2.

When Wynne came near the elves and could get a closer look of them, she was almost ashamed of her thoughts of ugly men before. They were tall, that was the only similarity between them and the men at the marketplace, but there ended all likeness. These males were indeed beautiful, strikingly handsome in a knee weakening way. Two of them were dark, with olive skin and raven black hair, one was ginger and two were blond. All five of them had flawless faces, no wrinkles, no scars, no birth marks anywhere to be seen, and their waist long hair had intricate braiding on the sides of their heads. Not a single strand of hair seemed to be misplaced, as compared to Wynne's tousled, dirty blond tresses. Even their clothes were beautiful, spotlessly clean despite having camped out of doors. Wynne looked down on her own wrinkled hose and tunic, with grass stains on the knees from making the fire yesterday, and her leather boots covered in mud and possibly some horse dung as well.

Oh well, if Mother was right, she would not need clean clothes or smooth hair, all it would take was some nudity. Thinking about undressing in front of the elves made her cringe with embarrassment, but she knew she had to at least try. Maybe she could make it seem like an accident.

"Greetings, human. I am king Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. You must be the representative of the House of Örn. I had imagine you somewhat… older. And male." The blond elf that had spoken looked down his nose at her, which must have been hard, considering she was still on horseback.

"Greetings, Sire. I am Lady Wynne of Örn, at your service." She made a slight bow, and dismounted stiffly. Her backside still ached from Mother's rough treatment the other day, and a few days on horseback had not done it any good.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, My Lady," said the king, and looked like he was not pleased at all. He seemed to take in her simple clothing, rough, weathered features and small stature, all in one go, and immediately dismissing her as useless.

He turned to look at the horses then, seemingly trying to find fault with them also, but this at least would not be possible. They were outstanding, as perfect as could be, even the pack animals. Wynne herself might be a disappointment to the king, but she knew she need not be ashamed of her Mearas, the famous horse breed of Rohan.

Despite this, the king did manage to find a complaint. "Where are the reins and saddles?" asked he, sounding accusing. "I see you have saddlebags on the pack horses, but no riding gear at all on the mounts. Why is this?"

Wynne felt ice cold anger run through her spine. Who was this king, to question her competence as a Rohirrim? Reins and saddles, indeed! Her proud animals would never have to endure the hard pull of steely bits in their soft mouths, or the chafering of saddles. It was bad enough they would have to carry strangers on their noble backs.

"You will not need any of that. These are well trained horses." She tried to suppress her annoyance, but the elven king's disdainful gaze made it hard.

"Is that so? You want us to ride bareback like savages." King Thranduil somehow managed to sound even more arrogant than before.

Wynne was almost bristling by now, and bit down a harsh answer. This was the elf she was supposed to marry? To be forced to endure his stuck up behavior every day, must be an even worse punishment than Mother's whip. Handsome or not, this elf was a complete jerk.

She certainly had not made a good first impression either, that was for sure, but if he kept on annoying her like this she was not sure she could stop herself from making some really rude remarks.

The king had turned his back on her now, and was conferring with the others in a foreign language. The other blond elf advanced on Wynne in the meantime, looking slightly apologetic.

"Forgive my father," he said and stroked Vatna's soft muzzle. "Your horses look marvellous, and I do not mind riding bareback. I am Legolas, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you, sire." Wynne bowed, knowing that this was the prince who was her second choice in marriage, according to Mother. He looked kinder than his father, however not much less proud, but she appreciated that he complimented her on her horses.

Thranduil had finished talking with the others now, and rejoined her.

"I have a suggestion to make, My Lady", he said. "We will take the horses, and borrow them this spring and summer as agreed, and return them by early fall. We can tend to them ourselves, so your service will not be needed after all." It sounded more like a command than a suggestion.

"Out of the question." Wynne tried to remain polite, but he made it very hard. "Where my horses go, I go. Take it or leave it." She tried to stand up tall, and look just as imperious as the blond king. Perhaps if her hair had been long and flowing like his, and her brows just as intimidating, she would have succeeded. As of now, she probably just looked silly.

"The quest we will embark upon is not a children's game, girl. We will battle vile monsters, and ride long hours. It is no place for a young woman."

"My Father and King Aragorn apparently thought differently. I was assigned this task, and I am not afraid", lied Wynne. She was afraid, terrified even at the mention of monsters, but somehow the elf's condescending behaviour had brought forward some unknown source of stubbornness and pride in her. "Girl" indeed!

"Suit yourself then. Remember I have warned you. If you fall behind, or encumber us in any way, we will send you right back and make do without those horses."

Wynne gave a slight nod, hoping that he would not notice how nervous she felt. Could she really manage this? What if the first sight of a monster made her so frightened that she panicked? If she were sent home, it would be an absolute disgrace to her House. Not to mention how furious it would make Mother.

Wynne made a decision then. She would pretend. Pretend to be a strong, independent woman, a woman of the world, who was not afraid to be among males. She would guard her soft spots carefully, like she was wearing an invisible armour. She could almost picture herself dressing up in chainmail, and putting on a helmet with only a tiny slit for the eyes, like the warriors did. The thought made her straighten her back and lift her chin slightly. She could do this. Was she not a Lady of the Rohirrim? Was her House not one of the finest in the Mark? She could endure a lot, even Mother's violent beatings, without making a sound. How scary could a bunch of orcs be, compared to that?

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Don't hesitate to review and make suggestions. This is my first ever Fan Fiction, so I hope you enjoy it!