Chapter 10

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one'."

(C. S. Lewis)

Elanor knotted her hands together as she ambled down a picturesque pathway. The air was crisp and a little cool, but she was quite comfortable in her dress and light woollen wrap. Under one arm was tucked a bundle wrapped in cloth.

Spying an inviting seat built around the bole of a tree, Elanor left the path and sat down gladly. Whilst her cheeks held more colour than previous days, her eyes were bleary and miserable. Closing them gladly, she scolded herself internally: Elanor Ravenscroft, you're the biggest idiot around.

And, she admitted bleakly, it was all too true.

I kissed him. I kissed Boromir. I got drunk, and I kissed a book character. I have a boyfriend, and I kissed a forty-year-old man from a fantasy novel. Oh. My. Goodness. He's almost old enough to be my dad! That's so weird… and I kissed him! Ah!

She had woken that morning with a throbbing headache and breath tasting of soured mead. It hadn't taken long for the mortifying memory to come back to her.

"You're a complete fool," she moaned, dropping the book beside her on the seat and cradling her head in her hands. She could not dispel the impression of the dim corridor, the torchlight on Boromir's face, the taste of his lips… and the stinging rejection as he quietly detached himself and left her sitting gracelessly upon the floor. Filled with guilt and disgust, she had cried and berated herself over and over.

...what would Tim think?! Oh gosh, how could I be so revolting? What a stupid, idiotic, unfaithful thing to do… why should I be upset that Boromir pushed me away? Thank gosh he did… at least he saved me some humiliation… and how am I supposed to tell Tim?!

Much to her relief, Indilwen had knocked on her door fairly soon after she woke, bringing a tray of breakfast and wearing an amused smirk. Clearly someone had tipped her off about Elanor's imminent hangover. Despite wanting to shake the cheeky Elf-woman, she did feel better after a bowl of flavoursome porridge and a glass of juice.

After Indilwen left, Elanor had risen, doused her face in cold water and dressed.

Her first instinct was to find Boromir immediately and apologise for her stupidity, but the more she thought of the tall, stern figure, the more frightened she became at the idea of seeing him. She had had ample time to study his character while they travelled together, and somehow that made her breach of propriety even more abhorrent. Boromir was chivalrous; he was a stickler for correctness, respectability, and decorum—kind of like a medieval Mr Darcy. He had not touched her aside from offering her a hand if their path was difficult—and the one time where he had allowed her to cry into his cloak like a tiny child. Every aspect of her foolish behaviour the previous night would shock and repulse him. The thought of losing the friendship of the person who had helped her get back to civilisation was painful. She longed for home, and somehow he had gotten her through the terrifying three weeks on the road.

And now you've gone and stuffed it up, and made him hate you. He'll think you're a common whore, and never speak to you again…

Unable to face the thought of confronting him, she had wrapped up Georgia's copy of The Lord of the Rings, and crept outside. The gardens of Rivendell were enormous, and her odds of running into Boromir outdoors were significantly lower than in the winding corridors.

This is why you shouldn't ever have more than one drink!

Attempting to divert herself, she glanced about before unwrapping the book and settling back comfortably against the tree trunk. The hobbits had just reached Bree, and were, she vaguely remembered, about to encounter Aragorn.

Strider had always been a favourite of Elanor's. He had embodied the underdog, the hard-done-by-good-guy who fought against the odds, rallied the people, became King, and got the girl—it was the ultimate fairytale. While she knew that The Lord of the Rings was really about Frodo and destroying the Ring, she wished she'd seen more of Lord Aragorn.

And now you've been handed the opportunity to interact one-on-one with some of your preferred characters from the book… and you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself because you're homesick and made a fool of yourself? Come on Elanor!

…Elrond said he couldn't get me home… as if it wasn't possible… I'm going to be stuck here forever!

You don't know that. Gandalf may be able to help you—you never really asked him, you know.

But Elrond would know if Gandalf could magically transport me, wouldn't he?

Maybe not… and if you are stuck here, do you want to be that whiney, useless girl that sits around moping and only thinks of herself?

Does anyone actually want to be that person?

You tell me!

Elanor sighed and put the book down, unable to concentrate on the hobbits with the mental battle between her internal grandmother and the lonely, homesick girl.

How could she simply forget her old life and embrace this one? Tim was there; thoughtful, loving, gorgeous, child-hood sweetheart Tim. The thought of never seeing him or her family again caused her chest to physically ache.

Oh gosh, what am I gonna do?

Sometimes you just have to do the best with what you have-and survive.

Legolas breathed deeply, savouring—it was fresh and wholesome, and tingled with enchantment. He had missed the sights and sounds of other Elves as he journeyed from his home in Northern Mirkwood. Though he was a Silvan Elf, and most here were of the Noldor, he felt a strong sense of kinship to the people of Imladris. Lord Elrond's house was filled with light and laughter despite the great storm which loomed over Middle Earth. It was pleasant to forget the ominous clouds for a time.

Flexing his shoulders, he strode across a grassy lawn. He had discarded his robes, and wore only a long shirt and breeches. His bow was fastened across his back, and he carried two scabbarded knives in his left hand.

Lord Erestor had informed him that he might practice his archery and knife-throwing on a field to the south of the house. He longed to hear his bow sing again, and watch with satisfaction as the arrows thudded into the target.

Passing round a large, blooming shrub, Legolas spied a magnificent oak tree. Pausing, he looked up at it admiringly.

It's beauty would rival that of the Greenwood's greatest giants, he thought, blue eyes alight with wonder.

Still enraptured, he moved toward the tree. Someone had constructed a comfortable seat around it's trunk. Making up his mind to pace out it's girth, he started around to the right. After a few steps, however, he caught sight of a cerulean skirt draped across the bench. Not wanting to startle the wearer of the garment, he peered cautiously around the trunk.

Lady Elanor was sitting with her back pressed up against the rough bark. She was clad in a dress as blue as the sky, and upon her propped-up knees rested a book.

Retreating soundlessly, he moved half a dozen feet away from the trunk and circled back to meet the woman.

"Lady Elanor!" he cried, as she came into view once more. "I see now that I am not the only one enamoured by this glorious tree!"

Elanor appeared disconcerted by his sudden appearance, but her face broke into a broad smile after a moment. Hurriedly placing her book beneath a piece of cloth, she rose.

"Legolas! It's excellent to see you as well," she replied, moving towards him.

About three feet from him, she hesitated.

"I'm afraid I don't have any idea how Elves would greet one another," she said somewhat shyly.

Legolas chuckled. "Then I must teach you!"

Elanor looked extremely gratified at this, and her soft green eyes sparkled. "What do I do?"

"There are many ways one may greet another, dependent upon situation and rank. However, if one were to greet a new friend, one would clasp hands, like this—yes, very good—and, keeping eye contact, incline one's head. Excellent," he beamed. "Of course, for strangers or acquaintances, one merely nods."

"I see," she said, laughing lightheartedly. "I suppose it's no more complicated than the way we greet one another at home, but I wouldn't have any idea where to start with Elvish culture," she admitted. "We mostly just shake hands or hug!"

"Elves also embrace one another, but it is a sign of deep friendship or affection," Legolas replied.

"Then it is not as different as I supposed."

"Perhaps not," he smiled. Picking up his pair of knives, he turned to her once again. "I am bound for the practice field; you evidently have a book of some interest, but perhaps you would like to join me?"

"Oh, that'd be lovely," came her fervent response. "I couldn't concentrate on it anyway. I'll just be a moment!"

Hurrying back to the tree, she wrapped her book in cloth and draped a beautiful shawl of russet red over her shoulders.

As they walked southwards, they fell into easy conversation.

"What was it that you were reading, Lady Elanor?"

Flushing a little, she shrugged. "Nothing of consequence; just a history of Middle Earth. I thought I ought to learn more about it, seeing as I am to stay here for a time."

Silence fell for a moment before Legolas spoke again.

"Do you wield any weapons yourself?"

"Me?" she replied, with a disbelieving laugh. "None, I'm afraid."

Legolas looked down at her, frowning in puzzlement. "Is it not a skill that is taught in your land?"

"Oh, yes—well, no. I mean, we have an army, but not every man—or woman—learns archery, or knife throwing. Only those who fight have to, and as we are on an island, we don't need a very large standing military."

"That is certainly true," he nodded. "I believe you will find here, however, that almost all are at least mildly proficient; Elves are stronger and swifter than the race of Men—and we have far longer to hone our abilities."

Elanor laughed at that, recalling their conversation of the previous day. "Yes, you can't expect us to learn as much in our short lifetimes."

His lip quirked. "Perhaps not."

It was not long before they arrived at an open stretch of grass. At the far end—over a hundred metres away—were half a dozen minuscule targets. Elanor squinted a little, trying to guess the exact distance between, but soon gave up.

Legolas had pulled his bow from his back and was busy stringing it. He was slimmer and leaner than either Aragorn or Boromir—that thought caused her to blush a little—and his body was finely sculpted. He was probably a few centimetres shorter than Boromir, too, standing about 20cm taller than her 1.7m frame.

A lot taller than Orlando Bloom!

"Are you going to shoot from here?" she asked quizzically, watching as he plucked an arrow from his quiver and drew his bow.

Raising one dark eyebrow, he sighted and released. Though it was hard to see from her present position, it appeared to Elanor as if the arrow thudded into the very centre of the target.

…oh man he's good…

Gathering his long, dark hair and brushing it over one shoulder, Legolas proceeded to empty his quiver. Elanor watched him, enthralled. His level skill and precision was impeccable. She had seen many excellent archers at the medieval festival over the years, and this careless blue-eyed Elf outstripped them all with uncanny ease.

"Shall we go fetch them?" he asked, as the last arrow reached it's destination.

"You're amazing," Elanor laughed, rising from where she was sitting upon the luxuriant grass.

She watched as his face twisted in genuine confusion. "It is an expected skill, Lady Elanor—Thoron, my brother, is far my better."

He hasn't got even an ounce of pride… wait… Legolas has a brother?!

"Is your brother older or younger than you?" Elanor inquired, thoroughly intrigued. I never considered he might have had siblings!

"He is my elder, and my father's heir."

Elanor had to scamper a little to keep up with Legolas's long, easy strides.

"Is that why you were sent to see Lord Elrond, instead of him?"

"Indeed," he nodded, smiling. "I have often been used as his emissary. Tell me, Lady, have you any siblings?"

A throb of homesickness struck Elanor in the belly like an unexpected blow from behind.

"I have—one sister," she managed. Swallowing hard, she wrapped her shawl tighter around her body, as if somehow it would hold all her pieces together. "Georgia."

"That is a strange name—though undoubtedly unremarkable in your land," Legolas mused, reaching the first of the targets and plucking his arrows carefully from them. "What is the name of your homeland, Lady Elanor?"

Oh gosh Georgia, I miss you!

"Australia," she murmured, somewhat absently.

"Another strange title," he proclaimed.

Elanor forced a small laugh. "It is, at that."

"Do you know what it means?"

"I believe it means 'southern', or something similar," Elanor told him, wracking her brains for her high school history knowledge. "We are from far to the south."

"Then it must be a peculiar tongue, for those from the south we call the Haradrim. Is it the same land?" he inquired.

"No, definitely not."

"I see."

Moving to the next target, Legolas repeated the process. Elanor noticed he had landed one arrow directly in the centre, and four others in the shape of a perfect x around the perimeter of the circle.

"You're extremely good," she told him again, wishing heartily that she'd possessed Georgia's knack for such things. Her sister could throw knives and fend off most grown men with her staff in hand—the staff that you lost somewhere in the wilds of Middle Earth!

"Do you desire to learn?" Legolas asked, noticing the longing in her voice.

"I don't think I'd be able to—I did try, a little. My sister Georgia was always far better than me."

He grinned at her, and his blue eyes were startlingly bright. "If you wish it, I shall not tell her that you are to be my student."

"Hey!" Elanor cried, in mock indignation. "I wasn't that bad! But now that you say it, I think I would like to learn something." Surveying her skinny arms, she sighed. "I was quite fit and strong, but three weeks of not enough food ruined everything. I really ought to do some kind of exercise, to get it all back again."

"You shall regain your strength ere long, Lady Elanor," he assured her, smilingly. "Come—shall I show you how to wield knives?"

Feeling a surge of affection for the lighthearted Elf, Elanor nodded. "That would be lovely."

I thought you all might like to see a little more of book-Legolas-with-my-spin-on-him. :) I always thought that Legolas would have a brother, because it seemed crazy to send one's heir on a messenger job. (Though Thranduil does ride an elk thing... so idk.) Anyway, let me know what you think of Thoron and his inclusion (the name literally means "eagle".)

Anyways, after Elanor's horrendous gaffe the night before, I figured she deserved to have some fun with a friend. Legolas doesn't berate her for her ginormous silly!

QUESTION OF THE DAY: if you could ship Elanor with any character from The Lord of the Rings, who would it be and why? :P

Hope you all liked it anyhow!

Finwe :3