Author's Note:

There is a character here, a friend of Avardelothien's, who is introduced briefly in the first little section of this chapter. He is actually quite an important character of this story, but won't appear again until Part 10, so don't erase this character from your mind. He has no involvement in my childhood, but he plays a significant part when I'm several years older, so when Part 10 comes I will put a little reminder of his appearance in this chapter.

Enjoy!

Fëaruin Urulókë

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 6: Exalted Flower

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"Warrior?!" the dark-haired Elf laughed, unable to believe what he was hearing. "This… puerile lord Ninrusco is teaching a pest of a youngster to be a warrior?"

Avardelothien turned to her best friend and gave a scowl. "Don't be so cruel. I'm sure you were young when your family taught you how to defend yourself. And Fëaruin is fifteen years old, so no matter if she looks like she is ten, she is no pest."

"You haven't even met her," the male Elf grinned. "Honestly, you are too kind. Don't you find it just a little ridiculous?"

"No," replied Avardelothien ignorantly. "I will make no judgement until I meet her. And you yourself have never liked it when someone judged you just because you were a messenger, yes, Anarórë?"

The color drained from Anarórë's face. "…Yes, I guess that is true."

"I will go look for her now, actually," she clapped her best friend on the shoulder. "Father says they are presently resting. Do tell me if you see them, will you?"

"Of course," he replied. And with that Avardelothien waved and walked slowly away in the opposite direction.

Anarórë had been offended a little about what Avardelothien had just told him, but he tried to ignore it, and grinned at the rumor she told him about Fëaruin's early training. Honestly, it was absurd. He didn't think the young lass even knew how to hold the hilt of a sword. And as he thought about it, he heard a rustle behind him; immediately he swung around, not knowing where it had come from.

Being a little wary, he walked a little towards that direction and spied through the hanging leaves, trying to see what the noise had been. And as he peered his eyes fell upon Fëaruin herself fast asleep, curled up on the ground, turning to her side. Hearing Avardelothien's recent preposterous hearsay in his mind, he thought that he would start laughing at the sight of the young brat. But somehow, he didn't.

Instead, he felt some faint tenderness for the child, peaceful as the night sky, smiling in her sleep. Suddenly it no longer seemed to him as though that cruel laughter had been just for such an innocent girl who appeared to hold a special love with everything around her. The tree looming above her bent down and touched her with long leaves, as if to protect her. Grass swayed against her form in the light breeze, and small flowers grew amongst them. In that moment Anarórë felt something within him, something he could not understand.

All of a sudden Anarórë saw the other two figures with her, and not wanting to be caught spying, he took one last look at the sleeping child and walked away. Something about the mahogany-haired girl had to him felt pleasant, and beautiful. He did not smile, but erased the thought from his mind, and seldom did it occur to him again until thirteen years later.

* * * * *

Ninrusco leant against a tree as he sat, watching the two sleeping girls in front of him. Fëaruin and Menellómë looked so innocent in their sleep, he mused. Clearly they were exhausted because they had stayed up so many late nights to strive to complete the journey. And they were both just children, so of course they would be weary. But for some reason Ninrusco was restless; something out there called to him, and until he knew what it was he felt as though he would never rest. So he stood, feeling clean and fresh after bathing, and decided to walk around and gaze at Mirkwood's greatness.

All of a sudden, somebody spun from the path's corner and knocked into him, startling him to death. Ninrusco gave a cry of shock and stepped back, as the person touched his arm.

"Oh Eru, forgive me, sir," she whispered apologetically, trying to get a good look at the one she bumped into. She realized immediately that he was a stranger, and he looked back at her solemnly, awestruck by such tenderness.

Ninrusco had never seen anything like her. She was fair, extremely fair, with golden-brown hair to her waist. Her eyes glimmered a blue of the sky and her face lit up her surroundings with an inner light that she seemed to carry within her. She was radiant and beautiful to behold, and at that moment everything was forgotten as the enchantress bewitched the fox with her purity. Those lips, he thought. They looked so tempting…

Avardelothien blushed as she gazed back into the green eyes of the stranger before her. She had never seen him before, but he was rather handsome, she mused. There were hardly any in the lands with hair of such color, and she was spellbound, filled with an indefinable warmth and a love within her that she did not even realize was there.

"I should be the one to apologize," Ninrusco muttered, not even listening to his own words. His eyes passed over her Elven ear, and he was not surprised. Such beauty ever came in the blood of the Elves… even his own sister, he knew, would not be considered beautiful in comparison with a full-blown drop-dead ravishing Elf, no matter how Elf-like she seemed, which to him she didn't because of the color of her hair. At that moment it was as though a spell of acknowledged love between the different people lay over them, like the ones that were spun in myths long ago, as Ninrusco touched the hand on his arm, unconsciously bringing the Elven maiden closer.

As though of their own accord, Ninrusco drew closer and sweetly kissed the Elf, an arm around the maiden's waist and the other hand still holding hers. She smiled with understanding and returned the breathtaking kiss, reaching up her free hand to touch his face, as she brushed the sweet-smelling hair back behind his ear.

As Avardelothien slowly broke the kiss, her eyes traced her finger that still tried to pull all the hair back from the stranger's face. As she did so she instantly saw the Human ear, and shock overcame her as she realized why his chin was so rough with facial hair, he did not look like any other Elf, and most of all his hair was a bright orange-red. Then it struck her.

"Ninrusco," she breathed in disbelief, pulling away from his arms unwillingly. Ninrusco looked at the puzzled maiden and drew closer, only to find that she did not want to be any closer than the far distance at which they were now apart, as she continued to draw back.

"What is wrong, sweet Lady?" Ninrusco questioned, then suddenly realized something. "O, how did you know my name?"

* * * * *

Fëaruin and Menellómë were awoken suddenly from their outdoor nap by two shrill voices that yelled "EWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!" – that is, as were many other Elves in Mirkwood who were trying to rest- and the shriek was, to the amusement of those who heard it, joined with many interesting sounds of coughing and spluttering.

"What- what on Middle Earth is going on?" Fëaruin yawned as Legolas walked past. The Elf again flinched at the sight of the beautiful Halfling who was stirring beside Fëaruin, and tried desperately not to make eye contact.

"I know not, but I intend to find out," he said hurriedly, still looking slightly amused at her leggings, which made her raise her eyebrow in puzzlement. He quickly departed with Fëaruin and Menellómë not far behind him, as the voices of two people became more easily understood the nearer they approached.

"YOU?!" Ninrusco spluttered, trying to spit the lingering taste of Avardelothien out of his mouth. "YOU are this Avardelothien Fëanna? Ai, ai! What in the name of Elbereth did I think I was doing?!"

"Well, noble Dúnadan, aren't you?" Avardelothien narrowed her eyes. "YOU kissed me, and now that you know my name, I guess I'm not good enough. You know, I loathe arranged marriages also, in the belief of freedom, though I enjoyed what just passed. But no, you would prefer to kiss someone you don't even know and just push them away ONCE YOU KNOW THEIR NAME!"

"What happened?" Legolas ran in, followed by Menellómë, and after that Fëaruin. As soon as the three of them saw Ninrusco and Avardelothien glaring at each other, hands on their hips, Legolas instantly understood. He groaned inwardly, placing a hand over his eyes.

"Fëanna, cease this," Legolas ordered. "Our guests are here."

"I KNOW," Avardelothien snarled, without breaking her glaring contest with Ninrusco. Fëaruin and Menellómë stared in wonder, basking in the beauty before them. This was the daughter of Thranduil, the Elven Princess of Mirkwood, and the light within her shone bright as the sun, seeming to bring a gleam wherever she walked. The thought that they were merely in her presence seemed more like a dream.

"No, Fëanna," sighed Legolas, removing the hand from his brow. "I meant the guests are here."

"Oh!" Avardelothien quickly realized, regaining composure quickly as she stepped away from Ninrusco. Whilst brushing the wrinkles out of her purple gown, her eyes passed over Fëaruin's brown-red hair, and she stopped. That must be Urulókë, she thought. She looked not bad, even though she may never be as beautiful as Avardelothien herself, an immortal Elf. She looked slender, and well trained, with a strength that seemed to radiate from her… whoa, hold on… she's wearing leggings.

"You must be Fëaruin. Welcome, Fire-Dragon of Gondor," Avardelothien walked over and curtseyed, trying not to imagine how Fëaruin would do the same. "I guess your heart is not selfish, then, by not refusing my request of friendship. Would it not be better for you if I called you by your byname Urulókë?"

"I do not mind, Lady," Fëaruin was about to curtsey, when she realized that she was not in a gown and bowed instead. "Elves who do not know me usually call me Urulókë, and Elves who do know me alternate in calling me Urulókë and Fëaruin. But everyone is free to call me what they will; both are my name, by both names am I called, and if you would like a special exception as one who knows me not I will gladly allow you to call me Fëaruin."

"What a pleasant gift," Avardelothien smiled sweetly. "I will give you a special exception too. You may call me by my first name Avardelothien, though many call me by my byname Fëanna. And you must be Menellómë. Welcome!"

"It is a pleasure to be here," Menellómë curtseyed, making Legolas stiffen again. Fëanna didn't even know she was speaking to a direct niece, he thought. If only she knew… if only I had the heart to tell them…

"Come, Fëaruin," Avardelothien grinned at last, beckoning the way to leave the clear path. "There is much that we must talk about."

"Indeed," Fëaruin smiled, and together they left the path. Legolas, Menellómë and Ninrusco watched their backs move away, and ended up walking off the path into a cluster of flat stones among the shade of the trees.

"Well, that was nice, abandoning us," Legolas mocked hurt as he sat on a flat stone. Ninrusco and Menellómë sat across from him, forming a triangle.

"I understand why," Ninrusco raised an eyebrow. "Knowing Urulókë and experiencing the wrath of your sister just then I'd say their attitudes may be about the same."

Menellómë laughed. "Aw, that's cruel. They're both nice to me."

Legolas and Ninrusco chuckled softly, before their laughter trailed away into a mere echo. Silence passed briefly, before Legolas bowed his head, a shadow forming on his face.

"Menellómë…" he said.

Menellómë smiled at the Elf, her eyes bright. "Yes, Legolas?"

"Do you… would you mind if I called you Alatamoth?" he asked as he raised his head, a dreamy hope shining in his eyes. "It means… it means Radiant Dusk, because of your stunning eyes. I knew someone named Alatamoth once… she was beautiful, with eyes just like yours, who meant more to me than anyone else in Middle-Earth excepting my lover at the time…"

"Of course," Menellómë was flattered, although it hurt Legolas that Menellómë could not remember that she was the true Alatamoth his daughter. "This Alatamoth… she sounds very special to you."

Legolas bowed his head down again, in attempt to hide his grief.

"Aye," he replied. "She was."

To be continued…