angry at women who instinctively protect themselves was beyond her.

Her experiences with Man were few, surely, and her experiences with males of any species were even fewer, but she still struggled to understand them both.

Man would treat a woman as though she were either too weak to lift her load and thereby carry it for her, or too subject to do anything but the heavy burden of house work and child rearing.

Elves treated women as though the choice to become a warrior or a worker or a hunter was just as important as choosing to remain in the home and raise children.

And males just couldn't decide whether to respect strong women or hate them. It didn't matter which species he was.

Nevertheless, Micaiah stood from her pallet and reached for her gown, belting it on over her heavy undergown.

She stepped into the living room to find Bard waiting for her. He was already dressed, hair tied and boots on while she let her locks flow free and her feet remained bare.

He glanced at her, noting that she wore the same clothes that she had worn the day before. "How was your rest?" He asked cordially.

"Cold." She answered, lifting her chin to meet his easy gaze. Her soft voice seemed to smile where her mouth did not. "I've never felt such cold before."

When Bard frowned at her in confusion, she explained: "I hail from the Woodland Realm. By comparison, the land there never meets winter."

Bard smiled at her discomfort, wondering what it would be like to live in a perpetual summer. "We have one or two coats that you may borrow if you wish. By comparison," his eyes twinkled at her. "This is quite a warm day."

Micaiah gazed forlornly at him. "And I've pledged myself to this frozen wasteland for two weeks." She moaned.

Bard stiffened, instinctively defensive of his homeland. "It's no wasteland, lass." He corrected stoutly. "It's home to a great many good folks. She has charm all of her own. You'll see."

Micaiah nodded obligingly. "Indeed, my lord." She murmured apologetically.

Bard huffed at her and turned away. "Come. You must wake and change Sigrid."

Micaiah hurried to do his bidding. She stopped before the cradle and stared inside, heart pounding.

The child was beautiful.

Longing to feel the weight of the precious bundle in her arms, Micaiah leaned down and scooped baby Sigrid to her chest.

She was warm and solid and just the perfect side to be nestled against Micaiah's chest. The young woman's heart flooded with adoration.

The baby sighed softly, like butterfly wings brushing Micaiah's throat.

Bard watched, trying to ignore the strange feeling that curled in his gut as he watched the strange curl embrace his baby sister.

He told himself it was protectiveness - a jealousy that made him wish to push the girl aside and care for Sigrid himself.

Hadn't he proven that they didn't need her? That they didn't need their own mother? He had grown helplessly attached to his baby sister, and he needed no one to help him care for her.

As it were, Bard spun on his heel. "Her change of clothes is in here." He knelt in front of a clothes chest.

Micaiah's gaze followed him, gleaning information with which she would live the next fourteen days.

Her heart lurched as the baby placed her little hand over the swell of Micaiah's breast, hungry.

Micaiah looked down at her, her face hot. She grasped Sigrid's hand and gently pulled it away, glancing down at Bard.

Thanks be to God, he hadn't noticed.

Her eyes fell sadly to the child in her arms. How long had it been since she had nursed? How hungry must she be to recognize any woman's breasts as the home of warm milk, regardless of whether or not the woman was Sigrid's mother?

Would that I had the milk, Micaiah silently promised the baby. But alas I do not.

Bard returned to her with a change of clothes for the baby, raising an eyebrow at her flushed face. "Are you alright?"

Micaiah took the clothes. "Perfectly so." She assured him. She set to changing the baby, wincing as she had to bare poor Sigrid's skin to the cold air of early morning, but made haste in cleaning the child and bundling her once again in fresh cloth.

Together, Bard and Micaiah cleaned up the living room. Bard over saw that she could make a fire - and she could - before Micaiah focused on fixing a breakfast for the three of them.

~ Daughter of Steel ~

"You cannot run off after the presentation." Micaiah's father, Micah, ordered firmly. "I need your help today."

"Do not forbid her, Micah." Micaiah's mother argued. "It is the Prince who engages her. We are guests in this Realm. If we are to remain in good standing with the King, we shall not forsake the Prince."

Micaiah nodded brightly, giving her father a pleading smile, ever hoping that he would listen to Tilda.

But Micah scowled at his wife. "He may be the Prince, but he is still a young man who insists on taking my daughter out from under my nose at all hours of the day. I need her with me, working, not to mention—"

"He is a fine young man, Micah. He has taught her to ride and fight, and he does not forsake her as the others do." Tilda responded calmingly.

"I don't care if he is her only friend, he cannot treat my daughter as though he were married to her." Micah responded stiffly.

Micaiah's cheeks flamed. "Father!"

Tilda ignored her daughter. "Micaiah is 12, my love. She is already marrying age. What have we to lose in this? Prince Legolas is honorable and kind. He can care for her. He can protect her. They have all of the resources in that castle to safely raise a family."

Micaiah backed away from her parents. "What? Mother, stop—" she shook her head despairingly. "Legolas and I would never—"

Marry Legolas? Have his children? Raise his family?

Was this what they had in store for her?

"Micaiah can never marry a Prince, be he Man or Elf. She is too lowly, too common. And besides that, I'm not ready. Get behind me, woman, this discussion is over." Micah concluded resolutely.

Tilda narrowed her dark eyes at her husband but did as he told her, obediently letting the subject slide.

The small family unit reached the courtyard in good time and Micah reached into his cart for the two swords that they would be presenting with.

He handed one of them to Micaiah and backed into the center of the square. A multitude of Elves and Men gathered around to watch with interest as Micaiah followed him into the center.

Her sharp eyes gazed around the onlookers, wondering if she would see a familiar face.

She twirled her sword expertly, noticing one or two Elves that she had seen around a few times.

But there was no one in the crowd who truly cared to see her fight.

Legolas wasn't there, anyway.

With a determined frown, Micaiah faced her father. She twirled her sword once more and then let it settle in her grasp.

The performance was a work of showmanship, not to advertise their skills as warriors. It was all to sell the wares.

Micah lunged at his daughter, his sword low and angled for her stomach.

Micaiah side stepped, brushing his blade aside with her own. A wonderful, silvery sound rang from the contact.

Micah turned, regaining his footing. He thrust at her head but she ducked beneath it, clashing her sword against his when she cut at his side.

She hopped a swing at her legs and came down hard at him, three quick, powerful jabs at his chest.

Micah parried each one with incredible grace and pushed her back.

The swords were holding up beautifully - perfectly balanced, impossibly strong, and producing the most satisfying sound a swordsman could hope for.

Micah swung his sword in an unexpected arc at his daughter's head. In a moment of panic, she threw the sword and slid beneath her father's legs, dust billowing up majestically all around her.

With a twist she was on her feet, palm outstretched to catch her sword.

The hilt landed perfectly in her hand and Micaiah had the blade pressed to the back of Micah's neck.

She won.

Quiet clapping filled the square, and Micaiah and Micah stepped away from each other, bowing to their onlookers.

When a very pleased Micah turned to his daughter and touched her shoulder proudly, she was relieved from duty.

Micaiah bowed to him gratefully and returned the sword to their cart.

As she was locking it away, a hand touched her arm.

A smile lit her face. "You should not sneak up on me, My Prince. My reflexes are fast and my blades are sharp." She swiveled on her heel and faced Legolas.

His smile was proud. "So I have seen, Swordsman." He gave her a moment to secure the sword completely and then extended his arm to her, gesturing for her to follow.

Micaiah fell into step beside him. "You watched the performance?" She questioned. "I did not see your face in the crowd."

Legolas's sharp eyes slid toward her. "You wound me, Mellon. Most would say that my beauty shines too bright to be missed." He teased.

Micaiah could not help but secretly agree. "Indeed, my lord. But even a light so bright grows dim in the shadow of a brighter beauty."

An amused grin curved his lips. "And whose beauty is that, I pray?"

Micaiah met his light blue eyes with her dark green and gave him an arrogant smirk. "Only mine, my Prince."

Legolas's laughter was deep and moving as they wove their way between the trees of the woodland.

Micaiah's smile would not fade as she followed, her bare feet toeing through the grass and dirt. Her long skirts pulled at the roots and rocks in their path, but she paid them no mind.

Her mother could worry about her frayed hem later.

Finally, Legolas stopped by the enormous maple tree that had become their favorite. He always said it was because the leaves had taken their color from her eyes, and he liked to reunite her with them as often as possible, lest they forget her and grow old.

Micaiah of course would argue that he had also been robbed - for the ice lilies had looked upon his eyes with wretched envy and stolen their color for themselves.

Legolas paused in front of the very ice lilies that grew in a wild patch at the root of the tree. "I think you must be right." He conceded, casting her a soulful gaze over his shoulder.

Micaiah turned to him, startled by the words. His pale, strong hand rose and brushed back a tendril of her black hair.

"I've n'ere seen anyone glow so brightly as you."

~ Daughter of Steel ~

Micaiah prepared them a breakfast of fish and dried fruit, with a warm goat's milk formula for sweet Sigrid.

Bard sat to eat, giving Micaiah's loose hair and bare feet a cursory glance. He said nothing of it, only chewed in silence.

Micaiah set her meal aside to eat later and once more cradled Sigrid to her chest, dutifully filling her belly with the rich formula.

As she held the bottle with the makeshift nipple for Sigrid to nurse, Micaiah sent her own inspecting gaze to Bard. "What work shall you seek?" She asked.

His eyes lifted, his brow wrinkling slightly with the movement. His jaw worked at his food for a few seconds before he swallowed and responded. "I shall attempt to join the hunting party."

Micaiah's interest piqued. "Oh, you are a marksman?"

Bard looked unsure of the eagerness with which she broached the subject. "Aye. I make do with a bow." He admitted modestly.

"A bowman." Micaiah mused wistfully. At Bard's raised eyebrow, she instinctively ducked her head. "Apologies, my lord, for my intrusion. I only envy the skill of archers."

Feeling his pride swell just a little at her words, Bard allowed himself a small chuckle. "As do I."

Micaiah fought the urge to insist that he show her his talents, and resisted the temptation to make him show her his arrows.

"I understand that hunters work from dawn till dusk. Should you not be well on your way?" She questioned lightly, fixing her gaze meekly on Sigrid.

Bard's expression tightened a fraction. "I'll start tomorrow. For today I...I insist on making sure you are secure in our home." He did not mention his hesitance at her sudden arrival, or his mistrust of her.

Micaiah accepted his words and stood from the table, placing the bottle next to her plate. "Unless you have a task for me, I shall see to my horse."

Bard shoved his chair back and set down his fork, hastily chewing his most recent bite. "I'll take Sigrid, then." He held out his arms for his sister, but Micaiah merely moved toward her room.

"No, my lord. If you are setting out tomorrow for a full day's work, you must see that I can accomplish all of my tasks and keep a watchful eye on Miss Sigrid all at once." She reached into her bag, pulled out a thick shawl, and returned to the table.

Bard looked confused. "How are you going to do that?"

Micaiah simply spread the shawl over the table and swaddled Sigrid tightly within it. Then she lifted the bundle and tied it securely to her back.

Surely Bard had witnessed the method among the village women.

She caught his expression and struggled to translate the hesitance that she saw there.

Unbeknownst to Micaiah, Bard found that he could only gaze upon her with awe, his jealousy nowhere in sight. He liked to see her, beautiful and strong, with his sister nestled intimately to her back.

Instead of voicing this, he nodded swiftly. "Aye, that'll do." His eyes fell upon her plate. "Will you not eat?"

Micaiah was halfway out the door. "I will eat when my work is done, my lord."

~ DoS ~ ~DoS~ ~DoS~ ~DoS~

With the precious child on her back, under the watchful eye of Bare, Micaiah cleaned Mylanry's stall and filled his trough. She returned to the dwelling and generated her boredom into productive energy, scrubbing the floors and shining the windows, despite Bard's brief protestation of her needless work.

She found clothes to mend and firewood to gather.

Micaiah drew Bard's interest when she even sharpened the knives with an expert hand before placing them, gleaming, back in their drawer.

When evening came, and Sigrid slept fitfully in her cradle, and Micaiah stood over a pot on the fire, dropping carrot slices into stew, Bard came and stood next to her, a few feet away.

"You worked well today." He started carefully.

Micaiah shot him an appreciative glance. "Thank you."

Bard was silent for a few seconds more, and watched as she turned from carrots and reached for the potatoes that she had prepared.

"You seem quite adept at this work for one so young." He commented.

Micaiah lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I know how to clean a house and thread a needle. I learned much about smithing from my father, and can sharpen a few knives. I can cook one or two meals, and caring for a child is something I learned long ago. There is no trick to it, my lord."

Bard looked around the house. It looked completely different. It was entirely cleaned of clutter, the floors scrubbed until they shone, and the windows resembled sparkling crystal.

There was wood by the fire and the delicious smell of deer stew. The pallets were made and the clothes were clean and mended.

In a single day she had transformed their chaotic mess into a home. He liked it.

He had no idea who this girl was, but he liked how she looked in his house, in the orange glow of evening firelight, with her long hair and bare feet.

She was a stranger, and yet she seemed to belong there.

Micaiah had dropped the last piece of potato into the stew when Sigrid's frantic squall filled the room.

Bard's heart lurched in response and he jumped to go to her, but Micaiah wiped her hands on a rag and stayed him with a single touch to his arm. "I'll go." She said. "Dinner will be ready soon."

Bard paused, fists clenching unsurely. Finally, he edged toward the door. "I'll just get more firewood." He muttered.

There was plenty of firewood. She had collected some that day. But he couldn't stand to do nothing while his sister screamed and he needed time away from the enrapturing stranger.

The door banged shut after him, causing Sigrid to cry more loudly.

Micaiah knelt next to her cradle and reached inside, taking the baby's tiny hand and began to sing.

When Bard returned silently, arms loaded with wood, he found Micaiah singing to a sleeping Sigrid. Micaiah's voice was sweet and beautiful, lulling and comforting.

He gently shut the door.

Micaiah looked up expectantly.

Bard quietly deposited the firewood. "Da has returned for the evening. I saw his barge come in."

Micaiah stood and went to the fire. "Perfect timing then."

~DoS~ ~DoS~ ~DoS~ ~DoS~

Bard's warm hand cupped her shoulder once again the next morning, waking her from her albeit frozen slumber.

She rolled over tiredly, finding his face only a foot from hers. She regarded his rough, handsome features with vulnerable appreciation, dragging her hand through her hair.

Micaiah instantly shut down those thoughts, refusing to let them have their stay.

Bard was lacing his boots when Micaiah emerged from her room. His bow was leaning next to him, his quiver of arrows around his back.

He straightened as she padded toward Sigrid's cradle. "Where were you going?" He demanded.

Micaiah hesitated. "To wake up Sigrid."

Bard shook his head. "You took 14 days out of your journey to help some strangers. Where does your path end?"

Micaiah held Sigrid lovingly to her chest. "I don't know. I just picked a direction and started riding. One day I suppose I'll stop."

Bard looked surprised. "You've just been wandering around? For how long?"

Micaiah rocked Sigrid back and forth tiredly. "About five years, my lord."

Bard shook his head again in disbelief. He took up his bow and his arrows and strode toward the door. "Should my presence be accepted among the hunters, I should be back around the time Da is."

He reached for the door handle, and then stopped. His eyes fell hesitantly on Sigrid.

Noticing this, Micaiah shuffled smoothly across the floor, going to him so that he may bid his sister farewell.

She felt his warm, strong arms brushed against her chest as he lifted the baby out of her arms.

Respectful of his privacy, Micaiah took a step back and cast her gaze to the floor.

Bard pressed his lips to Sigrid's forehead, mumbling softly to her. "Be careful, Micaiah." He said, still gazing at Sigrid.

"I will, my lord."

Bard turned to her and gently returned Sigrid to her care. "I shall return."

And then he was gone.

Micaiah bypassed making herself breakfast and merely fed Sigrid. They had thoroughly cleaned the house the day before, which left her free to do as she wished.

Tying the baby to her back, Micaiah went downstairs and tended Mylanry, and then spent the remainder of the day sharpening her swords and knives, polishing them cleanly for sell.

When the sun began to fall, she returned to the kitchen to cook.

Micaiah cast a blanket across the floor and dropped a few handmade toys on it. She set Sigrid down, and stood back to watch as the baby extended her arms to examine her new surroundings.

When she found that she had more crawl space at her disposal, a beautiful, joyful smile stretched animatedly over her face, her dimples making an appearance.

Micaiah gazed lovingly at her and picked up a bread knife, slicing swiftly through a crust of sourdough.

As the minutes passed, Sigrid tired herself out and fell onto her stomach, deep in slumber.

The sight of the child in her care, so happy to have her own space, so comfortable in her home, made Micaiah's heart glad.

As she cooked, she kept a keen eye on her charge, but she needn't have feared. Young Sigrid was out cold and would not wake.

A few minutes after she pulled the meat pie out of the clay oven, the door squeaked open.

Her sharp green gaze snapped up, her mind instantly going to the knife hidden within the folds of her dress.

But it was only Bard, his strong shoulders low and his face tired. Snow had soaked his black hair, and ice had crystalized around the hem and sleeves of his heavy jacket.

Micaiah put down the tray of bread and padded softly to him, her hands moving to his shoulders and gripping his jacket to remove it.

Bard's breath caught in surprise, only noticing her when he felt the pull of his clothes.

He craned his head around to look at her, but she just nodded to his arms. "Let me take your coat, my lord." She implored softly.

He uttered an inaudible response and worked his tight, cold muscles out of his sleeves.

He paused as she turned to hang it at rack.

When she faced him again, he was weak on his feet, the cold and exhaustion seeping into his bones.

"Let me make you a place by the fire." Micaiah reached for him and took his arm supportively, leading him to the lone chair by the fire.

He did not allow the young woman to take all of his weight - after all, he was young and strong.

She let him maintain his dignity, and kept merely loose contact on his shoulder.

He hesitated by the chair. "I'm fine, Micaiah, thank you."

She bowed and retreated, returning to setting the table.

A second later, his voice made her jump. "Where is Sigrid? How could you let her out of your sight?"

She spun around.

He was standing over her cradle, his face pale in fear. "We trusted you!"

Micaiah pointed to the corner of the room where she had placed the child. "She fell asleep playing with her toys, my lord. I have watched her ceaselessly as I cooked."

His shoulders fell in relief as he spotted his sister, and he moved to her immediately.

Micaiah turned back to her job meekly, only stopping when his presence behind her forced her to. "I am sorry, Micaiah. I spoke harshly."

She faced him with a light shrug. "Do not worry yourself."

He held his sister in his arms, his gentle touch never once stirring her from her sleep.

"I trust you found work with the hunting party?" Micaiah questioned softly.

"Aye." Bard confirmed. "The Lord favored us with our catch today."

Micaiah poured him a mug of hot cider. "I am glad of that, my lord."