It had been a full day of riding by the time Helm's Deep was visible in the distance, and it was at that moment that Milandy felt a plan stirring in her mind. As she rode next to Legolas and his Dwarf companion (who shared a horse, which never ceased to humour her,) she eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "You know," she began, a smirk across her mouth, "you may be a formidable archer, but how are you on horseback?"
"I would think I am more than capable," he replied, returning her smirk, no doubt seeing where she was leading this. "Why?" he asked. "Are you some form of fabled horse-whisperer?"
"How about a wager?" She proposed, her head held high. "I propose that I can out-ride you to the city gates."
"And what would you wager?" He asked.
"It depends," she mused, "on how confident you really are against the skills of a Lady sellsword."
"Shall we make this a high-stakes game, then?"
"I don't know, would you wager your bow on it?" She teased. She half expected him to refuse as first, for him to ask for her horse in return.
"Only if you would wager your hair."
Milandy blinked, frowning. "What?" She asked, reaching up and feeling the mess of a bun that was gathered at the back of her head. Her hair was nothing but long, uncared for waves of red – it wasn't even clean. If he planned to sell it, he wouldn't fetch a high price for it, if he could fetch one at all. Perhaps this was psychological in nature, to humiliate her in defeat, to cut her hair off so all would know that she lost to him. Well, she thought, it didn't matter. There would be no way he could out-ride her. "Fine," she finally declared. "You will wager your bow and I shall wager my hair. You have a deal."
"Gimli," he ordered, the dwarf shuffling to de-saddle himself, concern on it's face.
"Are ye' sure 'bout this, Lass?" He asked before swinging himself down from the saddle, and landing on the ground with a thud. "It'll take a great while fer' all that ta' grow back, ye' know?"
"It is fine, my friend," she dismissed, wrapping the reigns of her horse around her hands and straightening her back as she brought her horse beside Legolas'. "Ready?" She asked.
"Gimli, if you would?" Legolas ordered, his eyes focused on the target, a smirk on his face.
The Dwarf gave a sigh. "Alright, if ye' say so. One... two..." he paused and she tensed her legs, waiting for his command. "Three!"
With a kick into the side of her horse, Milandy was off, and although she was aware that Legolas was behind her and closer than she would have suspected, she was still comfortably ahead of him. As the wind billowed past her face, she turned her head to grin at the elf, but instead noticed his eyes were not on her, but to their right.
"Scouts!" He shouted, tugging on the reigns of his horse and veering off course. At first, Milandy thought it was a trick, but when she looked in the direction he headed and spotted a group of three Orcs on their Wargs, her mind left the race entirely and she joined him. Heading towards the Orcs, she took her own bow from her back, firing an arrow without thinking into a Warg, the beast collapsing in a roll as it's rider stumbled for its own footing. Watching as Legolas effortlessly took down the remaining two Wargs, she sprung herself from her horse, landing with expertise and charging towards one of the Orcs, swiping into it's arm with her blades. Leaping back and avoiding the Orc's swinging hammer, the hurled one of them forward, the small blade driving itself into her foe's chest.
Leaping over the corpse of the second Orc, she hurled herself towards the third and final, her remaining blade at the ready, but before she could even raise it, her target collapsed, an arrow driven between his eyes. Legolas was a good shot, there was no doubt about that. But now she had to-
Milandy froze. Legolas was on his horse. He'd been on his horse the entire time and was now galloping towards the gates. "No," she muttered under her breath, bolting towards her own horse, yanking the blade from the Orc's corpse on the way. Swinging herself up onto her saddle, she tried desperately to catch up, her body lowered down to her horse, her legs firm against the stirrups. But it was no use.
The Elf had beat her, and now she would have to cut off her hair. She hated him.
She had instinctively avoided any and all gatherings that evening at Helm's Deep. They estimated they had one last day before the eve of battle, and Milandy did not want to spend it hearing about her loss. Gimli had already made it clear that no joke would be left untold, that he would waste no opportunity to call her 'Lad' instead.
Instead of the taverns or halls tonight, she decided to spend the evening tending to her horse, enjoying the time alone in the stables, time for her to sulk in private. Oh, how she couldn't wait to steal Legolas' bow from right under him, to get the upper hand on that arrogant princeling. If it wasn't entirely necessary to get away as quickly as possible, she would have considered staying around just to see his face when he realised that she'd been pulling the strings all along. It wasn't about the coin any more, oh no.
"Have you named her?" A voice asked, causing her to jolt every so slightly before feeling that stale pang of dislike wash over her. Him. She glanced over her shoulder, the sight of his smugness as he strolled in unaccompanied with a smile on his face enough to make her blood boil.
"Jodis," she grunted, offering the horse a carrot, her back to him entirely.
His footsteps approached. "An unusual name. Where is it from?"
"It's Dalish."
"And the meaning?" He asked, coming to a stop beside her, glancing between her and her equine companion.
"It means horse." Her voice was blunt as a rock as she turned to him. Her arms crossed. "You're here for your prize?" She asked.
His eyes focused on her, the smile on his face sending her into a silent and secretive rage. "I had hoped to collect it soon, yes."
Milandy reached to her hip, taking her blade from it's sheath with one hand and using her free hand to untie the leather cord which kept her hair bound. The long, somewhat wild and a little matted from the wind in some spots tresses fell down from the bun that once contained them, spilling down past her shoulders and to the small of her back. "Fine," she mumbled, taking it all in one hand, gathered near the base of her skull as she raised her blade to it.
"Wait," he suddenly ordered, extending a palm out to her and gesturing for her to stop. "I do not wish for you to cut your hair." Milandy studied him as he said this, his tone sounding somewhat defeated. "I would not ask that of you."
"If this is an act of pity," she warned, lowering her blade, "then you are even more frustrating than I thought."
"It is not." He spoke calmly, assuringly as he carefully watched her re-sheath her weapon.
"So you would forgo your prize as an act of pleasantries?" She asked. "What's the real reason? Did someone talk you out of it, or was my shame enough for you?"
He gave a smirk, making her long to fire an arrow into his brow. "I said I do not wish for you to cut your hair," he began, shaking his head. "Not that I do not want my prize." He paused, his smirk softening into a smile – one of the most genuine she'd seen from him. "I would instead ask for a strand of it."
Milandy raised an eyebrow. "A strand?" She repeated. "You just want a strand of it?"
"As a trophy of my defeat," he explained, "so that next time I feel you becoming arrogant, I have a token to remember this victory by."
Thinning her eyes, Milandy raised her hand to her head, running her fingers into her hair, and with her eyes still fixated on the elf, she plucked a single strand of her hair from her scalp. "Here," she declared, holding the strand out to him, "will this suffice?"
She watched as the elf took the strangle from her laying it over his palm and giving a nod as his hand closed around it. "It will do just fine. You are a woman of honour."
"Of course I am," her voice sarcastic, Milandy returned her attention to Jodis.
"I should hope to fight beside you," he added, Milandy still facing her horse, but listening carefully. "You put matters of battle before your own personal gain when we encountered those scouts," he explained. "Honour before pride. I would be glad to have you fight beside me."
Her hand settled on the snout of her house, Milandy thought about this momentarily, surprisingly touched by how genuinely he spoke. As if almost out of nowhere, she felt a twinge of guilt that she intended to steal his bow from him, that she would disappoint him in such a manner.
"And I would be honoured to do so," Milandy relented.