Note: The writing of a dear friend, Tamarama, posted here with her permission. She asks, what is everyone's favorite part?
In the course of a very long life, there are certain memories that define an elf. He remembered his mother singing to him as an elfling, a song of the forest and of love. He remembered his father, and later his father's master-at-arms, teaching him the bow. The thousands of hours and an immeasurable number of practice shots before shooting was as natural and as easy as breathing. He remembered his first visits to the other notable elven kingdoms—Imladris, Lothlorien, and Mithlond. Mithlond had the dubious honor of having the most painful associations with it, due to that Mithlond is the city from which one leaves Arda to travel to Valinor. That visit to Mithlond to escort his mother was even more painful than that of visiting Lothlorien after Gandalf's fall.
He remembered other times, too, times where he was scared or anxious. When, for the first time, he was forced to visit the dwarven kingdom for trade purposes, he was anxious at the responsibility that lay on his shoulders. When the dragon Smaug set Erebor and Dale alight, he was anxious and heart-sick for the people and dwarves who found themselves without homes and without succor from his father's kingdom. He knew true fear when, in the underground tomb of Moria, a cave troll apparently killed the Ringbearer. Frodo survived due to mithril armor, but mortal lives are snuffed so soon and so suddenly that one is prepared to grief their deaths at any given moment. Of course, the sight of the balrog was one of the most terrifying things he had ever seen in his life.
Then again, any warrior has a healthy appreciation and apprehension of battle, too, and Legolas bore the marks of a life lived as a warrior among his people. A life spent protecting the forest that he loved, leading his elves into battle against many, many spiders, as well as any other unfriendly forces.
But nothing had quite prepared him for this.
This conveyance was similar, at least in form, to a cart or wagon. Possessing neither horses nor reins, it was terrifying. It seemed to … glide or skate upon the extremely smooth road, as did all the other "cars" on this "high way" as Darcy had called it. And perhaps the conveyance by itself it would not have been so bad, except for the sheer amount of other cars on this high way.
He wondered if the street were slippery, as it was so smooth, with only occasional patches upon its otherwise glassy surface. And the lanes with their dots to indicate the space within which each car was to use…it was polite of them to follow these dots, really.
Legolas felt that he was doing well, his anxiety under the command of his renowned composure. That is, until another vehicle swerved into their lane, the nose of it coming straight for their front tire on Legolas's side. Darcy yanked the car to the edge of their own lane, and the car blasted a warning in time to Darcy's yelling and banging on the center of the "steering wheel". Legolas pulled out a long knife and prepared to do battle with the aggressive car. He was uncertain how precisely cars defended themselves, but he sat tensed and ready, determined to help Darcy in the defense of their vehicle.
"WHOA, LEGOLAS!" Darcy cried. "Put that away!"
Legolas gritted out, "We are under threat of attack, Darcy."
"I will perform the evasive maneuvers in this family, Legolas Thranduilion. Now put the knife away and chill the fu-…Chill out." With her peripheral vision, Darcy eyed the tense elf. The truck that had nearly broad-sided them speeded up and passed them on the right—another illegal, idiot-driver move from the jerk in the red truck…mother of pearl, were those truck nutz? For love of Thor, let Legolas have NOT seen those dangling from that guy's trailer hitch.
Legolas, meanwhile, was reflecting on Darcy's words. In this family he thought, warmth spreading throughout his chest for her words indicated, for the first time, her own intentions. It was an idle comment, as so much of what she said was, but it was revealing all the same. He did not have time to linger too long on her revealing statement, though. He put his knife away.
"Jarvis, advise the others that we're taking the state highway rather than the interstate, so we'll be late."
Moments later, "Mr. Stark advises that your current course will take you approximately seven more hours, whereas everyone else will be done in the next four hours or so. He suggests that you eat dinner on the road, and reminds you of your rotten egg status."
"Hah. Jarvy, tell Daddy not to wait up for us."
Legolas calmed down as the car slowed somewhat, while still going faster than he might have liked. Darcy played more classical music, and they talked over its swells and strains. He talked about the pressures of being the son of the Elven King of Mirkwood, and about being his father's son generally. Were his father not born the son of Oropher, Legolas still suspected that Thranduil would still be an elf of the highest standards of behavior and decorum, as Oropher had been long dead and had Thranduil wanted a more casual existence, he could have made it so. Legolas told her more of life in Mirkwood, of the giant spiders that had roamed his homeland, that were now dispersing after the fall of Dol Guldur some months ago. He explained more of the war with Sauron, of the Ringbearer's Quest and Legolas's role in the Fellowship. He even told her of his expectation of meeting his doom at the Morannon.
In the face of all this, Darcy felt a bit … lackluster. Sure, she had tasered a god, but really, she'd tasered a brought-to-mortality god-in-human's clothes. Beyond that, what was she? Good in an emergency, sure, especially if you needed your molars checked out by a very dexterous tongue mid-fight. A decent enough driver—handling Jane's ridiculous box truck was a trial in and of itself. But… other than a political science degree—which is very much a rigorous degree program, thankyouverymuch—what else did she have going on? She was never the one in the driver's seat of saving the world. She was always second-runner-up. Jane, Thor, Darcy. (Or Thor-Jane-Loki-Darcy but she wouldn't quibble about the order there.) Every-Avenger-Ever-plus-a-bunch-of-Shield-SI-peeps-and-then-Darcy. She'd never killed anything more heinous or sentient than a house spider, at least not deliberately, thinking of an unfortunate death-by-car and an unlucky, indecisive squirrel.
No, Darcy was an island of normal in a sea of extraordinary. She was the Scientist Whisperer, able to get scatter-brained geniuses to eat five vegetables a day (sometimes by hiding it in various sauces, just like Nana Lewis would), sleep at least six hours a night, and changing the "_ days without a lab accident" sign. She managed people. She was a supporting cast member, not the star.
Legolas was a star.
Darcy pulled her lip between her teeth, glad that Legolas couldn't hear her inner monologue. It wasn't like her to be so… insecure. She didn't have Jane or Tony or Bruce's brain, but she was a lot easier to live with than any of them. Had a lot less baggage. Then again, maybe she was due for a bout of insecurity, what with hanging out with Natasha-the-Catsuit-Clad and Perfectly Polished Pepper and…well Jane-the-Brain.
"I got an A in a class that everyone said the professor didn't give A's in," Darcy blurted. Legolas opened his mouth to ask what an A was… and a professor, but Darcy beat him to the punch. "—Which is to say that I did really well in a class people said no one did well in."
"What were you studying?"
"Western European Politics," she answered. "Everyone else's political system is a lot different than ours. We were basically the second democracy—the second 'people vote' society—and the only one since the Athenians, so ours is …clunky and out-moded by comparison to most of the parliamentary systems…." Darcy explained the difference in proportional representation systems and single-member district pluralities, and was a bit of a show-off.
Her efforts, however, missed the mark. Legolas pretended to be interested for several minutes. His father would have been all ears, but Legolas hated most political discussions as a result of being forced to live as the heir to the crown. A burden, but his ability to tune out this exposition on different political systems was a sign of his father's affection. Had Thranduil abdicated and followed Legolas's mother…Legolas shuddered at the thought.
The car pushed on into the evening, the conversation touched on many other topics, and eventually, they drifted into a comfortable silence.
"Are you hungry?" Darcy said over a particularly moving bit of Lisdt. At Legolas's nod, she pulled off the interstate and, surveying their options, they went into a diner.
The diner was basically an American anthropology course. There was a dude in the corner that was eating hashbrowns like they were his last meal—and then she noticed that he was probably coming down from a high. A little sweaty, a little shaky, a little dirty, gritting his teeth in withdrawal. Darcy shooed Legolas into a booth far, far away from the tweaking dude, not because she was personally anti-drug, she was a bit more libertarian in that sense. But the elf was unlikely to have "Dude coming down from his meth high" experience, and those guys could be a little bit unpredictable, at best. She didn't need a scene. Heck, she'd barely convinced him to leave his weapons in the trunk of the car.
A Rubenesque woman in a too-tight uniform deposited two water glasses at their table soon after they sat. Her hair was ginger, her lips red, her eyelashes false. Darcy sent her on her way with promises of decisiveness, handing Legolas a menu and telling him to figure out what sounded good.
And then, moments later, Legolas froze.
Elves, or at least Legolas (would the plural be Legolae or Legolases, Darcy wondered.), were not prone to fidgeting or unnecessary movement. But, at the same time, their chests expand when breathing and so on. Elves have a beauty to their forms and a control over their bodies that humans lack, and as a result, an elf freezing in place isn't quite the jerking-into-stillness that happens when most non-SHIELD agents try to remain unnaturally still unexpectedly.
When an elf freezes, they are the most beautiful of mannequins, their stillness perfect, and absolute.
And absolutely unnerving.
"Legolas?" Darcy asked. He looked up at her expectantly, and then dropped his gaze to somewhere behind her after a moment, his ears and cheeks coloring.
"You alright?" she inquired.
"Of course," he said into his menu. Darcy imagined that the tips of his ears were likely a maroon shade, and regretted that the StarkTech prevented her from enjoying the unease of her elf. She was unsure what set him off. Did the waitress give him the "come hither" stare?
And then Darcy noticed the aural problem in the restaurant.
She had pictured Legolas's introduction to modern music as being something where she built carefully-crafted playlists—like the very, very G-to-soft-PG rated traveling playlist waiting on her StarkPhone. She pictured them gradually moving from old-school songs like "Danny Boy" up to the Ella Fitzgearld era, breezing through the major musical transitions of the 1950's and 1960's, easing him into punk, new wave, neo-punk, and finally the more pop end of the rap spectrum. This process, she felt, would take somewhere in the neighborhood of six months.
But no, this diner had a jukebox that was presently playing Queen's "Fat-Bottomed Girls," which was a rated R song about band groupies, or so Darcy figured.
But, then, Darcy became just a little bit tired of playing nice and cushioning a 2200 year old man—elf, whatever—from the big, bad world of modern music.
Dangit, he was the soulmate of a feisty, vivacious and completely human woman.
"Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go 'round!" Darcy belted along, fist in the air.
Legolas was mortified, momentarily. Wonder where that blush ends, thought Darcy, speculatively eyeing her soulmatch.
And then she giggled.
He smiled at her expression, a bit bigger than his normal grin.
And she laughed harder.
And he laughed, his beautiful laugh that made her heart thump loudly in her chest. It was less restrained than any other laugh she had heard from him and his eyes danced. He was so beautiful.
Her laughter ended on a high note as she snorted in a most undignified way, her chuckles dying off.
Smiling, he looked at her and took her hand across the table.
"I must ask, though," he said as his blue eyes turned serious, "What is a bike?"
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