Disclaimer: (which I forgot to put in before.) I do not own Legolas Greenleaf (sigh) or any other character which you recognize from J.R.R. Tolkien's books, because J.R.R. Tolkien, obviously, owns them.
[The words in are supposed to be in Elvish. As you read, keep in mind that Dwarves and Elves are enemies at this time, so anything Dwarfish is insulting. But the Elves are still a good type of creature, so they will accept that Dwarves do help and do good things.]
Twang.
His facial expression didn't change, but his eyes showed pride, pride that rewarded her beyond belief. She turned to him, smiling, her rosy cheeks flushed and a small bow in her hand.
"Well?" she asked proudly. "How did I do?"
With a deep nod and a deeper voice, Legolas replied, "Well. You have improved greatly, young one, and continue to improve. I am honored to be of service to you, as your teacher and mentor."
In her still perky voice, so greatly contrasting to his, she replied, happily but with the smallest bit of dejection in her voice, "It matters not how well of an archer I am or turn out to be. My father will still hear nothing of my skill, and in turn, will let me do nothing."
Legolas walked toward the green sea of grass where Renwyn's arrows had fallen. Renwyn, almost skipping along beside him, glanced at her prince's fair face – his high, sturdy cheekbones and his steady, square jaw, along with is silky blonde hair and perfect nose – and his eyes – oh! his never-ending, emerald green eyes that spoke when he would not – that showed his true feelings when no other aspect of him would –his eyes that now reflected, from the deepest chambers of his heart, thoughts that he dared not share. Renwyn turned back to look at the softly blowing fresh blades of grass, smiling to herself. It was no wonder so many female Elves loved Legolas – even if he was no prince, they would love him. She frowned, slightly, her forehead creased. Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood Forest, returned no affections. He felt love – yes, he felt love, as she could see it in his eyes, but it was a love as a brother, or father, or son – and nothing more than that.
The same type of love I have for him, Renwyn thought to herself. She did not love Legolas the way other female Elves did. Legolas was many years her senior, and the brother she never had, had never even wanted, until she'd first met Legolas. In her mind's eye, she flashed back to her first encounter with her prince.
"Prince!" she hasped, running after her arrow that would've hit the Prince of Mirkwood, had it not been for the Prince's fast reflexes.
"That was but a near miss, young one," the prince answered, slowly rising from the ground. "You might find it within yourself to work on your aim."
"I know," Renwyn said, almost whining. "My aim is that of a Dwarf's. But unlike a Dwarf's, my axe-handling and even sword skills need as much improvement as my archery." She continued, "It is not that I do not work hard- I strive to be good in all that matters, as good as a true Mirkwood Elf – not only in my fighting skills, but just as much as my words and actions. Mother tells me much too often to be kind to other creatures, even Dwarves, and to mince my words. True Mirkwood Elves have no need to insult others. And more often than not, I break a dish or fall from a tree – the qualities of a klutz that no Elf should possess."
The Prince's eyes shone with merriment and the tiniest hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "It is indeed good that you strive to be a 'true' Mirkwood Elf. But let it be known to you that those 'true' Mirkwood Elves of which you speak were probably very much like you when they were younger. No true Mirkwood Elf hasn't had struggles, or broken dishes, or bruises in the past. It is out of these struggles that we learn, and grow, and succeed." He looked her full in the face. "Why is it that you desire to have fighting skills? The desire for meaningful words and actions, I comprehend, but the meaning of the need for fighting skills escapes me."
Renwyn glared at him. "Do you think that female Elves are useless? That we cannot wield sword or axe?"
Legolas almost laughed at her fierceness. "Calm your own, young fire. I will teach you."
"Renwyn."
Renwyn's memory faded as Legolas spoke.
"An arrow."
Renwyn bent to retrieve her arrow. She watched as Legolas continued walking, a secure stride, majestic and certain. He didn't make much conversation, then, Renwyn remembered. He spoke to only to teach, but yet, I got to know him…his personality. He is so silent. Always, he is in thought. I, at many times, ponder why he speaks so little. Running to catch up to Legolas, she thought, [He is such a good Elf, with his calm demeanor and cool temper, but also with his great skill and strength, and his gentle ways. There is something about him, some air, that makes you feel safe and warm when you're around him. His personality is that of one of the best, and his looks even better. Has not even one female Elf appealed to him? As Renwyn spotted another of her arrows, a subject came to mind, and she broke the silence, starting conversation.
"Are you excited about the Elf ceremony this night? They are welcoming King Thranduil's cousin, Kelhéo. Your cousin, in honesty."
"No, not cousins," Legolas corrected, "friend's of the Royal Family from distant lands, from many leagues away."
"I have heard that they will bring a future wife for the prince – for you."
Legolas walked in silence. After a long pause, he spoke. "I wish not to fall in love with a maiden Elf." He chucked her lightly under her chin with a slender hand. "Let not ideas stray into your small and Dwarfish head."
Renwyn laughed and ran after her light-footed Prince, who had already begun to run, like a rush of wind through a golden wheat field.
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"Welcome, dear friend. The courts of Thranduil are open to you." Thranduil's commanding voice echoed through the great hall where Elves were feasting and making merry. "I believe my son, Legolas of Mirkwood, will be of fine companionship to your daughter, as she will find little or no pleasure in our talk, friend Kelhéo."
Legolas bowed as a female Elf stepped out. She wore a long, silver cloak and a silver garland upon her head. She had black curls that cascaded down her back, and uncommon purple eyes that had a piercing gaze. Her skin shone with radiance, and her lips were the sweet, light red of a seashell in clear waters. She was beauty, but she affected Legolas not, as, it seemed, Legolas affected her not.
She curtsied. "I am Iakywn, of the Maress Woodlands, where Maress roam free of fear."
"I have seen only glimpses of the Maress, and you are of good fortune to live amongst them." Legolas paused. "I hope Mirkwood Forest and the courts of Thranduil will be of service to you, and that you will find enjoyment in our forest."
"I find no enjoyment in Mirkwood Forest," Iakywn responded abruptly. "I was brought here not by mine own will, but of the will of my father's, and as long as I am required to stay here, I will loathe all. The only place I long to be is in the Maress Woodlands, where I had not a care in the world, and no need to worry about such petty things as kings and ceremonies."
Legolas was shocked by her blunt and aggressive attitude, but he stayed emotionless. "Indeed, it would be of greatness to live within the Maress Woodlands." As he stared at the Elf in front of him, he gave a small inward chuckle. She was so protective – so carefree, as she said, and bold. She wasn't like the other Elves, the other [female] Elves, on their best "feminine" behavior around him, hoping to dash away with his heart. No…Iakywn – Iakywn was different, and because of this difference, Legolas began to feel… something for her – maybe a close friendship – maybe more. But it was there. As truly as a river flows, Legolas knew it was there.
Legolas held out an arm. "Will you dance?"
Iakywn hesitated. Her first instinct was to say no, but that would be a public shame: to herself, to Legolas, and to her father. Herself and Legolas, she did not care for, but her father - Iakywn glanced in the direction of the table at which her father Kelhéo sat, drinking and eating and conversing with King Thranduil – and – [laughing.] He had not laughed much in the Maress Woodlands. He had laughed hardly at all, since the death of Niakwan, his wife and Iakywn's mother. It was a joy to see him laugh again. Public humiliation would make his smile disappear. So, Iakywn accepted. Not for herself, or Legolas, of the king, or the people, but for her father. For her father, Kelhéo of the Maress Woodlands, she would accept.
Iakywn curtsied. She held onto Legolas, hand on arm, as he led her to the clearing in the woods, where Elves stood on a platform, playing Elven instruments and singing in their beautiful voices, for the Elves dancing on the velvet grass.
To a slow, mysterious, clear tune, Iakywn and Legolas danced. And as they danced, Legolas' heart beat faster. What was this effect that Iakywn had on him? That feeling – it was still there, and strengthening, solidifying with each synchronized step they took, underneath the dark purple sky dotted with tiny lights. Silent, strong, handsome, tall Legolas, the supposedly unloving Prince of Mirkwood – Legolas was falling in love.