GUYS. The response from last chapter was so amazing! (: I got so many kind reviews, and I am so thankful for them all! I know my updating schedule is ridiculous, but I promise to try and be better about it! Also, I only noticed the other day, but as of 6.06.13, this story is a year old! :D I'm so proud of myself, because normally I abandon stories after so long, but this story just keeps pulling me back! (And let me assure you now that I never intend to abandon it!) Also, as of chapter 11, this story is longer than 100 pages in my original Word document! Things are getting real with this story - seriously! So many milestones! I hope this chapter lives up to the rest of the story. It's a bit more docile than the last, and full of things that should give you some feels. So, please enjoy!

11.

Arianna stared up at the ceiling of leaves, her mind hazy.

Her entire body was tingling, her lips numb as she ran the pads of her fingers across them. She could still taste the bitterness of her last drink. The two bottles of deep, red wine that she had liberated from a storeroom lay empty at her side. "Self-medicate," she whispered. "That's all it ever takes. Just some good old fashioned alcohol to fix all my problems."

Arianna hadn't returned to the group after she'd run away that night. She had avoided all of them, choosing instead to hide in the annals and steal bottles of red wine for her dinner. It had been two days now since she had run off, and she had spent the entire forty-eight hours drunk on what she found to be surprisingly strong alcohol. "The elves sure know how to party." She groaned as she rolled over onto her stomach, stretching her arms high above her head. "Then again, I guess it has to be strong, otherwise they'd never get buzzed. Pfft, high-tolerance assholes."

She felt the grass below her face tickle her nose and she blew it away, turning onto her back once more. "I did try," she said aloud, nodding definitively. "I did try to make up with him. I apologized and everything. He was the one who started the second fight." She kicked her leg up, roaring lightly in the back of her throat. "I wonder what it would be like to be a rocket? Rockets don't have to deal with people. Or a fish! Yeah, I'll just be a fish. Then I can just swim around and not give a fuck all I want. Blub, blub." She placed her fingertips against her face and squished her cheeks together. "Hm, I'm hungry." She rolled to her side, grabbing at the nearest bottle of wine and frowning at it. She turned it upside down, watching a solitary drop fall from the opening and stain the grass. "Empty bottle no good," she pouted, throwing it away. She splayed her arms about her, staring up at the sky.

"Hey, Korean Jesus," she whispered, raising a hand towards the clouds. "I don't know if you only cater to Korean-Christians, or if you even exist – no offence…" Chuckling, she let her hand drop lazily. "Man, I miss movies," she said fondly, letting a warm smile slip onto her face. "I wonder what's come out since I've been gone." She huffed out a long breath. "Probably bunches of cool stuff." She huffed again and sat up quickly, her head spinning. "Wooo…" She stood shakily, pulling at the top of her dress up as it slipped down. She adjusted her breasts, frowning. "I miss my bra," she said irritably. "I'm gonna' get saggy."

She stumbled along, trying to make her way back to the flet where she had found the bottles of wine. "Sebby, I'm sorry I'm walking alone when I'm drunk," she said. "I know I promised I would never do it, but you're not here and I hate everyone right now."

"Everyone?"

Arianna spun around, falling to the side. A warm arm caught her around the middle, and she gripped the silk fabric of a long robe between clumsy fingers. She lulled her head up, catching his gaze, her breathing irregular. "Pretty much, yeah."

"You smell of wine."

"Pfft, I wonder why?" she breathed into his face, rolling her eyes. "Speaking of wine, you know where I can get some more?"

Firverior's eyes narrowed. "I am not so sure you need any more to drink."

"Excuse me." She pushed away from him sloppily, pointing an unsteady finger at him. "I do not care what you are sure of. I will stop drinking when I think I have had enough, and that will be…" she paused, mouth falling open, "…ne'er!"

Firverior surveyed her for a moment. He tipped his head minutely to the side, and Arianna could not deny that she found it adorable. "Very well. Come with me."

Eyes wide, she nodded eagerly, winding her arms through the crook of his elbow. She snuggled up to his side. "Alcohol," she sang. She looked up to Firverior and smiled warmly at him. "You know, at first I thought you were kind of creepy, but you're actually the only one that's been really nice to me since I got here. Legolas and the others are a bag of dicks."

"I am sorry to hear that," he said sympathetically. "And I am sorry to see that you did not seek my company out earlier. Had I known you were feeling unhappy, I would have been unendingly nice to you. It could have prevented you from drowning your sorrows in wine."

"That sounded dirty," Arianna said teasingly. "Are you hitting on me, mister Firverior?"

"Of course not. I would never hit a lady."

Arianna touched her tongue to her canine, giggling. "No, silly. I mean, are you putting the moves on me? How do you people say it? You're trying to court me."

"Ah," he hummed. "Courting you? Perhaps…and perhaps not."

"That makes sense," she drawled sarcastically.

"I apologize for being vague. If I am to be honest, I cannot say why you fascinate me so."

"I thought it was because I was human?"

"I admit, when I heard your Fellowship had humans in it, I was intrigued, but when I saw you in the Lady Maerwen's care," he turned his eyes towards the trees, "I cannot say – I was…drawn to you. When first I saw you, I was filled with an indescribable affection."

"Affection? For a comatose me?"

Firverior turned his smile towards her. "Yes."

Arianna's face was already warm from the alcohol, but she felt a blush creep up her chest as she lowered her eyes to the ground. "You really are nice," she murmured, squeezing his arm.

"I do my best," he responded playfully, moving his free hand to brush a knuckle against her nose.

Her eyes widened and her head shot up to look at him. His eyes were closed as he smiled down at her, his head tilted just slightly to the side. The thin circlet around his head stood out against his dark hair. She slowly brought a hand up to touch the tip of her nose. He did it, she thought slowly. He did it, too. Adrian used to do that to me all the time when I was upset.

"Firverior," she whispered, "what happens to the souls of elves if they don't go to the Halls of Mandos?"

He reopened his eyes. "My," he marveled, "what a change of subject." Arianna stayed quiet. She certainly wasn't going to explain her interest in the topic. "And a strange one, at that. Námo is ferry to the souls of the dead. I do not think he would let even a single fae roam aimless among the lands after it has been separated from its rhwa."

"But what would happen if one did escape the call to Mandos?"

"I can only suppose," Firverior mused, "but as I have said, I imagine it would roam the lands without purpose. In time, lacking its final judgment, I believe the soul would simply fade away."

Hear that, Adonnenniel? You were supposed to fade away. What the fuck is you doing inside me?

"Ah, here we are."

Arianna tipped her head. "What's this?"

"This," Firverior said, opening the door gently, "is my flet."

She blinked. "You really are trying to get into my pants."

"But my lady, you are not wearing pants."

Arianna looked down, rocking once from side to side so that the fabric of the dress swung about her legs. "So I'm not." She frowned. "And Firverior?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please ixnay the 'my lady' crap? It's really weird."

Firverior frowned. "Eexnay? Crap?"

Arianna groaned. "Oh, nevermind. Can we please just get drunk? Er, more drunk? …Drunker?" How do I English? Arianna snorted at herself and bit her lower lip, rocking on her heels.

"After you, Arianna."

She stepped over the threshold, her lips drawn into a thin line. Turning to Firverior as he closed the door behind them, she took a shaking breath. "You can call me Arry."

Legolas frowned, turning out of the annals for the second time.

He had been searching for Arianna for nearly half the day. He had not seen her since she had fled from Boromir, and he – just steps away from admitting it – was beginning to worry. He knew she would find no outside harm in Lothlórien, but outside harm is not what he was worried about. Boromir would not tell them forthwith what he had witnessed, but his conversation with Arianna that night left little room for conjecture.

Arianna had tried to drown herself.

Although the evidence seemed conclusive, he did not want to believe it. The very thought threw him. Arianna was too headstrong, too stubborn, to take her own life. Or at least, she seems so. It's clear that she holds her true feelings close to herself. Perhaps I do not know her as well as I would like to think. He gave a small smile. In any case, she is stubborn.

Legolas knew that Arianna was still angry with Aragorn and himself for refusing to teach her to fight. She had not directly spoken to them since the night she brought up the subject, and he had a very strong feeling she was going to avoid them for as long as possible. He held fast with his decision, though. While he knew it might be judicious for Arianna to learn to protect herself, he knew also that it would make her more eager to continue journeying with the Fellowship. Neither he nor Aragorn wanted to put her in that kind of danger. They had escorted her safely to Lórien as they had promised, and it was here in Lórien that she needed to stay.

Though surely not learning to fight would not have made her upset enough to take her own life, Legolas thought. What would have made her do such an irrational thing, and why would she not have spoken to him if she were so upset? He clenched his fist, making his way through the flets silently. He had taken it upon himself to look after her the moment it was decided that she would travel with them to Lothlórien, and although he had indeed delivered her safely to the Golden Wood, he still felt like he had failed as her guardian.

If Legolas were honest, he was…angry with the young girl. Had she not explicitly said she would not take her own life? Had she not reassured Gandalf of that at their first meeting? Legolas's frown deepened. That was another unresolved matter – he had yet to confront Arianna about Gandalf's death. She knew what was to happen in their Fellowship, why then had she not warned them of Gandalf's imminent death? He knew that Gandalf had requested she keep her knowledge quiet, but not to tell them of his death…what purpose could that have served? Why would she not have warned them, so that they might have saved the wizard?

The more time he seemed to spend with Arianna (or spend thinking about her) the more peculiar questions arose. Questions to which there seemed no answer, lest he ask Arianna outright. (At which point he doubted she would give him a straight answer. He remembered the last time he had tried to probe her for information.) There were very few things Legolas hated more than not being able to understand, and Arianna…well, he certainly didn't understand her. It frustrated him. Perhaps that is why he felt so drawn to her. How could he not be? He was the one who had found her after all, a strange woman in strange clothing kneeling down by a riverbed and muttering to herself, attacking him and falling into hysterics upon finding herself in another world. He felt his heart tug a bit. She was indeed strange, and there was much about her he did not understand, but in any case, he felt a fondness for her.

He wanted to look after her, and that meant leaving her behind. Legolas admitted it would be strange travelling without her, but he would prefer it against having to watch her fearfully wield one of his knives while she fought for her life again. She must remain in Lothlórien, he thought, a twinge of sadness lingering in his mind. She does not belong in battle.

Firverior stared down at the small woman in his arms.

She had fallen asleep moments ago, resting on his chest with her arms circled around his neck. Another half a bottle of wine had put her straight to sleep. He was relieved. It was clear to him that she was exhausted, not only physically, but emotionally as well. He had been watching her every day, checking up on her. She hadn't slept, had cried endlessly, and she had been on a steady diet of wine ever since her fight with her companions. He had only approached her when he was certain she refused to go back to them. She was more stubborn than a mule, and he knew (especially now) that she would never have gone back to them freely. She was too proud – she wanted them to come to her.

But they hadn't.

That is what he found most strange. He was certain the Prince of Mirkwood would have come searching for her at least, but he had not seen the blond-haired elf since his last visit to Arry's bedside.

"It's what my brother used to call me," she had explained when he had asked her about the nickname.

"Then surely you must reserve it for none other but him," he had insisted.

"No." She shook her head sadly, turning away and taking a long sip of her wine. "He's dead. Only special people can use it now. And you can use it. I want you to."

He could not argue with that. Gently, he tucked a flyaway curl behind her ear. "What hurts you bear," he whispered. "Too much hurt for one so young."

"He's dead." The words echoed in his ears. She had said only those two words on the subject, but the way her eyes lost their shine, the way her mouth moved – not to a frown – but to a state of indifference, an emotionless line of lips until she parted them to take in more wine, a solitary drop falling from the corner of her mouth. The death had shaken her to her core, that much he could tell. He felt sorry for Arry. She had suffered so much in her own world, only to be thrown into another, lost and alone in the middle of a war.

"To question the Valar," he whispered, "I have never done such a thing in my long life, but I cannot stop myself from wondering why they have chosen you, of all people, to bear this burden. Arry." He enjoyed saying the name, enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. It was not attraction, as he had first thought upon seeing her, but as he had already explained to her, an inexpressible affection. He liked having her in his arms, not because he wished to be with her romantically, but because he took great joy in comforting her. Knowing that he was the cause of her ease satisfied him in a way that he had not been satisfied in a long while. How deeply he cared for her, after knowing her for such a short time.

"Why is it, do you think?" he whispered to the girl in his arms. "Was I meant to care for you? Perhaps it was that you were meant to find the Fellowship, so that they may bring you here to Lórien. Perhaps I am your true guardian." He smiled. "Your Prince has not lived up to his duties, besides. Perhaps he was only a vassal, meant to bring you to me safely."

Arry shifted, her nose burying into his shoulder. He felt her breathing grow ever more steady as she slipped deeper into sleep. "If you were to stay, I would care for you," he whispered. "I am as fond of you as I would be to my own siblings." He lowered his eyes. "You have lost your only brother, and I know I cannot replace him – I dare not try. But I will do what I can in his stead."

Legolas made his way swiftly in the direction he had been instructed. His eyes were steely and his jaw was set. The audacity! The disrespect! The vulgarity!

"The young woman who came with your company? Yes, I believe I saw her pass by with the elf Firverior some time ago."

"Firverior?" Legolas repeated the name sternly. "And she went with him willingly?"

"I know not, my lord. She seemed in good spirits, but…" the handmaiden paused, lowering her eyes.

"Yes?" he prompted urgently.

"Well, my lord, she also seemed…in good spirits, if you will pardon the expression. I believe they were going to his flet."

His eyes widened. Arianna would not have dared—would she? "Which way? Which way is his flet?"

He knocked loudly on the door, three sharp raps in a row. After a long moment, the door opened and the dark-haired elf appeared.

"The Prince of Mirkwood graces my threshold." Firverior bent at the waist, inclining his head gently. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A handmaiden spotted you with Arianna some time ago. I was wondering if you could perhaps tell me where she has disappeared to." Legolas struggled to keep his voice even. The very idea of Firverior escorting Arianna to his flet while she was inebriated incensed him, and his temper for the discourteous elf was short.

"My, you haven't lost her, have you?"

"She is more prone to wandering off than I am to losing her."

"Oh, is that it? Why did you not follow her then, if you knew she had wandered off?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "I thought perhaps it would be best to give her space."

"I see. And two days? You do not think that an…excessive amount of space?"

Legolas's eyes narrowed further still. So the elf knew of the disquiet among their company. Indeed, knew well enough that Legolas had not seen Arianna since the argument. "The business between Arianna and myself is none of your concern," Legolas responded firmly. "Do you know where she is?"

"I do," Firverior confirmed calmly. "And I can say quite confidently that she is in good hands."

"She is still here."

"She is."

"Then will you not let me take her?"

"I do not believe she is the type of girl to be taken. Whether or not she goes with you is her decision."

"Then will you not allow me inside, that I might speak with her?" How dearly Legolas wished for his twin blades.

"I am afraid I must decline. Arry is not accepting visitors at the moment."

Legolas sighed heavily out his nose. Perhaps this was not the best way to go about dealing with the other elf. He reigned in his anger. "I wish only to speak with her, Firverior," he offered sincerely. "She is, after all, under my protection. I would hear it from her own lips that she is safe and does not wish to accompany me back to camp."

Firverior considered him for a moment. The prince seemed sincere enough, and although he doubted Arianna wished to speak with him, he knew that it was something that needed to be done. If she did not resolve whatever quarrel it was that she had with her companions, she would insist on drinking herself into an early grave. Nodding slowly, Firverior stepped to the side to allow Legolas entry. He bade him to follow and led him into his own small bedroom, where Arry lay on his cot. She had not moved since he had laid her down. "I will not be the one to wake her," Firverior insisted. "If you must speak with her so desperately, then you will rouse her. Although I might mention that this is the first she has slept since leaving your camp."

Legolas felt his eyes soften as he looked upon her. Firverior needn't have told him. With only a moment of looking at her, he could see that she was exhausted. She was absolutely still as she slept, the bags under her eyes much darker and deeper than normal. He moved towards the cot, kneeling down and placing a hand on forehead. He frowned deeply when she did not stir at the touch.

"You needn't call for Lady Maerwen. The flush comes from wine, nothing more."

"So you have allowed her to drink?" Legolas posed.

"Oh, excessively." Firverior grinned.

"Why?"

"Because she desired to do so," Firverior returned offhandedly. "She seemed under the impression that it would remedy her problems. I am in no position to tell her otherwise, so I brought her back here to ensure that she did not find herself in trouble while she was merry."

Legolas lowered his head. He disliked the elf, true enough…but it was clear that Firverior cared for Arianna. "You have been nothing if not adamant in your pursuit of Arianna. Why is that?"

"I have explained to Arry. I have an unexpected affection for her. She is as dear to me as a sister would be."

"And you wish to take care of her?"

"Unquestionably."

Legolas nodded, standing. "Then I will take my leave."

Firverior raised his brows, surprised. "Indeed?"

Legolas's face was blank as he turned. "It is clear that I have misjudged you. You have nothing but the best intentions for Arianna, and I will not interfere. You will take care of her in a way that I cannot."

Firverior nodded, following Legolas as he walked himself to the door. "I will tell her you wish to speak with her when she wakes."

"My thanks, Firverior."

She will do well here. She must stay in Lothlórien where Firverior may look after her, and then perhaps after this war, if I am still alive, and she still here…I will see her once more.

Let's all say it together now: "Awwwee!" Lots of character/character dynamic here, which I hope you're enjoying! Writing mildly jealous Legolas is so fun! :D But yeah, like I said, sorry if this chapter doesn't live up to all the others. I'm trying to move things along while getting all the super-secret ninja information (THAT WAS A HINT) in that I need to. :) Who's got some guesses as to what's going to happen next? What's going to happen with Firverior and Arianna? Arianna and Legolas? Boromir and Arianna?! And just what is with this soul inside of our poor heroin? Tell me your guesses in the reviews, and don't forget to keep a watch out for the next chapter! (I've got a few written in advance, and let me tell you, 13 is gonna' be a doozy!)

Edit: Also, thanks to sharp-eyed reviewer Sarafinja, I suppose I should make known that I do not own the very clear movie reference dialogue in this chapter.

Until next time! (;
x