A Note From the Author: Did you know that you are looking very fancy today? (That's my way of distracting you from the fact that I haven't updated in far too long – forgive me, I had the flu?) Here's some news that I found incredibly exciting: TLB has been added to the Best Legolas Fanfictions community, so that's ... awesome! Thanks faithful readers!

Also, I've started updating my profile page with news on chapter postings – so if you're wondering when the next chapter is coming out, you should check there! I'll be able to keep the lines of communication more open on my profile than I can in the chapters of this story.

I hope you enjoy this chapter: it's been brewing in my head for some time now, and as such it took a while for me to get it out right, and this one was particular tough. It took a few tries for me to really get it right (again, maybe I should blame the flu). But ... here it is, cheers!

. . .

Ch. 21 Arrogance

Another week, or again maybe two, passed in Lothlórien. Though Aila had a distinct feeling that many days were passing, she couldn't quite recall or number the days which had passed or what she had done on any day in particular.

She was lying on her back on a mossy bank, her hands tucked underneath her head with her fingers interlaced in her thick hair. The small stream sang merrily in the background of her thought, its current pulling gently at her feet, which she had placed in the cool water. Though the water was exceptionally frigid, it felt nice against the rough soles of her feet and the gentle pulling of the current was soothing: pulling her away into unknown distance. Aila enjoyed also the feeling of clean hair again, working her fingers through soft locks of hair and against clean scalp; it was a luxury which she had done without, while in the wilds of Middle-earth, for too long.

Beside her lay an amaryllis blossom, lying careless and haphazard in the loam of the forest-floor. It was merely the latest in a long series of tokens. She hadn't been able to avoid the attentions of the Lórien-elves, and, after having only been a few days in their fair city, Aila began to be presented with an increasing amount of amaryllis flowers. To her astonishment, and great embarrassment, Elves had literally lined up to present her with the meaningful token, though most of these Elves she hardly knew. Each evening, she, with Isgwen, faithfully and diligently took inventory of their names and intents. But she didn't like to think about the amaryllis for too long – its presence in her fingers had been worrying and the interior of her lower lip had very nearly reached its limit, so Aila had set the flower down on the soft ground beside her, kicked off her light shoes and stretched out to place her feet in the cold water of the stream.

This was a place particularly special to her, which she had found about a half-hour's meandering walk from the heart of Caras Galadhon – into the trees of Lórien. Aila found herself there increasingly; it was a refuge to escape the Elves, as she did not suffer any of the sisters of the Galthellim to come there with her, and so far no other Elves had bothered her in this spot.

And as she lie there on the soft forest floor, listening to the trickle of the water and relishing its soft touch on her skin, she gazed up absently into the golden boughs of the mallorn-trees and allowed her mind to wander.

She had certainly passed however many transient days she had been in Lórien: usually she spent her days studying Sindarin with Isgwen and her evenings in aimless strolls with one of her Galthellim nightly escorts. Aila had also spent an increasing amount of time with the two Men of the Company, and their society was surprisingly pleasing to her. She dined and chatted with them, and they regaled her with stories of their kinfolk and the White City. But what Aila had liked most to hear were not their tales of epic battles or long-winded martial histories, half-forgotten; rather she lost herself in their descriptions of jubilant feasts, of light-hearted music and dancing, and drunken merry-makers, and most of all stories of juvenile trouble-making. Though the customs were different, and the underlying meanings distinct, and the culture entirely inaccessible to Aila – there was still a quality which was ... entirely human. And it was this quality, this endearment, which spoke to Aila's heart and made her think longingly of home. Skyscrapers, cement side-walks, screeching subway tracks, catchy but terrible top-40 music-of-the-moment, and the chiming of the church bell in the center of campus: home.

She was surprised to realize that she did, indeed, miss the music which she had considered so terrible: catchy tunes that lacked meaningful substance but were light-hearted and fun and meaninglessly silly. Aila listened quietly to the sounds of the mallorn-trees for a few moments, and hearing only the soft whispering of the wind through the rustling leaves, she began to sing quietly to herself.

"Give me a reason to fall in love,

Take my hand and let's dance.

Give me a reason to make me smile,

Cuz I think I forgot how ..."

"Aila?" The voice startled her, catching the words in her throat, and her heart began to beat swiftly with surprise and some panic. The familiarity of the male-Elf voice, however, caused a warning to go off in the back of her mind that it was Legolas – which brought sudden discomfort and immediate embarrassment. But the Elf who approached her now was not Legolas.

"Haldir?" The irritation that had ballooned in her stomach dissipated as immediately as it had appeared. She struggled to get to her feet, ungainly and inelegant, but she was quickly standing before the Elf. Aila had thought of Haldir increasingly with each passing day in Lothlórien because she fantasized that she knew him better than any of the other Lórien-elves, and also because she had an ineffable feeling that she somehow knew him quite well. But now, as she stood in front of him, every thought to that end felt like idle schoolgirl fantasy, and blood colored her cheeks. Her embarrassment, however, was short-lived as her brain quickly pieced together the puzzle of Haldir's return: the march-warden's return to the city meant the quick departure of the Fellowship. Had the Company's time in Lothlórien already come to a close?

"Aila," he said again, smiling broadly, and he closed the distance between them. "Ni veren an gi ngovaded."

It took Aila a few moments to translate what he had said using her elementary knowledge of Sindarin, but she had a general idea of his meaning, and so, taking a deep breath to recollect herself, she responded, "Gi suilannon."

"Mae garnen!" Haldir cried, eyebrows raised in pleasure and surprise and another smile overtook his handsome face. His broad grin was undeniably attractive and perfectly framed straight, white teeth. Blood rushed into Aila's face once more. "You have not been idle, I see."

"The accent is difficult," she acceded, bowing her head slightly and lowering her eyes in a reserved manner, and realized that her heart beat a bit slower when she was not looking at Haldir. "And I have only had a little while to learn."

"Many accolades to your teacher!" Haldir cried again, and he quickly reached out and took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers and pulling her gently forward and out of the small clearing. "I have been sent by the Lord Celeborn to retrieve you: there is a council convening to discuss the departure of your companions, and your presence was specifically requested. I asked that I be assigned the task of finding you – it is, after all, a pleasure to see you again." At this, he smiled again, and Aila couldn't help the shy smile that automatically returned his. So she followed him quickly back to the heart of Caras Galadhon, hand-in-hand, her shoes and the amaryllis blossom forgotten alongside the small stream.

. . .

The Company sat in a wide circle with Celeborn and Galadriel, their positioning reminiscent of the first evening that Haldir had led them into Caras Galadhon to meet the elf-royals. Haldir also joined them in this circle, and a few other of the senior march-wardens. Aila sat down beside Aragorn, trying to keep her eyes fixed on her knees: as Haldir had led her into the grand room, she had seen that Legolas already sat, tall and attentive, in one of the seats, and she realized it was the first time she had seen the Elf in weeks. His absence in her daily life suddenly became painfully obvious to Aila. After having spent so much time constantly in his presence, and the presence of the rest of the Company, the previous weeks felt awkwardly empty and uncertain. She tried desperately not to think of the way her life would feel when he, and the rest of the Company, departed to continue their Quest.

At length, Celeborn spoke, low and determined, enunciating his consonants and rounding the vowels with his thin lips: "Now is the time when those who wish to continue the Quest must harden their hearts to leave this land. Those who no longer wish to go forward may remain here, for a while. But whether they stay or go, none can be sure of peace. For we are come now to the edge of doom. Here those who wish may await the oncoming of the hour till either the ways of the world lie open again, or we summon them to the last need of Lórien. Then they may return to their own lands, or else go to the long home of those that fall in battle."

"As for me," said Boromir, his voice deep and rough, a challenging growl, "my way home lies onward and not back." The man's jaw was set on a hard line and his dark eyes looked to be burning with a deep determination.

"That is true," responded Celeborn, and the Elf looked hard at Aragorn, "but is all this Company going with you to Minas Tirith?"

"We have not decided our course," said Aragorn quickly, and quietly. He did not look up to return the gaze of the Elf, but his eyes rested keenly on the knuckles of his hands, which were in his lap. "Beyond Lothlórien I do not know what Gandalf intended to do. Indeed I do not think that even he had any clear purpose."

"Maybe not," Celeborn replied, "yet when you leave this land you can no longer forget the Great River. As some of you know well, it cannot be crossed by travelers with baggage between Lórien and Gondor, save by boat. On which side will you journey?" The question hung on the air for several seconds, salient and defiant. Celeborn continued, "The way to Minas Tirith lies upon this side, upon the west; but the straight road of the Quest lies east of the River, upon the darker shore. Which shore will you now take?"

"If my advice is heeded," said Boromir, again with a rough edge to his voice, "it will be the western shore, and the way to Minas Tirith. But I am not the leader of the Company," he finished darkly. There was a sallow sheen of sweat on Boromir's brow, and Aila saw, uneasily, that his hand rested on the Horn of Gondor, and his eyes turned eagerly to Frodo. The Hobbit determinedly gazed away from the Gondor man. Aragorn looked up from the ring on his finger to look sharply at Boromir, a tinge of fear and uncertainty in his eye.

Celeborn seemed to settle against the back of his chair, a troubled expression on his serene face. "I see that you do not yet know what to do. It is not my part to choose for you; but I will help you as I may. There are some among you who can handle boats: Legolas, whose folk know the swift Forest River; and Boromir of Gondor; and Aragorn the traveler."

"And one Hobbit!" cried Merry, who could not stand to allow the Elves to discount all the Shire-folk. Galadriel smiled at Merry, causing the hobbit to blush deeply, and Celeborn nodded acquiescently,

"Boats may make your journey less toilsome for a while. Yet they will not give you counsel: in the end you must leave them and the River, and turn west – or east."

Though he continued to give Boromir furtive glances, Aragorn looked much relieved by the gifts of boats, and thanked the Elf accordingly. And though Aila thought that this entirely settled the business which needed to be accounted, it seemed that the Lady Galadriel had something more to say.

"There is something, also," the Lady began quietly, her somber voice low and deep, "which has been weighing in my mind these past days since your arrival here in our fair Lothlórien. It is unavoidable now." The Elf paused now, which Aila thought anxiously must have been purely for dramatic effect – but the words which came next slowed Aila's heartbeat and wiped any thought of sarcasm from her shocked mind. "Aila-Aearvenel shall continue on with the Fellowship."

There were a few beats of perfect, stunned silence. "What?" Aila demanded, leaning forward in her chair, her eyebrows pulled heavily together, a thick crease forming in the center of her worried forehead. Her mouth was open with incredulity and amazement. At her word, a flurry of other voices joined the disbelief; Haldir and the other march-wardens spoke urgently that the Lady must not be serious, and even Celeborn's face was a picture of surprise. But Galadriel's face was turned only to Aila, a placid look of satisfaction on her beautiful features, and the Lady awaited Aila's response alone.

After a few moment's more of disbelief, as her mind struggled to reform her shattered thoughts, Aila obliged the Lady's expectation. "That's crazy," Aila said simply, and quite under her breath, as she stared at the Elf-lady, hoping that somehow the Elf had merely a strange sense of humor. "You can't really intend that I continue with the Company, when the entire purpose was that they bring me here!"

"I understand," said the Lady serenely, "that it was Lord Elrond's purpose that there be nine members of the Fellowship: nine to face the Nine that hunt the Ring-bearer. Here you are only eight. With Aila, you are Nine once more."

Aila, unconvinced, cried, "You would risk my life for poetic license and petty symbolism?" Silence fell over the entire sitting then, and lasted for well over a minute. She breathed heavily and deeply, pulling in oxygen to cleanse the frayed thoughts in her mind. A growing level of panic was developing at the base of her skull, overwhelming the top of her spinal column and slowly seeping over the rest of her brain – she needed to control herself before the panic overtook her. "Trust me," she said vehemently, staring directly at Galadriel, "the Company will do fine without me."

"It would be dishonest if I did not say I did not greatly desire your guidance on our dark journey. It would be a comfort to me if you were there to help me choose the path and lead the Company." It was Aragorn's voice that rose softly beside her, and Aila turned suddenly to glare at him with an angry and surprised expression on her face. She felt immediately as though he had betrayed her in the deepest sense.

"Are you kidding me?" she said, exasperated. "Advise you on the Company?" And she shook her head vigorously. "I would only be a burden, as I have already been. Your journey is not going to be any less dangerous as you travel south."

"And it might seem good counsel, at first," said Boromir, suddenly a kinder look upon his face, "that we leave a woman behind, who might only hinder our Quest. But from what I have seen, Aila, you are not a burden. Never have a seen any woman fight with such determination and skill as I saw you display in the Mines of Moria, and I, at least, believe that there is strong courage in you still."

"No," she said firmly, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms childishly over her chest, as though closing off her body posture ended the conversation. It did not. "Celeborn, and Elrond, have said that those among us must only go as far as we wish. I do not wish to continue – it is too dangerous, and I am of no use. Elrond and Gandalf meant that I come to Lothlórien, which I, at least, will respect!"

"You may not wish to continue with the Ring-bearer," said Galadriel slowly, her dark blue eyes set narrowly on Aila. There was an expression of sharp distaste on her face and a hint of it in her voice. "But when his Fellowship departs this land, it, also, will be closed to you. So continue with Frodo! Or, return to Rivendell alone. Or – face the wilds. But you may not remain in fair Lórien once they have left." These words shocked Aila, and any idea of retort sat soundlessly on her tongue, surprised into stillness. Her thoughts chewed on this new predicament swiftly for a few moments, and Aila could think of only one reason for her expulsion from Lothlórien.

"Oh, I understand," Aila said, in a low, sinister voice. She glared at Galadriel now in return, with equally narrowed eyes, and her brown eyes were dark and challenging. "You wish to never leave Lothlórien, but my presence means that you soon have to – it's my son, after all, who is meant to lead you from this place forever. So ... better to send me off with the Fellowship, and hopefully I'll be killed?" Aila raised her eyebrows, a disgusting smile on her face and her cheeks were flushed with anger. "I hate to tell you, Galadriel, but your days in your beloved forest are numbered, with or without me! The Elves are leaving this Middle-earth, so enjoy your last Lórien springs while you can, because I guess that you only have about two-hundred more until you all sail for the Undying Lands, never to return!" A quick glance at Haldir might have shown Aila his terrified face, and the sorrow deep in his pale eyes, but she did not look at Haldir: her eyes were focused solely and maliciously on the Lady Galadriel, who coolly returned her angry gaze. "But there is no need for a movement of execution. Send me home – I'll gladly go! Back to Rivendell, and through the mirror – I'll do it! I'll go! I didn't ask to come here, to be some Light Bearer, and I have quite a comfortable life waiting for me on the other side of the mirror – a place where I'm insignificant. And you have no idea how much I miss it!"

Celeborn, now, leaned forward in his chair earnestly. "You must fulfill your destiny." There was pain deep in his eyes.

"Fine!" Aila shouted, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "But your Lady Galadriel wants me gone so badly, so why don't we do this: I'll just have sex with the first Elf I see, pop out a son – and then you can have him! And I'll go home again." Not surprisingly, the Elves in attendance shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Haldir looked at the ground, Legolas blushed deeply and looked up into the trees, and even Gimli's face was seen to be reddening through the thick hairs of his beard.

"Lady Aila ..." Celeborn's face was stern and somber, but there was also a note of plain discomfort and exasperation. But Aila could not listen to whatever he wanted to say. Her stomach was churning with anger, born of surprise and exasperation and desperate fear, and it had to be released.

"No, you listen!" she shouted, waving her hands violently in front of her to emphasize each word as though it were its own salient point. "I am not afflicted with false modesty – humility has never been something that I was good at. I've always been just a little bit arrogant and it's mostly because I've always thought I was so much smarter than everyone else around me, but now ... now I must know for certain that I'm smarter than all of you because what you're saying, what you're suggesting is ... it's idiotic. It's insanity. You're crazy. No," she spread her hands in a sharp gesture at that last syllable, uttering the declination definitely. Celeborn started to move toward her, as though to rise from his chair, his hand raised and an angry expression on his face, lips stretched over bare teeth and eyebrows raised in incredulity, but it was Galadriel that held Aila's eyes.

The elf-lady was standing now, herself and yet not still herself: her expression darkened while her hair became a translucent white, light shone angrily from her skin and her eyes narrowed, and a strong wind, unfelt by Aila or any of the others, began to disturb her long hair and twist it around her face and body. This was an elf-lady at her most beautiful and most terrible. Aila shrank back at the sight of her, all anger and frustration forgotten. "That is quite enough!" Galadriel's voice rang out like a deafening knell, quieting Aila's rapid heartbeat, and the silence hung oppressively over the gathered company for the breadth of several moments. "Foolish child!" Galadriel scolded, and her countenance seemed to shrink again until she was reduced once more to Galadriel, Lady of the Wood. "Have you forgotten already the charge laid upon you? The sword must be brought to its master!" And before Aila could remember what the Elf spoke of, Galadriel reached behind her chair and pulled out a long, glittering, silver sword, standing from her chair and brandishing the threatening sword in the center of the gathered circle. A few gasped in recognition of the sword, and beside Aila, Aragorn leapt to his feet as well.

"Glamdring!" he cried, surprise etched across his features. He turned and stared at Aila questioningly, and asked her, "What does it mean? That you are charged with Gandalf's sword?"

"Gandalf the Grey is dead," she responded sharply, though careful to be specific in her words. She, perhaps, said this too harshly, and it hurt her to see Aragorn's once hopeful face fall again so heavily, but Aila's anger was quickly resurfacing. "I am not the only one who can carry this sword to its new master! Give it to Aragorn, or give it to Legolas! Either of them can wield it better than I, and either can deliver it to its master."

"It must be you!" the Elf demanded, holding the sword out toward her insistently.

Aila stood swiftly, and crossed the space in the center of the circle, reaching to take the glittering sword from Galadriel's hand. The Elf handed the sword to her, with an almost smug expression on her beautiful face – an expression which caused more anger to bubble in Aila's torso. But instead of engaging in the argument again, Aila simply took the sword and turned on her heel, storming out of the counsel circle, out of Celeborn's house, down the ladder and out into the trees of Lothlórien.

. . .

Ni veren an gi ngovaded = I am happy to meet you

Gi suilannon = Greetings

Mae garnen = Well done