Disclaimer: Anything you don't recognise is mine and everything else belongs to Tolkien.
A/N: If anywhere in the story it says 'Arterial' instead of Alarien, then it's just because I clicked on the wrong thing in my spell check, because I when I pasted it into a new html file from word I had to go through it and re-format it which was sooooooo boring, and so maybe I made some mistakes!
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Retiring to her chamber that night, Alarien was oblivious to the emotional confusion she had caused to others, though she was well aware of her own. No matter how hard she had tried to remain cold and aloof, she had failed and so, had failed Arwen. She could not go back on what she had done, she would have to remain friendly, but she vowed that she would only speak when spoken to, and would avoid Legolas at all costs. She wasn't sure that she could trust herself to keep to her words if she was near him. Landir on the other hand, was a safe bet. She could feel comfortable around him knowing that she would not suffer the same increased pulse rate and flushes. He would not try to keep her captive in his gaze either. She could also get information out of him about Legolas; was he really as the rumours had said? She wondered, he had not seemed to be, but then they had not talked for long. Tomorrow she decided, she would seek Landir out, they could perhaps go horse riding together. Her train of thoughts was interrupted by the entry of Arwen through the side door. As they took it in turns to brush each other's hair as they did every night, Alarien told her about the events of the evening, omitting the details about how she had felt around Legolas. Arwen seemed happy that she had had fun and at the same time managed to keep to their plan. After a while said goodnight and retired to bed. Alarien lay awake for a long time, trying to empty her mind of a certain face with ocean blue eyes that seemed to be haunting her very thoughts.
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The next day, Legolas was up early with the dawn. He had woken up early after an almost sleepless night and decided that he might as well put the time to good use by doing some archery and weaponry practice. Taking with him his favourite bow and sword and a quiver full of arrows, he made his way to the courtyard where he had been last night. He began with swordplay and tirelessly practised the intricate, almost dance like, patterns of movement. He wielded the sword like it was a part of him, an extension of his arm, and his movements were clear-cut and sharp. Round and round the sword swung, cutting from side to side, its blade flashing in the morning sun, his wrist twisting and turning, eventually swinging the sword back to the rest position.
Even after his extensive practice session he had not even broken into a sweat, although there was a slight flush on his smooth cheeks. Laying down his sword he picked up his bow and moved over to the mark he had made in the grass at the correct distance from the target. The mark was a good 500 feet away from the target, but with his elven eyesight, aiming was not the main problem, it was getting the right amount of power behind the arrow. Too much power and the arrow would bypass the target. Too little and it would fall short. So far, he was doing well and had not missed a shot, all his arrows had made contact with the target, most of them in or near the centre, though there were a few on the edge where he hadn't controlled his breathing properly. He moved onto speed shooting. The competition required the competitors to fire off twenty arrows in twenty-five seconds, gaining the best score as possible, not an easy feat as it gave you little time to aim. His arm was taking the arrows out of the quiver, notching them to the string, pulling them back and sending them flying to the target quicker than the eye could follow. After he had spent all twenty, he checked his time and moved to the target to check out his score. It was pretty good, although he knew that he would need more practice to be sure to win, there were some skilled competitors entering the competition this year, but he didn't want it to be the end of his winning streak. He continued practising all morning, and by the time the lunch bell rang, he was flushed and tired. His shoulder ached and he rubbed it to ease the pain before collecting up his arrows. He had made them himself; specially adapting them for a faster, more powerful flight. They were longer and thinner than usual, with a narrow, extremely sharp tip that concentrated all the force onto a small area, gaining the maximum impact. They were also made of a black wood that contrasted with the few extra arrows he kept in his quiver, which were made from a pale wood with green feathers, while the feathers on his own were red. As he straightened up from picking an arrow he had dropped off the floor, he noticed a movement in one of the windows and looked up to see a curtain of dark hair swing round and out of sight. He pretended not to notice that she had been watching him, though he had been aware of a presence in the last few minutes. He had not known it was her; as he had been too involved in his practice to look around, but he wondered if she had been impressed. He had, he thought, had a pretty good practice session. Pleased with himself, he went back into the palace and went down to dinner.
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Alarien too had awoken early that day. She felt tired due to lack of rest, as sleep had been long in coming. After breakfasting from the platter of fruit that had been placed in her room she had gotten dressed and gone to seek out Landir. After asking around she had found him in the weapon store, examining some bows. He had jumped at the idea of a ride and suggested that he take her on a tour of Mirkwood. Charmed by the idea she accepted and together they had gone to the stables and set out. She found Landir to be good company, he was lively and cheerful and smiled often. In fact, he was the complete opposite of the sullen, bitter elf he became when around his brother, though Alarien was not aware of this. They rode together all morning, Landir showing her all the places of interest as well as his own favourite places. They spoke almost constantly about all manner of things, though Alarien found that his face clouded over when she asked him about Legolas. She was surprised to hear him confirm the rumours that she had told him she had heard, and found it hard to believe. Legolas had seemed so polite, so gentle and considerate. But she realised that she hardly knew him, whereas Landir was his own brother. Still, she decided, she would like to form her own opinion of him. It was almost midday when they returned to the stables, and together they brushed down the horses before parting to go their separate ways. It was as she was walking down the corridor towards her chamber that she had glanced out of the window and seen Legolas in the courtyard. She marvelled at the speed in which he fired off the arrows, for his skill far outshone her own, although she herself was a competent enough archer. Seeing him turn in her direction and bend down to pick up a stray arrow she had been afraid he would see her and turned to continue down the corridor. As she was entering her chamber, she came face to face with Arwen who was carrying in a bowl of fragrant water with petals floating on the surface so that she could wash for lunch.
"Arwen, let me do that. I feel awful going about and having fun while you are here performing my duties."
"Don't be silly, this is a good experience for me." Arwen had already lunched with the household staff, but she helped to make Alarien look presentable for the meal. They talked about what they had done that morning and Alarien told her all that Landir had said about his brother. Arwen did not seem so surprised to find the rumours apparently true, it seemed that she had not had much faith in finding him otherwise from the start.
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