Oh my. For some reason that is totally and completely unbeknownst to me, I am writing a Legolas/Eowyn fic. I don't know why, to what end, or even what's going to happen in this very chapter that I'm writing, but the muse told me to and when the muse commands, I obey without question. If I don't, the muse retaliates, and I have no wish for six months of unbreakable writer's block to fall upon my head! This is not connected in any way with my other stories!

The rating may change. I honestly don't know.

            He was watching her. Again. She knew it, and she knew that he knew she knew it, but she said nothing lest it draw attention to such a fact. Aragorn was oblivious, as was the Dwarf – the Man was far too busy conversing with both her uncle and the Wizard (as to whether or not he was oblivious, she wasn't even going to try and guess) and the Dwarf's attention was set to plate and bottle.

            The Elf, on the other hand, was watching her. And subtly, too – his head wasn't even turned in her direction as he stood against a pillar in the hall, but his eyes were on her, and they sent shivers down her spine. He had been watching her nearly since the moment he'd arrived, in that same subtle fashion, and she was beginning to wonder why.

            Was it some sort of an attraction? Surely not – he was an Elf of all people, and while she didn't know all that much about Elves, Eowyn was fairly sure that there was nothing about her to draw one in such a way. But then what was it? His gaze held none of the slimy lasciviousness that Wormtongue's ever-present leers had always contained. Curiosity? But no, he was an immortal, he'd undoubtedly seen nearly everything in however many years it was that he'd lived, and she was nothing new.

            The list went on. Irritation? She'd done nothing to him, didn't even know him! Something strange about her appearance? No – she was wearing a dress right now, a long dress that in no way resembled the tunics and breeches (stolen out of her brother's wardrobe, yes, but he didn't mind, and pretended not to notice) that she preferred to wear, given half the chance. There were no weapons strapped to her back or bound at her sides, only the small dagger hidden inside her boot. Surely, though, even an Elf couldn't see through clothing. And if he could, he would be leering at her, instead of giving her a steady stare. Perhaps she'd suddenly grown an extra head, but she would have known if that had happened.

            Still the staring persisted, and it annoyed her in an unsettling sort of way. She would have liked to confront him – indeed, such rudeness was deserving of confrontation – but he was a guest in this hall, and Elves were said to be a strange race. Perhaps this was merely his way, and he wasn't thinking about her at all, and confrontation would only serve to embarrass them both.

            She hadn't noticed it all too horribly earlier – such ponderances had seemed naught but frivolous distraction whilst she was looking after the two children from the ransacked village. Now, though, they were safely off to bed and he was still staring.

An unexpected ire rose up in her. Was there something about her that he disapproved of? Who did he think she was? Some softhearted royal brat, the spoiled daughter of a king who should have been sent to bed along with the children, instead of sitting up while the grownups talked of impeding doom? She was half-tempted to confront him with a blade.

            A growl made its presence known in her throat, but she managed to stop it before more than a small bit of sound escaped. Indeed, neither the Dwarf nor the Wizard nor Aragorn nor her uncle even noticed anything. But he had heard it, and the stare only followed her more closely.

            Muttering some inane pleasantry, she exited the room. Though her back was turned, she could feel his eyes on her all the way out.

            How unbelievably exasperating! Her thoughts were less than charitable as she went to her weapons trunk and took out her sword. She ran drill energetically, though her mind was less on the moves than on what had transpired before. Lecher, cretin, irritant! She realized that two thirds of those things weren't true, but it felt good to think them anyway. Continuing her swordplay, Eowyn failed to notice the eyes that were gazing at her from the shadows.

            Legolas observed her interestedly. So she could handle a sword… perhaps that was why her temperament leaned towards the steely side of things… She was fast, too, he noticed, smaller and lighter than the average fighter.

            Her face was calm, but her eyes held a glint in them that was something akin to rage. He wondered if it was all on his account, and decided that it wasn't. One thing was certain, though – this woman would be death in a battle.

            She was caught up in what she was doing, he noticed, or she would have given some sign that she knew he was there. He couldn't help observing her – she was complex and interesting and oh so very different from anyone that he had seen before.

It wasn't the fact that she could wield a blade – a good half of the guards back home were female (though he knew that for a mortal woman to do such a thing was nigh on unheard of) – it was that she seemed very much like the blade she wielded. Steel-minded, stubborn and unbendable, unyielding as the strongest sword-thrust.

But, too, there was a part of her that seemed rather more like the sword-hilt she grasped – graceful, complicated, beautiful. She had a soft side to her nature, though she tried to hide it –he'd seen it in her concern over King Théoden. It was an interesting combination, one that he had never come across in a mortal woman (though he admittedly hadn't known very many of them) and he was keen on learning more.

            The form that she was working on came to an end, and she stopped for a moment, savoring the feeling of tranquility that enveloped her after channeling all her energy, indeed, most of her rage, into sword-work, and having done it well.

            It only lasted a moment though, because then she noticed a green-clad figure standing in the shadows.

            The anger was back, at that, and her eyes narrowed. Let him watch, then! She'd give him something to look at! Mind made up, Eowyn launched viciously into the most deadly drill she knew. It was wild, and furious, and that was exactly the message she meant to project to this meddling Elf. She wasn't one to be trifled with, and if he tried anything, she wanted it known in no uncertain terms that she could kill him.

            And oh, she made it known. A feral sneer was on her face, her teeth bared as though she wanted nothing more than to leap upon him and tear his throat out like some sort of a savage woman-wolf, and though her movements were so fast as to seem a blur, every single lethal stroke was made with pinpoint accuracy. Watch me?, it said, I dare you!

            He noticed her attitude, so much so that when she was facing him he was tempted to back up half a step or so, despite the fact that he was standing far enough away that to harm him she would either have to rush at him or throw her blade, both of which he knew he could easily dodge. If an army was mustered and she joined it, he knew that he would rather not be on the opposing side.

            Her drill ended then, and a question came to his mind. Before giving the matter a second thought, he asked, "Why do you do this?"

            The anger sparking in her eyes would have been enough to kindle wet wood. "That," she replied venomously, "is a personal question. Too personal." Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left.

            And so he stood alone in the shadows, pondering.

Er… yeah. I've really got to stop writing other things when I should be focusing on the Silence and Lies arc and Gift of Sight, but I cannot help it. PLEASE, review! It would make me ever so extremely happy! Just please, BE CIVIL! (i.e. DO NOT FLAME!) Thank you!