I listened to "Fallen Through Time" from the Outlander score while writing this, in case anyone wants to listen while reading (which is what I do). I hope you enjoy, cheers! :)

CHAPTER FIVE

Mischievous Misadventurer

As work was scarce, Legolas spent many days that followed in the library. Nestled between two of the great mallorn trees, he sat at a table on the second level and looked over the books and parchments laid out before him. The sun shined in from the glassless arches, the branches of smaller trees barely reaching the windows. In between drafting some correspondence and taking breaks to read, Legolas was reminded of Galion, who typically accompanied him on these visits—alas, his friend had stayed behind in Mirkwood and wasn't likely to join at any point soon.

There were few places in Middle Earth that were as peaceful as Imladris and Lorien, but Lorien was closer in spirit to Mirkwood than Imladris ever could be. Despite the relative solitude, Legolas was in no rush to hurry back home.

Branches rustled outside the window. Legolas looked up from the page he'd been staring at—the same line, he realized—as they moved again. The leaves and innumerable shadows danced in the sunlight. Holding the book with one hand, Legolas shut it slowly with a soft thump, setting it down and rising from his chair. His footsteps were light as he crossed the leaf-covered floor and set his hands upon the ledge, peering down at the kaleidoscopic chute of branches.

A mass of green—darker than the leaves surrounding it—hung from one of the branches down below. Both legs hooked atop the branch, anchoring the familiar figure as she released both hands to reach for some of the fruit, tucking them into a satchel that hung from her body.

"Estel?" Legolas said without thinking. The tree shuddered with her sudden shock, the air ringing as she shrieked in surprise and and accidentally released her legs, dropping into the bushes below.

Legolas startled, pushing off the ledge and darting for the archway leading to some stairs. He descended quickly and broke out into a run until he was outside, scanning the bushes as they rustled with her emergence. Leaves were caught in her hair, but she seemed all in all intact as she stumbled out clumsily, nearly falling to the ground before recovering.

Her face immediately washed of any expression—which was characteristic for her, apparently. "Why would you do that?" she said. "If I had landed poorly, you'd have had to explain my death to my mother!"

"Forgive me," he said instantly, briefly picturing Arwen's despair. "I—wasn't thinking. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine—your highness," she said, patting herself down, giving him a chance to look her over. Legolas furrowed a brow at her apparel: the satchel, travel pants and tunic for warmth. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Are you going somewhere?" he couldn't help but ask just as she was about to turn away.

Estel paused, looking back at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Your clothes," he said. "Are you traveling somewhere?"

She seemed reluctant to answer. "Perhaps," her voice was low. "If I am, I would appreciate if you did not share that presumption with anyone."

"Where might you be going?"

Her lips parted with an answer she did not want to give. "Does it matter?"

Does it?

Legolas thought back to the other night and what Haldir had told him: she had climbed one of the mallorn trees when no one was watching. Someone of her character could only be up to no good—but why did that matter?

"I'm just…curious," he settled on the answer. "There aren't many places to travel to within the kingdom itself."

"And your curiosity alone deserves an answer?"

Legolas frowned. "Have I offended you, to warrant such aggression?"

Estel blinked in surprise, realization dawning over her. Then, she softened a bit. "I—no. Please, forgive me," she said. "I have not forgotten your character—nor your kindness toward me a half-fortnight ago."

Legolas nodded in acceptance of the apology. "I take it your ankle is better?"

"It is."

"And you appear to be headed on a long journey."

"Not a long one," she said. "I'll be back by nightfall."

"Where are you headed?"

The reluctance returned, but there was no overlay of aggression. "Is the prince of Mirkwood versed in keeping secrets?"

"Another favor?" Legolas grinned. "Certainly."

That earned him a tiny smile. "There's an old woman that lives on the southeast side of the forest, just outside the border. I visit her now and again."

"A human?" Estel nodded. Strange that a human would be allowed to make a home so near the kingdom. "Aren't there patrols in the area you mean to cross?" With bows and sharp arrows and very good aim?

"There are," she said. "But they don't approach the wild rapids of the river Anduin—since orcs could not possibly cross, if they somehow managed to penetrate the protected land of Lady Galadriel. It makes for an easy avenue to get by watchful eyes without being shot."

A pause of silence. Legolas stared at her in shock, stifling a surprised chuckle. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be horrified. "You would cross the wild rapids of The Great River?"

"Well, yes."

"You can't be serious."

Estel arched a brow. "Anyway—I must be going if I'm to make it back by nightfall," she said, bowing her head as she took steps backward. "Good day to you, your highness."

"Estel." he stepped toward her and she stopped. "This isn't a good idea. I can't—you can't expect me to let you go in good conscience, knowing of the dangers."

"Good ideas don't always enrich one's life," she said. "Besides, I've crossed the river many times."

"If you fall and hurt yourself just once, you will be alone out there with no one to bring you back—nor are the woods entirely safe," he said. "There are more than orcs to fear in the wilds of the world."

She stared at him a moment, indecision flashing across her features before dissipating with a devious smile. "Then by all means, come along and keep me safe."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on him. A beat of silence passed between them, a gentle breeze rustling the bushes, then Legolas glanced toward the library and back. "Very well."

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Let's go."

"I—" she stuttered as he stepped by here. "You're serious?"

Legolas shrugged with enough incredulity for them both—as if to say, 'you tell me—I can't believe this, either.'

"Ah…" Estel shifted uncomfortably, looking back at the library as well. "Really?"

"Really."

She blinked several times, then turned to the path. "Fine, then. Follow me," by her voice, he sensed that she held no small amount of confidence that he would turn back.

For some time, the two of them walked in silence, her footsteps naturally heavier against the forest floor than his. Perhaps once they reached the rapids, he might point out some of the dangers of Anduin that she had been overlooking.

It was still early in the day, and it took the better part of an hour for them to trek the woods on the southeast end of the elven kingdom. Here, the trees had begun to grow smaller and smaller, until they were naught but a simple wood. Thickets were broken along the path that Estel led him by, and Legolas realized that she had indeed traversed this path many times before.

"Who is this woman?" he asked. "How did you come to know her?"

"Her name is Methelda," Estel said, hoisting herself over a tree trunk that had fallen onto the path. "There was once a village near the borders of Lorien, but those people have long since gone. Methelda continued living there for some time with her husband and children, but…" A reluctant pause. "She outlived them all."

Unsurprising. All living things existing so close to the borders of the elven kingdom would naturally be blessed by its magic—with health, good crop, and even youthfulness and longevity for a time. "And how did you come to know her?"

"I was done exploring the northern end of the kingdom, so I moved on to the south," Estel said. "I came across her little farm and she welcomed me in for tea."

"And you go to visit her now, out of charity?"

At that, she slowed to look at him. Her expression was unreadable. "She is the only other human I've ever known in my life—there is a measure beyond charity that drives me to see her."

Legolas considered that a moment, and then the two of them continued on in silence. It didn't take long to reach the river Anduin, where large, sharp rocks had begun to form thick borders.

"She lives just down the river on the other side," Estel said while Legolas arched a brow at the waters beating furiously against the riverbed.

"This is most unwise, Estel," he said, daring to take her by the arm. "We should turn back."

Estel pulled it back at once. "Go back if you're afraid."

"It's you I fear for."

"Why?" she said with genuine incredulity. "What am I to you?"

Legolas stiffened, scraping together words to explain. "You are the daughter of Arwen Undomiel."

"That means little to others in Lorien, why should it hold sway with you?"

"She and Lord Elrond would never forgive me if I allowed harm to come to you."

"I have done this many, many times."

"Accidents only occur once."

Estel laughed. "That is far from true."

Frustration feathered through him. "You are a living being and I fear for your safety, Estel—I would not see you come to harm."

Her eyes narrowed. "That which is born wild will remain wild," she repeated her sentiments from a week ago. "If not today, then tomorrow. If you think principle will stop me visiting Methelda, go back to the library and to your books. You may have many lifetimes to live, but I only have one—and I do not plan to spend it cowering."

"That life will be cut short if you treat it with such little regard for safety."

The Mask slowly crept back into her features—an impenetrable wall concealing her thoughts. "Very well," she said after a moment. "Let us turn back, then, if you are so uncomfortable."

Legolas narrowed his eyes and did not move. "Just like that?"

"I can see I won't be getting anywhere in your presence," she said. "Regardless of the fact that I'd promised to visit her today. Go on, then, you know the way." She gestured to the direction they'd come from.

Legolas took one reluctant step back, afraid to turn his eyes from her. "Alright…" Slowly but surely, he faced the path. "In the future, you might find some—"

He stopped mid sentence as her footsteps exploded in speed and precision—in the opposite direction.

Legolas whipped toward her, horror seizing him as Estel bounded toward the river Anduin, leaping off one of the rocks. He lurched in her direction, watching as she moved with expert precision across the rocks that stuck out from the rapids. As though she'd done it many thousands of times, knowing precisely where to aim her feet and how far to push—where to jump and which rocks wouldn't budge under the sudden weight, the precise angles that would keep her feet from slipping. Only when she finally landed on the other bank did his racing heart begin to calm. He'd been gripping one of the boulders without realizing, and slowly let it go.

Estel recovered swiftly on the other side, then turned and smiled in open challenge—the starkest look of amused satisfaction, and the most emotion he'd seen on her face to date. "I told you!" she called out to him across the river. He stood frozen. "Not going to follow, son of Greenwood? Does the river trouble you?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes, his head angling downward.

"I'll see you when I return then, shall I?" she added, waving as she turned to leave. "The best of days to you, your highness—"

Legolas broke forward in a run, launching from the same rock that Estel had jumped from. The mirth in her features instantly snapped to disbelief. Legolas flew toward her across the river, taking broader strokes than she had, the water barreling by him in great swaths. He had watched Estel's feet when she crossed, but he was in tune with the river in ways she had not been and found a quicker path across the rapids. To her credit, Estel didn't move a muscle at his quick approach. Legolas stopped abruptly in front of her with grace and barely a sway—leaving hardly a foot of space between them.

Her expression had completely drained of color and expression, save for her lips slightly parted, and The Mask was firmly in place as she stared up at him.

"Go on, then," he said coolly, having barely broken a sweat. "You know the way."

Estel's eyes widened by a fraction, and she turned. In the silence that followed, Legolas couldn't stop his continued smile. She really hadn't expected him to come after her.

It was barely midday by the time they reached the lone cottage in the woods, plants and flowers overgrowing along the outside. A small garden was growing off to the side as well some livestock, and much of the roof showed unsightly signs of recent repairs.

Estel hadn't spoken a word the rest of the way, and Legolas hadn't stopped grinning. The door, he noted as they drew near, was covered in poorly-done etchings of paint that were chipped and fading. He stopped a few feet behind Estel and waited as she knocked. It opened after some time, and a considerably old woman appeared to greet them.

"Oh, my dear," her voice was pitched and frail as she smiled at Estel, her grey hair thin and falling over the blanket she'd wrapped herself in. "How good to see you."

Estel bent down and embraced the old woman. "It's good to see you, too, Methelda," she turned and gestured coolly to the prince. "This is Legolas."Methelda's greying eyes turned and observed him, straining to see his face. "He followed me here."

Legolas exchanged a look with the old woman as Estel strode inside.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, stepping up and taking a bow to her.

"The pleasure is mine, young sir." She smiled humorously, then the two of them followed Estel inside.

"Dear, why do you trouble yourself so?" Methelda said as Estel busied herself around the shelves where poultices and jars of tea leaves lay. "Your visits are so kind and lovely, may I not serve you myself when you are here?"

There was already a pot of water hanging over a small fire, Legolas noted.

"Nonsense—I've got two young legs and a healthy heartbeat," Estel said. "Go and sit at the table, I'll prepare everything myself."

Methelda turned with a lovingly proud expression and approached the table. Legolas hurried first to pull out a chair for her. "Thank you, dear."

"Of course."

He waited a moment to see if Estel would be joining them, but she merely continued moving about the kitchen. Eventually, he sat down across the table next, settling into silence.

The dwelling was modest, but the windows were large enough to accommodate natural light from the outside. There was a small hallway that led to what he assumed would be a pair of rooms—or perhaps one—and there were signs of early life and light all throughout the space. Even the air smelled of sweet flowers and incense.

Legolas turned his attention on Estel, watching the way she moved around the kitchen as though it were her own. She wasn't lying, he realized, when she said she'd been here many times before. Though he shuddered to think how her first attempt to cross the river Anduin must have went, before she learned its terrain.

As the tea steeped, she removed the contents of her satchel and arranged them around Methelda's shelves—all manner of fruits and dried meats. Some of which had obviously been stolen from the kitchens, but the fruits she'd taken from the tree were the smallest among them—and most numerous. Perhaps she'd taken them off the tree so as to take less from the kitchens? Surely, the disappearance of many fruits would rouse suspicion.

When he looked back, Methelda was watching him carefully with a curious smile.

"Here we are," Estel cut in at that moment, approaching the table with a tray. "I've left you enough food to last another fortnight or so, and then I will come visit you again."

Legolas blinked disapprovingly at the mention of coming again, and Estel shot him a cold look of warning to stay silent.

"Sit down already, child," Methelda said. "You trouble yourself too much."

"Trouble is my second name," Estel answered as she plopped down into the chair. "I have something else for you." Legolas watched from across the table as she withdrew a small booklet. "Here."

For a moment, he thought she'd stolen that from the library—until Methelda beamed, "Oh, how wonderful! I've just finished your last one. What is this one about?"

"It is about a girl who travels into the forest of Fangorn and finds herself in another world."

Methelda looked at Estel in horror and snapped, "When did you travel through Fangorn?"

Estel smiled broadly. "I didn't. I've only been at the border."

"See to it that doesn't change." Methelda shook her finger wearily at her. "Your long life is not worth the adventures you seek out to write these stories."

Legolas blinked down at the booklet—Estel had written that?

"A familiar sentiment," Estel droned as she glanced in Legolas's direction. "I think you'll enjoy this one. Mind the etchings, but I outlined the small village she wakes up in—you should note the young man's dwelling for later in the story when the fire breaks out, it will become important to remember where it is."

Curiosity piqued, Legolas slowly turned his attention to the shelves—sure enough, there were many more booklets laying atop one of them. Some where smaller than others, but there were many.

"Has your betrothed read this work?" Methelda said, seizing his attention back across the table.

Estel looked as shocked as he felt. "My—what?"

"Your betrothed." Methelda looked across the table at Legolas. "Forgive me, dear, I've forgotten your name."

Legolas's mouth fell open, but it was Estel who broke out in a passionate laugh—light and musical. "He is not my betrothed, Methelda!"

"Oh," the old woman. "Forgive me, I merely assumed—you have never brought a young man to visit me."

Estel was still brimming with humor as she answered, "Legolas is no man for me to marry—look at him!"

The prince furrowed a brow. What on earth was that supposed to mean?

Methelda seemed to have the same thought, turning to Estel with a confused expression. "I am looking at him, dear."

Estel, realizing that her meaning was not understood, gestured to Legolas. "He is an elf, Methelda," she said. Again, there was uncomprehending silence. "He is the prince of Mirkwood."

At that, Methelda's eyes widened. "Ah, I see," she said, turning to look at him. "Even in the realm of elves, royalty marries only royalty, does it?"

Estel's smile had faded with awkwardness—clearly, she had meant something different. Methelda hadn't understood, but he had.

"Something like that," he said, knowing that the lie did not matter. He was elven-kind and Estel was mortal—that was what she meant. And it wasn't an inaccurate observation. As the heir to the throne of Mirkwood, their paths could not diverge more widely through different worlds. He would sit atop the throne of King Thranduil someday, while she—

Well, she would die.

"Methelda, how fares the roof?" Estel asked. "It's not pretty, but did it hold up well enough against the rain?"

"There was a small bit that leaked through, dear," the old woman gestured to the bucket sitting atop the counter. "But it was not much."

Estel rose from her seat and went over to look at it, frowning. "I figured as much," she said, lifting it off the counter and taking it toward the door. "I'm sorry, Methelda—I shall try again and use this for the garden. Do you still have clean water from the river?"

"Yes, it's over in the cupboard, there."

"Good," Estel said, halfway out the door. "I'll go and look at the roof now, before I forget."

Methelda turned a smile on Legolas. "She never forgets."

Legolas offered a polite grin. "She comes to see you often, I gather?"

"When she can." The old woman nodded. "All my family is gone—she brings me stories, as my children once did. Only she leaves them here, so that I might leave my home far more often than I am capable."

Legolas looked from Methelda's face to the window, where he saw Estel toss the bucket of water over the garden. It flew sideways instead of straight ahead. She didn't look at him as she turned back toward the house and broke off in a run, hoisting herself onto the edge of the roof. Her footsteps began over their heads as she approached the corner that had been leaking.

"If you do not mind my asking," Methelda began, distracting him a moment. "Why did you accompany Estel here today? She told me she did not want the elves to know of her visitations."

Legolas considered whether to tell the woman of his concerns about the river Anduin. "I first met Estel when she was a child," he said. "She was the chiefest source of entertainment to those who dwelt in Imladris—in Rivendell. Any who know her character would be afraid to let her off wondering through the woods alone."

"And you do?" The old woman angled her head in curiosity. "Know her well?"

Legolas looked up to the spot on the ceiling where the boards creaked with Estel's weight. "I suspect not," he muttered quietly.

"But you fear for her safety?" Methelda probed.

There was some meaning behind her words, Legolas could tell, but he could not discern it entirely. "I would not see her come to harm."

"I see where the water is coming through!" Estel shouted from the roof.

Methelda smiled as she looked up. "Thank you, dear," her voice was weak as compared to Estel's, but it seemed to be enough.

As Estel returned to gather some tools, Legolas excused himself to follow her outside. All her hair was in knots as she worked atop the roof. He rounded the side of the house to stand directly underneath her. "Do you need help?"

Estel shook her head without looking at him. "I've managed without it so far, haven't I?"

Apparently not.

"That doesn't answer the question."

Finally, she looked at him. Despite the dust and sweat that had settled along her skin, the tangles that shone with the sun's rays passing through them, she was a reverent entity in the woods—a vibrant vision of mortality atop the roof.

"I'll be done soon," she said. "If you want to help, go find the paint pouch I left on the second shelf and paint the doorway—I haven't the precision to make those corners even."

Legolas did as instructed, despite the kernel of disbelief at his own compliance. The prince of Mirkwood—painting a mortal's doorway at the behest of another mortal. Estel finished at roughly the same time that he did, and soon after, it was time for them to go home.

"It'll be dark soon," Methelda said. "You mustn't linger."

"We won't," Estel said, her satchel packed and thrown over her shoulder. "The road home is an easy one, do not worry." Another point—so, she had not told Methelda about the dangers of Anduin. "I shall come see you again, soon."

Legolas watched as she embraced the old woman once more, waiting patiently until it was his turn to bow. "I thank you for your hospitality," he said.

"It was my pleasure," Methelda smiled warmly at him. "You must come and visit me again, together."

The thought prompted him to smile as he glanced around the cottage. The tea, the garden, the conversation—even the road here was a pleasant one, despite the river. He understood Estel's drive to return here again and again. "We most certainly will."

He sensed, rather than saw, Estel's cutting glance in his direction.

"Take care of yourself," she said. "Goodbye, Methelda."

"Goodbye, child."

Together, they turned back onto the path they'd come from earlier. The sun was beginning to set on the forest of Lorien, turning the ground a golden color. They hiked in silence for some time with Estel leading the way. "I don't know if this goes without saying," she said without turning or stopping, "but if you tell anyone about Methelda, you will wake to find all your hair cut off."

Legolas smiled. Surely, by her light tone, she knew that he wouldn't speak of this.

"I'll give her reasons for your absence later," she added. "How long are you staying in Lorien?"

"My—absence?"

She paused to look at him. "Surely, you don't mean to come with me again."

Legolas cocked his lip into a smile. "Would not missing my delightful presence break that woman's heart?"

Estel smirked derisively. "To have you sit in awkward silence at her table? I hardly think so, your highness."

"It would break my heart."

Estel stopped, facing him entirely. A ray of light fell upon them both through the trees. "You've now seen that I am in no danger when I travel through these woods," she said with the utmost intent. "So, there is no need for us to have anything to do with one another—his need not happen again."

Legolas stared down at her, his amusement fading. "Nothing to do with one another?" he questioned reluctantly, suddenly unsure of what lines were being drawn. Was she setting down a boundary with him? Did she not desire his friendship? He found he didn't mind it so much. "I suppose, but—"

Estel nodded as she interjected, "Then when we return, you must follow the main path. I will find my own way home through the trees."

"Why do you cling to such secrecy?" he finally asked the question he'd been wondering for some time. "Has someone claimed its necessity to you?"

She shook her head. "Lorien is a magnificent place, even more so now that I have Methelda to look after. However—" A reluctant pause. "There are those who make their unfavorable sentiments known about my presence. There is also a measure of risk in friendship with the Eldar that I do not care to take, even if they didn't."

"What risk is there in friendship?"

Estel looked into his eyes at that moment, a strong and potent thought crossing her expression—then dissipating as quickly as it came. "Nothing of import," she said, then turned away. "Come. We should cross the river before the sun sets."

Alrightie dears, I've written five chapters and ~17,000 words for this story these past few days—my wrist is all wrapped up and hurting, I think I need to take a little break. :(. I promise I'll be back soon!