Milandy was avoiding the celebrations.
Not because she wasn't overjoyed that the battle had been won, of course. She was obviously glad they'd survived, herself and her three adventurers. No, that wasn't it at all.
Milandy wanted some peace and quiet. She enjoyed drunken singing and celebration as next at the next – she'd practically lived in taverns on her journeys. But she gazed out onto the horizon and examined the handles of her blades and just thought. A lot had happened, and although they were safe now, that probably wouldn't last. This time was free, and it was for her, for thought.
"A storyteller," a familiar voice announced, approaching her and causing her to jump a little and turn to face her new companion. Legolas smiled, the slight air of arrogance about him that she'd felt on their first few meetings seemingly reinstated. "You did not tell me you carried such talents."
She turned back around, smiling to herself, happy to see a friendly face – and fully intact, for the matter. "You never asked."
"Lady Eowyn has spoken very highly of how you handled the children," he explained, joining her beside where she sat in the grass on the hill that overlooked the expanse of the land before them.
"It's no special talent," she dismissed. "Anyone can tell a good story."
Legolas shook his head. "But you must first have a story to tell."
"Well," she gave a sigh and leaned back, her palms on the soil beneath her, arms steady. "You are an elf, are you not? I'd imagine one has a great many story to tell after so many hundreds of years."
"Thousands," he corrected. "And the best stories are not always tales of old," he mused.
She raised an eyebrow, glancing to him. "And you know a new tale?" She asked.
The elf nodded, focusing his gaze to the distance, as appeared to be habit for him. "But I'd prefer to hear your tale about the Dwarfs."
Milandy rolled her eyes, letting her head hang back. Her mother would have had a fit at the sight of this - her daughter sitting beside an Elvish princeling in a most unladylike manner, sitting in the dirt and wearing trousers. "I am so tired of telling it, however," she sighed, "perhaps if you were to tell me this new tale, I may find myself renewed enough to tell you mine."
Legolas was silent for a moment, and a point came where Milandy was convinced that he'd refuse her offer. However, after consideration on his part, he spoke again. "Very well." She shot a glance to him, a little shocked that he'd accepted such a bargain. "It began with the forging of the great rings..."
And as the others continued their loud singing and drinking and celebrations, Legolas remained on the nearby hill with Milandy, telling her the tale of the Ring. The story of how they were forged, and how Sauron forged one ring to rule them all in secret. How a great war was fought and marched on Mordor, and that Isildur had taken the ring, but could not bring himself to destroy it. And one day, the One Ring was lost, and it remained so for thousands of years until a very, very unlucky Hobbit came to find it.
"And where is it now, then?" Milandy asked, disbelief wrought in her voice. "What happened to it?"
"It was entrusted by the Wizard Gandalf to a Hobbit named Frodo, who carried brought it before the Council of Elrond. It was there that Frodo offered to take the Ring, and destroy it in the fires of Mordor, and that a member of each of the Free Peoples joined him on his quest." His voice began to take a smug tone, his expression to match as he continued. "Frodo, Samwise, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn," he paused for a second, making sure to watch Milandy's expression from the corner of his eye. "Gandalf, Boromir of Gondor, Gimli of the Dwarves and," he paused, a smirk across his face when he was sure Milandy had put it all together, "Legolas of the Woodland Realm."
"So it's real?!" She blurted, sounding almost frantic. "That... that ring is real? And that's why you're out here?" Legolas didn't reply, but merely nodded as Milandy took all this in. She was sure that he thought her impressed by his tale, but in truth, Milandy was more taken by the One Ring. She couldn't stop thinking about how much such a thing would be worth. Oh, and she'd certainly be in outstanding favour with whoever was the highest bidder. In that moment, Milandy was suddenly a grateful as she could be that she hadn't had a chance to take Legolas' bow yet! What a distraction! She could have entirely missed out on this opportunity.
"Your turn," he instructed, breaking her from her thoughts. "Tell me about the Dwarves. I've heard tales similar, but they might not be the same."
Giving a long blink and returning to reality, Milandy did her best to keep her mind off the excitement that came with such a big score. "Many years ago," she began, as she always did, "when the Kingdom of Dale was nothing but a Lake Town, a band of Dwarves and their Hobbit friend set off on an adventure to reclaim their Kingdom, which had been stolen by an evil dragon.
"One day on their adventures, while travelling through the forests of Mirkwood," Legolas gave a slight chuckle at this, "they were attacked by the horrible beasts that lurked within the forest! One of the Dwarves, a young Dwarf named Kili, was sure he'd meet his end, but an arrow slew the beast that sought to eat him. This arrow belonged to a beautiful Elven Bow-Woman, who was the most beautiful being that the Dwarf had ever seen." She paused to gauge his reaction, but instead of the content smile that usually accompanied this detail, Legolas bore a concerned look. A frown. "Is something wrong?" She asked.
"No," Legolas spoke quietly, shifting. "I have never heard this tale before. Do you know of other elves in your tales?" He asked.
"Well, yes. My grandfather said there was the Elvish king, he imprisoned the dwarves," she explained, "and the young Elf Bowman who followed the Bow-woman into the Lake Town the Dale once was."
"Bowman?" he asked.
"Yes. He helped save the Dwarves and the people of the Lake Town from the Orcs that followed them."
"Including Bard the Bowman," he added. "King of Dale. And his... two, no, three children?"
Milandy blinked, giving the elf a confused look. "How did you know?"
He smiled, laughing a little to himself. "I am the Elf Bowman you speak of," he said, speaking simply. Milandy froze, her nails digging into the grass. No. He couldn't be. No. Wait. He could be. He looked like the Elf her grandfather had told her of, and he knew that he'd saved Bard the Bowman and his children. Milandy didn't even tell people that part of the story, she just skimmed those details.
Her eyes widened. It was him. And he knew it. "Does this... does this mean this story is true?" She watched as he nodded, and it took all she could to hold in the excitement that was flooding back from her childhood. "So Kili... and the Bow-woman?" She watched as he nodded again, throwing her own hand to her mouth.
"Tauriel," he suddenly corrected. "Her name was Tauriel."
"Tauriel?" She repeated. "I can't believe this!"
"Who was your grandfather?" Legolas suddenly asked, his question stopping her in her tracks, killing the joy she was feeling. "He knew great detail, perhaps I met him, too."
Milandy averted her gaze, brushing a lock her her hair behind her ear and scrambling to get up. "No one. He's no one and you probably didn't-" Milandy became silent when she felt a hand on her arm, stopping her from standing, pulling her back to the ground.
"Aragorn is already suspicious of you," he explained. "You must tell me before someone with lesser intentions twists the truth."
For the first time since she'd joined their quest, Milandy didn't know how to react. Her chest tightened, she felt her hands going cold and her stomach twist. She'd been busted. Caught red handed. Legolas wasn't just another dumb mark, she knew that. "He will have me sent away," she finally whispered. "I do not want to leave. I want to come with you."
"And I will argue your case. You know that," he re-assured her. "I've already done it, have I not?"
The silence between the two for the next for moments was steely and icy cold, the only other sounds to keep them company being that of the wind and the celebrations from inside.
"Bard the Bowman. My mother is the youngest daughter of Bard the First, the first King of Dale."
