I said this chapter would be up soon, and here it is! There's not much to say for this one, please just R&R.

The next chapter's on the way too – I'm on a roll here!

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Mithmír noticed that when the company retired to bed, Galadriel went to her mirror. She had no doubt that the Ring bearer, Frodo, would meet with her that night. She wondered on what they would speak of, but wisely decided not to try and find out. The Ring that everyone was talking of held disastrous powers over the minds of beings, especially Men. She didn't want to subject herself to that, at the risk of being taken over. She had to remind herself that she was at more risk than any of her elven friends, and had to act accordingly. That was why she went to sit beneath her favourite mallorn tree. It was separate from the others, far enough away from the other elves so that the sounds of their merriment was barely a light murmur. She went there to think, and to be alone, and to ponder Elbereth and her wonders.

Legolas went wandering too. He left the company of the Fellowship on the grounds of needing to visit the other elves, but he spent but a little time among them. In fact, all he did was hear a few songs before tiring of the constant questions and odd looks. He made his excuses to the elven folk – saying he wanted to sleep – and then wandered away into the woods, aimlessly, but at the same time having an odd feeling that he was being pulled forward for some purpose. He began to sing, quietly, a song to Elbereth. The night was beautiful and clear; allowing him to all but forget his troubles.

Mithmír jumped to her feet. She heard the singer coming closer to her special place, and she knew who it was, too… She could wait till he got here, but she could never lie and say she hadn't heard him: she was half-elf, after all: her hearing should be exceptional. Wearily she got up, and called out:

'Legolas Greenleaf?'

He stopped singing. That voice… he recognised it from the singing before. He ran forward to the glade with cat-like agility, not making a sound. He looked through the cover of the leaves, checking who it was. Yes, it was most definitely her, with a red cloak draped over her white best-dress finery to keep the dirt from it. He smiled despite himself, then remembered he was a prince and should behave accordingly. Just like Mithmír, he was bound sometimes by what he though he should be. Coughing to announce his presence, he stepped into the shade of the mallorn tree, a particularly magnificent one he noticed. She saw him and blushed before dropping a curtsy. 'Prince,' she acknowledged.

'My Lady,' he said and bowed. 'May I ask your name?' His smile was genuine, she noted, and she relaxed a little.

'Mithmír,' she replied truthfully – but not all the truth. 'My father is a… wanderer. My mother is of the High Elves.'

Legolas smiled slowly. 'But who are you?' He noted her puzzlement, and explained: 'I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, son of an elf-maiden. I myself am Legolas Greenleaf, Sindarin elf, prince of Mirkwood, and member of the Fellowship of the Ring – which doubtless you know.'

She thought for a while, and then said, 'then I am Mithmír. No more, no less.'

'Better,' he admitted with a chuckle, and to her surprise sat down on the grass and took her hand to bring her down beside him. 'So tell me,' he said, not looking at her but at a small bird that had landed before them, 'what the elves here know of our Fellowship?'

She looked at him oddly, finding the question unusual, and finally said slowly, 'I don't know. Maybe… I personally know only what the Lady Galadriel told me.'

'Which is how much, lady?'

She blushed at being addressed with such courtesy. 'Only the facts.' Suddenly anger brimmed up in her, and she felt – though she could not explain why – that she could share her feelings with this elf. 'They treat me as a child, carefully telling me only what they want me to hear. No elf is allowed, by Celeborn, Elrond and Galadriel's order, to tell me the full truth of what is coming from Mordor. When I was younger I lived free, for I had no interest in this, but now my wonder is kindled and I try to find out, they hide more and more!' Tears of frustration came to her eyes, and she pounded her hands on the turf.

For a while the elven prince didn't know what to say. He was unused to such shows of emotion. And, too, he realised that no elf would have created such a display. The woman beside him was human, but why then did she look so much like one of the Fair Folk? He slowly turned his head and realised she was looking at him. Their eyes met, and he held the gaze for a long time. This mortal intrigued him.

'Do they see you as young because you are a mortal?' He said softly, not accusingly, but with understanding.

She blushed furiously, realising what she had just given away. 'Yes. But I'm not all mortal! My father is, yes, but my mother is Mallómë, an elf as I told you!' The tears flowed steadily. 'My father is a man of high line, too, a man of Númenor!'

'A Ranger of the North, like Aragorn?'

'Yes,' she said, 'and one of his good friends. Aragorn is like my uncle, and so I would address him.'

Legolas understood her woe, as elves have the gift of great empathy. 'You feel inadequate to fulfil your dreams as a mortal,' he said, factually, 'and you wish to be all elven as your mother was.' He nodded slowly, and then looked at her again. His eyes were sincere. 'Mithmír, you are wonderful as you are. Ilúvatar himself made you so, and in his work there is a purpose none of us can yet discern.' His words were wise, and Mithmír knew so, but they were still bitter to hear. 'You cannot change what you are.'

She got up suddenly, wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, and wiped the grass off the back on her cloak. 'I shouldn't have kept you here, lord,' she apologised politely and briskly, covering up the anguish she felt in her heart. 'Doubtless you have more important things to attend to. And you should get some sleep. I will be meeting with Aragorn tomorrow morn, and I will see your Fellowship off. Mayhap we will meet again then.' She curtsied, and then dashed out of the clearing.

Legolas Greenleaf was left behind, wondering after the disillusioned maiden who had so intrigued him.