[Written with respect for, but no ownership in, the works of J.R.R. Tolkein, Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh. I own only the elleth (but not that word).]

30 December, 3018. Third Age.

From Rivendell, the Company set out on a course southward, traveling west of the mountains and mostly at night. They headed toward a pass known as the Redhorn Gate. Gandalf described it as a 20-day journey from the Last Homely House.

On the fifth day, they halted their march at dawn. The Hobbits spread out near the edge of a clearing and immediately fell into a noisy sleep. The men and elves divided the watch, with Boromir and Legolas taking the first stretch. Gimli decided to take a quick nap while Anarwen set out in search of fresh water. Gandalf joined Aragorn near the foot of a large tree and, each puffing on their pipes, debated the best route once the Company was beyond the mountains.

In the days since leaving Imladris, Legolas had not found a way to dispel his bitter mood. He kept it well-hidden during the night-time trek through the hills. To lighten the spirits of the Hobbits, he sometimes sang the songs of the Wood-elves. But he held onto a cold anger in his heart and never spoke to Anarwen. It was far easier to simply ignore her presence.

The Company's other elf swiftly adjusted to her lord's silent but obvious wishes. Anarwen took up the rearguard as they traveled. At stops such as this, she stood watch facing whichever direction was opposite from Legolas's view. While the elves set their marches and vigils at increasing distances, only Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf took note of the strained state of things.

Gimli thought the situation amazingly childish. In low tones one evening, Aragorn had assured the dwarf that the two elves shared no bond beyond that of noble and guard. Lacking any excuse of passion, Gimli had little idea what there could be to bicker about. In his growing fondness for the elleth, he concluded that the fault clearly lay with the princeling, who settled another step lower in the dwarf's esteem.

Anarwen returned from her scouting to report that a small stream lay directly east of the campsite. She had bathed quickly before walking back to her companions and now sat down on the far edge of the clearing, rebraiding her wet hair.

Legolas watched as she carefully divided and worked small sections of it just above her ears into four thin braids on each side. When the eight tiny plaits were half-complete, she pulled them all behind her head and wove them together into a single intricate braid that fell down her back. The rest of her dark hair remained free, forming gentle waves as it dried in the light breeze.

As the elleth finished this well-practiced task, Legolas was filled with memories of their first meeting.

***

Spring, 2993. Third Age.

"Release!"

Ten archers sent their arrows speeding toward targets at the opposite edge of the field. Ten arrows hit with only minute differences in accuracy, and cheers of approval went up from the crowd. King Thranduil and his son sat at a distance behind the line of young bowmen, adding politely to the applause. The competition, part of a celebration of spring, was nearly over.

Legolas fixed a smile on his face, but let his mind wander as he contemplated these second-year warriors in his realm's defenses. Wood-elves took up the bow early in childhood, so even though these archers were quite young compared to their audience, much time had passed since they began their training. Years of practice later, each was nearly perfect in his stance and release. It was a singularly boring exhibition.

To hit a mark is one thing. To dispatch a charging Orc is another. Legolas had just returned from patrolling the Narrows of the forest. It had been over fifty years since Sauron had abandoned Dol Guldur, but the southern areas of Mirkwood were still plagued by his servants. The prince was attending this competition out of obligation, but he also hoped to find at least one young charge to join his guard. The forest had become increasingly perilous. If he planned to continue leading its defenses, he was going to have to expand the number of those assigned to his personal service. From the looks of these elves, he would not find one here.

The targets were removed from the field and the tournament's entrants lined up to begin the final contest. It was to be a sparring match with long knives. Pairs of warriors took their positions, and at the sound of a horn, began to fight. The opponents fought until one held the other at knifepoint and his rival could make no move. Several contests began and ended before Legolas returned his attention to the field and realized that the final spar was about to start.

Two fighters walked forward, taking positions in the middle of the clearing. Legolas recognized one as Antion, a member of the northern patrol. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, the warrior was very popular among the elven-maids of Thranduil's court. Legolas thought him full of the arrogance of youth, but possibly useful once he gained more battle experience.

Legolas turned to look for the first time at Antion's opponent and realized that he was staring at an elleth. The girl was as dark-haired as Antion and matched him in both height and attire, but her hair was held off her face with an elaborate set of braids just above her ears. The closer Legolas looked, the more her figure revealed a more feminine grace. As the match sent her moving to face Legolas directly, he saw that her eyes were a shade of brown dark enough to be mistaken for black.

The presence of an elleth among the combatants was not as shocking as it would have been in a competition among Men. Elven-women generally matched their male counterparts in size and strength. However, most chose to marry near their fiftieth year and rarely bore arms except in dire necessity. Legolas knew of fewer than 20 elven-women who had joined Thranduil's forces during his lifetime.

Twenty minutes into the match neither opponent seemed to have gained an advantage. Their movements shifted them in a tight circle in front of their audience. Suddenly Antion knocked the knife out the elleth's hand. For a brief moment, she took her eyes off her opponent to follow the weapon's path in the air. The boy sensed that victory was in reach and viciously kicked the girl's legs out from under her.

A murmur went up from the audience. They also thought the contest about to end, but Legolas looked at the elleth's face and saw a determination there wholly at odds with imminent defeat. Crawling backwards and eyeing Antion's approach, she managed to put enough distance between herself and him to spring backwards and land on her feet. The boy said something so quietly that only he and the girl could hear it.

She continued to edge backwards from the outstretched knifepoint. Both elves had now moved to one side of the tournament's arena. She had nowhere else to go. Antion's face broke into a small smirk.

Then Legolas saw something truly unexpected. The elleth reached behind her back to pluck an arrow from a quiver left leaning against the arena's barrier wall. As she brought it up toward the boy's face, she kicked the knife out of his hand, sending it straight up in the air. By the time he tried to escape the arrow tip now held an inch from his eye, he felt the knife edge at his throat.

"Do you yield?" the elleth spoke softly.

Antion did not answer. She had outmaneuvered him, leaving him nowhere to go. But he also knew that it was not permitted to bring another weapon into the match. The elleth had cheated. She continued to hold the knife and arrow in position, and he glared back at her, believing that she had been willing to dishonor herself in front of all rather than let him win.

The competition's judge brought the stalemate to an end by declaring the elleth disqualified. Members of Antion's patrol moved onto the field to congratulate their friend. Legolas watched as the girl spun the knife's handle around and handed it to the grinning boy. He thought he might have seen her congratulate Antion as well, but his view was blocked as more of the crowd surged forward. Over their heads, he caught glimpses of the girl walking slowly toward the Elven-king's caverns, the arrow still clutched in her left hand.

That the girl had cheated surprised him a little, but he was more amazed by her final move. Five days earlier, Legolas had used an arrow to skewer an Orc through the eye because the creature had gotten too close too fast and he could not reach his knives in time. The elleth had executed a perfect imitation of the feat that had probably saved his life.

She had also stolen one of his arrows.

***

Legolas walked silently along the twisting passages of the palace until he found a plain door at the end of a corridor. It was open far enough that he could see the girl inside, hunched over a table. With careful, dexterous motions, she was repairing the binding at the end of his arrow. Her full concentration was bent on the task. Holding the feathers straight but set at an angle, she rewound the arrow's gold threading, securing the feathers tightly. She had not sensed anyone's approach.

Legolas waited until she had completed the repair before speaking. "I believe you have something of mine."

Anarwen jumped up in surprise, dropping the arrow onto the table. As Legolas moved out of the doorway and into the room, she stuttered, "I…My lord, I did not realize that it was your quiver on the field...and I, uh…When I returned, I saw that it had the gold threading of your arms but that I had somehow unwound it. I wanted to mend it before I returned it to your guard…I am very sorry, my lord."

Legolas's smile grew at this tumble of words and the blush that accompanied it. "You were not the one that damaged the arrow. An Orc is to thank for that. And look, you have repaired it as well as my master fletcher. What ellon taught you this craft?"

"T'was no elf, my lord. My father taught it to me."

"A man?"

"Yes, my lord." Anarwen did not elaborate.

She is of the peredhil? The sight of Antion kicking the elleth's legs out from under her came to mind, and Legolas realized there may have been more behind the elf's actions than mere desire to win. The Wood-elves' suspicion of outsiders was well known. Although Legolas did not like to believe such emotions were ever applied to those of his kind, he suspected that the soldiers of Thranduil's forces would be loath to let the half-elven among their ranks.

Legolas had not expected her response but was determined to put a lighthearted tone on their conversation. "Well…then perhaps I should send him all my arrows. The servants of the Enemy have been a nuisance of late."

"That will not be possible, my lord." Anarwen looked away toward the room's corner before adding softly, "He passed out of Eä during the winter."

"I am sorry to hear that it is so." Legolas eyed the girl, considering how to pull the conversation back to less awkward topics. He walked forward and picked the arrow up from the table. Twirling it lightly in his fingers, he fixed her with a small grin and said, "I did not have the chance to compliment you on your strategy today."

Anarwen snapped out of her sad reverie to redden again with embarrassment. "There is little to compliment, my lord. I did not win."

"In battle, the winner is the one who survives the day. Had Antion been an Orc, he would be dead. That is a victory worthy of praise."

"You are very kind, my lord. But I do not deserve such praise. I let my anger get the better of me, and I cheated."

"No, you deliberately led him to the edge of the tournament field, and then you taught him a lesson. It was quite cunning. You will have to take me at my word when I tell you that the servants of the Enemy do not expect an elf to be sly. The Orcs know only brute force."

Anarwen said nothing to this assessment, but looked more filled with shame at every passing second. Legolas felt sure that she had not believed anyone had truly understood her actions. He did not mean to humiliate her, but if she was to eventually join his guard, she would have to learn early not to underestimate either friend or foe.

"We will speak more of it tomorrow. At dawn, come to the practice range on the southern side of the river. Let us see how you fare against a worthier opponent."

***

Author's note:  For background info (meaning none of this really matters, but it helps me write)…

I have set Anarwen's birth in 2945, T.A. This is 4 years after the Battle of the Five Armies. For the purposes of this story, I have set Legolas's birth in 2758, T.A. This is much, much younger than Jackson's choice for the movies and several hundred years younger than the guesstimates of many on-line commentators. Tolkein never named his age, so I figure it's my call here (it's fiction, I'm a fan, whatever). So all that means is that when LoTR starts, Anarwen is 73 and Legolas is 260.

Regarding the part about Elven-women marrying at fifty, etc., this is described in "Of the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar…," which is in vol. X of Christopher Tolkein's History of Middle-Earth series.

Weird words in English, simple words in Sindarin:

Fletcher: A maker of arrows

Elleth: Elf-woman

Ellon: Elf-man

Peredhil: Half-elven

Eä: Creation