CB: Wow…is all I can say, just…wow… I upload this fic, and within two days I have thirty reviews. All you guys are absolutely amazing! *Prostrates herself at the feet of her readers*

Seth: Excuse me? Who was it that was complaining about us giving her too much inspiration?

CB: *Mutters quietly and looks sheepish*

Osirus: *Looks triumphant*

CB: Ok, so I have my muses to thank too…but the reviewers are still better! *Sticks her tongue out at her muses* So there.

"Arwen?" Legolas stared at the princess, whose face had gone the colour of newly fallen snow. "Arwen, little Evenstar, are you all right?" He stood up from the table and walked swiftly to the other side, gripping her shoulder and turning her to look at him. "Speak to me, Arwen!" He shook her slightly as she blinked up at him, her expression bordering on disbelief and confusion. "What on earth is the matter?" Blonde hair swinging, Legolas knelt down beside her as she continued to simply stare at him, blue eyes blank with what appeared to be…strangely enough… horror.

Several seconds passed, and still she did not move, the only sign of life the blinking of her eyelids, and the nervous, quick movement of her fingers knotting through one another as she opened and shut her mouth soundlessly.

"Arwen…" He tried again, his voice beginning to shake slightly with worry, "Arwen, what's the matter?" His other hand came up, patting her cheek lightly, trying to get her to respond. "Is it because you know this man? Do you know Estel?" He seemed to have hit something there, because Arwen suddenly gave a shuddering gasp and clutched one of his hands in hers, her fingers tightly knotting with his.

"Galadh, (1)" She murmured, looking down at him, her eyes brimming with fear, "I believe I do know the man they call Estel." She smiled weakly at his curious expression, and let go of his hand. Drawing a deep breath, she looked away and out of the window, where the sun was gently warming the gardens, its light creeping slowly over old stone and young saplings.

Legolas stood up, his face still curious and more than a little confused, but his expression relaxed when Arwen turned her head again, looking up at him with no hint of the fear she had seemed to hold only brief moments ago. "And now Galadh, the sun is already high, and it seems to me that you should have long ago been holding counsel with my father." She smiled at his expression of mock terror and stood up, also, shooing him towards the door. "We will dine together this evening at the ball, I hope?" She asked as she pushed him out of the door.

"Of course Little Evenstar," He replied with a mock bow, blue eyes sparkling again as he teased her, "For who could deny your radiant presence and lovely voice, or you fair looks and…"

Arwen huffed indignantly, stamping on foot childishly, "You mock me Legolas; I will bid thee good morning." She tossed her head in affected haughtiness, but her cheeks dimpled as she smiled at his wounded expression. "I will see you this evening at the ball Galadh." She said more gently, and closed the door in his face.

Through the thick, dark wood, she heard Legolas' indignant shout of, "Don't call me Galadh! I am no sapling!" Before an older, smoother voice interrupted his words.

"And yet, you continue to act like one, perhaps Arwen is right in her naming of you."

And Legolas' indignant reply as he was swept off down the corridor, arguing with Elrohir, who had been sent to make him attend the counsel, which had indeed started a good half an hour ago.

Arwen smiled quietly, and leant back against the door, her head turned to the side as she stared thoughtfully at the rich, light tapestry that adorned one wall, made by her grandmother, Galadriel. Her fingers suddenly tightened convulsively again as she remembered Legolas' look of dreamy contemplation, and his soft voice describing the meeting between himself and the one they called Estel.

"My Lady?" Arwen's maid had returned, bringing with her a bundle of soft cloth, "I have brought your dress for this evening." Forest green eyes regarded the Evenstar as the dress was held out. "I have ensured that it will match Lord Aragorn's." She added, pushing curly dark hair back from her forehead.

This was the wrong thing to say. Before the elf maiden could react, Arwen had turned to her and snatched the dress, flinging it to the floor in a rare moment of temper and unbridled rage. "I care not whether it matches Lord Aragorn's," She informed the startled servant, "For even if our clothes match, our emotions never will." She raised her head, blue eyes flashing and her high cheekbones flushing. In that moment, any elf who had regarded her, would have had no problem in seeing her lineage, her every gesture, movement and tone of voice spoke of imperial authority.

And then, quite suddenly, as quickly as the rage had come upon her, it left, leaving only despair in its wake, as she saw the shocked look on her maid's face, and realised that she was being unjust. "Forgive me," She muttered, stooping to pick up the soft blue gown, "I allowed my temper to rule me for a moment…I beg your forgiveness."

The other woman smiled and held out a pair of shoes to go with the dress. "I know of nothing to forgive, Lady Arwen," She took the dress and draped it over the back of a chair, "Even the most stout-hearted of elves occasionally despairs when it comes to love…but do not give in, I am sure that Lord Aragorn returns your feelings just as deeply…or he will when he sees you in this." She spoke with such confidence in her voice, that Arwen's worry faded slightly, and her brow smoothed, allowing her to smile softly.

"Perhaps you are right." She said, feeling more confident, "For surely if Aragorn had met…someone…but once, he would not fall in love with them."

"Ah, surely not." The maid replied, shaking her head, "For men are a strange lot, they do not feel as quickly or as deeply as our kin often do." She smiled and patted Arwen's shoulder in sisterly affection.

Arwen laughed and hugged her, before releasing her and regaining some royal bearing once more. Crossing the room, her silken robes rustling with each step, she sat down in front of her mirror, and her maid picked up her hairbrush, beginning to pass it through the ebony hair that gleamed in the pale sunlight. "What would I do without you Elaría?" She asked fondly, resting her hands on her lap and looking at her maid's reflection in the mirror.

"Most likely behave like a spoilt child." Elaría smacked Arwen's head lightly with the brush, "Now, you must cheer up, for the gathering in the hall is this evening."

"Ah yes," Arwen mused, "I promised I would allow Legolas to escort me there."

Elaría's eyes crinkled in a smile. "How is the youngest Prince of Mirkwood?" She enquired fondly.

Arwen sighed, but her lips curled into a small smile as she remembered Legolas' animated conversation earlier. "He is very well," She said softly, looking down at her folded hands, "And much the same as ever…" But she couldn't help thinking that this was perhaps not entirely correct. Legolas looked the same, indeed, he acted very similar to their last meeting, which had taken place some ten years before, but there was something not quite right in his mannerisms.

And Arwen's mind couldn't help but reach the horrible conclusion that it might have something to do with Aragorn, and she couldn't help but linger on blue eyes that had seemed to sparkle with something extra when they talked of a lakeside meeting and the man that had once been known as Estel.

********

Aragorn had known many elves throughout his life, and all of them had been beautiful and wise, beings of a supreme nature. He had played with elf children as a young boy, and had hunted with older elves as a man. He had encountered many different races of elf and could fluently speak their language. He had been known to be pursued by no less than three elf women at any given time, but he had never been known to miss a counsel meeting when he had specifically been requested to attend by Lord Elrond.

Currently, he was sitting in one of the large gardens that were surrounded by trees; his brow furrowed thoughtfully, his dark hair lifting slightly in the breeze as he sat, quite still. The only sound was the rustling leaves of the trees and the quiet trickling of the brook that flowed throughout the peaceful realm of the elves.

He smiled slightly as he thought of the soft voice, so similar to the flowing water, which seemed to have captivated him earlier in the glade. //"What do you mean, coming upon me whilst I bathe?"// He snorted in amusement at his own inner memory, in which the elf had risen from the depths of the pool like some ancient water seraph. Shaking his head, he let out a small, derogatory laugh as he mocked himself for believing such perfection existed.

"I am sure the elf was beautiful," He announced to the sky, quite suddenly, "But I have been known to over exaggerate things." All the same, as he glanced over at the small river, he couldn't help but compare it to the blue of imperious eyes, that had looked with haughty defiance at him as their owner dressed quickly. He felt strangely odd when he realised that the colour of the water had something lacking, and could be compared insomuch as a Raven can to that of a snow white dove.

As his mind lingered on long, blonde hair that's tips had ended just tantalising inches above a bare waist, he felt suddenly light headed, as though he had swallowed five cups of mead one after the other, and was beginning to suffer the consequences. 'It is as though you desire this elf,' a teasing voice in his head whispered, 'despite the love of the Evenstar, you see only this stranger's beauty.' Aragorn shook his head, trying to rid himself of this new, and strangely accurate noise in his brain.

But the voice continued on, relentlessly. 'His body is perfection…do not deny it, you saw the elf and his looks pleased you, but it's not just looks, is it?' The strange voice lowered to a whisper, and Aragorn suddenly realised it was that of a woman, 'He has an air of sadness about him, a slight flash in his blue eyes that bespeaks of suffering, but that is not all. He is full of light and grace, a grace you would all too willingly see him fall from, would you not?' The voice seemed to turn slightly malicious, the woman's voice going higher in pitch as it laughed softly, 'You would see him fall from the light, tarnished and dirty, you would see him in front of you on bended knee, a willing slave, wanting nothing more than your touch. Yes, dear Estel,' It continued as Aragorn started slightly, drawing in a shaky breath, 'I know that you would wish to be the one who makes him tainted…I see your mind… even after so brief a meeting, you can think of nothing else.'

"Who are you?" The man whispered into the silence of the clearing, grey eyes widening as he stared at the belt of trees, not really seeing them, "What do you want?"

'I am a friend in a high place, young heir.' The voice replied in amusement, 'I am the light that symbolises grace…and yet…' the voice turned sad, as the woman's voice hushed until it was barely more than a whisper, like a passing breath of wind, '…and yet I too, know what it feels like to fall from grace, and to have that which I desire be the one to taint me.'

"What do you mean?" Aragorn whispered back.

And what a strange sight it would have been, had any of the elves seen him then. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, sitting by his self in the centre of a glade, talking to the air as thought it could answer him, brow furrowed in concentration, fists clenched in agitation as he fidgeted slightly, no longer the still, solitary figure he was often seen to be.

The voice, however, did not reply again, and it left Aragorn feeling more confused than ever. (2)   

********

"Where is Aragorn?" Elrond's brow furrowed as he looked around the council, dark hair floating slightly in the breeze. The imperious man was clad in a deep green, trimmed with silver velvet that flashed like serpent's scales in the early winter sun, which was peering in watery waves through the trees which were shading his council.

Gathered within this council was a strange assortment of creatures from all over Middle Earth; from high representatives of Hobbits, to lordly men, fair elves and even two towering Ents, who were swaying from side to side ever so slightly, looking for all the world like no more than a pair of large oaks, bent double with age.

Elrohir, slumped in his seat with an immaturity that was not becoming of his age old lifetime, wearily shook his head, either in defeat or reply to his father's question. "I know not, my lord, but it is no longer prudent to wait for him." He ran a hand through his golden hair, making it catch the light, so it shimmered like gold under rushing water, inevitably drawing nearly every eye in the council to his grace and beauty. "If he arrives, we will be glad for his company, if he does not make his presence known, we can survive without him for one meeting."

Legolas, who had been sitting on Elrohir's left, felt a small flash of disappointment as he realised he would not be allowed a glimpse or Arwen's much talked about lover until later this evening, possibly at the ball. He sighed, and allowed darkened eyes to rest on Lord Elrond once more, who was pursing his lips, a frown marring the otherwise smooth forehead.

"Very well," He announced finally, to the council in general, "I will take my son's advice on the matter and proceed with what I have brought you here to discuss…but I can assure all of you, Aragorn will be reprimanded and my sincerest apologies go to all of you for this delay in our discussions." He smiled then, and it was like the leafy realm lit up for a moment with it's king's amusement, the trees seemed to be singing and the air to throb with the very essence of the ancient elf's humour, before it died once more, leaving nothing but a calm and collected appearance.

Legolas also smiled to himself, knowing what the Lord's humour had been about. 'You know these mortals,' his smile had seemed to say, speaking in utter tones of confidentiality to each and every observer in the place, 'they are all young and foolish, we must forgive them for their young impetuousness.' However, as the blond elf listened with half an ear to the heated debate on the encroachment of the forest areas, he couldn't help but feel a sharp stab of disappointment that he had not seen Arwen's beloved.

//I wonder what he looks like?// He thought to himself, allowing his gaze to stray from Elrond's face and flit to the band of trees beyond. //I wish she had described him to me…// He frowned as he recalled her strange and unexplainable behaviour when he had mentioned the morning's events, and his gaze began to move faster, blue eyes randomly flicking with impartial indifference over the faces of the council, lighting on one like a bird on a branch, before flying onto another, ceaseless in his unwitting scrutiny.

"And what does the representative of Greenwood (more recently known as Mirkwood) have to say to this?"

The loud tones echoed around the space, and all heads obediently turned to look at the youngest Prince of Mirkwood, who blinked slightly, looking strangely like a deer caught in the light of some torches. "Uh?" He ventured, flushing slightly and silently berating himself for allowing a lapse in his concentration.

The dwarf who had asked the question watched him, a broad grin of delight on his face. It wasn't often an elf allowed you to better him, and it was even rarer to see one so caught off guard. "Apparently Mirkwood cares not about its borders!" He remarked in jovial wit to his companions, who laughed heartily, also pleased to see a graceful being lost for words.

This seemed to shake the prince out of his self induced stupor, and he leapt to his feet, blue eyes flashing as he looked down at the dwarf, lip all but curled in a sneer of anger and contempt. "Mirkwood does indeed care for its borders," He said, cold tones ringing throughout the now silent assembly, "But we also care for the lands of others, unlike dwarves." Hard blue eyes turned towards the rest of the company from the mines and he smiled, but with no mirth. "Mirkwood is one of the strongest realms in Middle Earth, save perhaps, Rivendell," Legolas nodded with due respect toward Elrond, who inclined his head also in acceptance, "I make this statement to all of you, encroach upon our borders and you will regret it. Encroach upon our allies borders, and you will regret it. Our warriors will not hesitate to defend our lands to the death, and if any of you seek to reach out and pluck the ripe fruit from the tree that is my homeland, you will soon learn that that fruit is poison."

There was a ringing silence following that statement, until one of the men shifted uncomfortable in his seat and cleared his throat. "Yes, well," He said awkwardly, "I think your message is clear Prince Legolas, and may I be the first to assure you that the world of men has no such intentions."

There was a hasty bout of nodding and the council seemed to come alive again as Legolas nodded in acceptance of the man's reassurances and shot a cold glance towards the dwarf, who was still sitting with his mouth open, before he resumed his seat next to Elrohir, who grinned, showing uncharacteristic loss of dignity.

"Might I venture to say, Legolas, that your little tirade has swayed the opinion of the council?" He smiled openly as the normally calm Prince turned to look at him, eyes questioning and lips already parted in the silent question. Elrohir smirked in a satisfied sort of way and swept a hand languidly around the circle of men, elves, dwarves and other creatures. "They were all beginning to think that Mirkwood was for the taking, youngest heir," He said by way of explanation, "You have spoken but three words before this, and many had begun to whisper that your homeland was obviously a place to be taken advantage of, since it sent such a weak representative."

There was a flash of hurt, which showed for a brief second in Legolas' eyes, before he smiled grimly in satisfaction, "Well cousin Elrohir, maybe now they will see that Mirkwood is not some pretty bauble to be conquered and forgotten about."

And Elrohir had to wonder whether Legolas was referring to the lands of his father, or more to himself.

********

Arwen paced her room, silk gown rustling as she moved, creating the sound of whispering leaves as she glanced impatiently out of the window at the darkened sky.

The sun had long ago set, and the stars were now shining like diamonds on the purest of black velvet, as the moon hung in the sky, like a swollen pearl, shining with a ghostly light that bathed everything in a cold glow, making shadows look deeper and any movement menacing. Already Arwen could hear the sounds of revelry coming from the hall where the ball was being held, and she smiled as she heard the two familiar voices of her brothers, raised in a song that told the story of two elves destined to love.

The end of their song was met with, what sounded like, riotous approval, and almost immediately after, there came a knock at her door, that sounded strangely out of place and formal compared to the sounds she could hear that were carried on the still night air.

Shrugging, she crossed the room and flung it open, grinning in a most un-elf like fashion as she regarded Legolas, who solemnly held out the single, pale flower he had brought for her, his eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mocking mischief. "My lady Evenstar." He greeted her cordially as she took the rose, placing it on the nearby table and smoothing her dress. "I have come to escort you to the ball, as you wished." He smiled at her, and one graceful hand extended, palm up, so she could place hers in his.

"My Lord Legolas." Arwen titled her chin up, feigning a distant haughtiness, even as her own eyes betrayed her playfulness, "I am glad you could escort me sir." She accepted the hand, and then linked arms with him, so they were walking side by side and out into the night, across to the large gathering.

"It is my pleasure, oh moon flower of Rivendell." He assured her as they walked gracefully up the stone steps, both unheeding of the many eyes that followed them, drinking in their beautiful features like flowers that have been dying of thirst, and are now granted reprieve by the first rain.

She smiled mischievously at him as they came to a stop before the herald that had been appointed for the evening. Raising one eyebrow, she said, "Why dressed so nicely, prince of Mirkwood?" Her tone was casual, and she made sure it stayed that way, unwilling to arouse Legolas's suspicion as her eyes roamed over his silver tunic and midnight blue britches. "Is it for this man you met but this morning?"

If she had not known better, she would have sworn that a blush stained his high cheekbones, but he merely waved one hand in a dismissive gesture, and laughed at her raised eyebrow. "You see into things too much, Little Evenstar." He informed her, and taking her arm again, they swept into the crowded ballroom.

*******

It was late, Aragorn decided.

In fact, it was so late as to be early, and he was no more closer to achieving his goal of spending a few minutes with the beautiful elf who had escorted Arwen in, than he was of leaving the ball and going to bed.

Legolas of Mirkwood, even in his mind, the name seemed to roll around like a rich wine that should be savoured and kept precious, in fact, just the thought of the beautiful elf was enough to make his head reel, like he had drunk too many goblets of alcohol. And so it was, that he wasn't paying much attention when Arwen asked him to dance.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said," She repeated, looking faintly amused, "That if it is not too much trouble, perhaps we should dance?"

The man pondered this for a second, grey eyes quiet and focused, before he looked up at her once more. "I am sorry, but I feel that it would be unwise." He said as graciously as possible.

She smiled fully then, and her eyes lit up with mischief, making her seem luminous among the candles. "Perhaps it is that you cannot dance?" She suggested, teasing him.

"I can." He said shortly, now looking out towards the dance floor, where his eyes had suddenly caught a flash of silver.

"Prove it to me then." He almost missed her words, and confused grey eyes swung around towards her, a question held in them as the torches flickered overhead and people laughed and ate. "A bet." She continued, explaining to him. "In three weeks from now, there is another ball, and my father is in need of entertainment for our guests, you and at least two other people must perform a dance for him." She laughed then at the look of utmost shock in his face, as he dazedly wondered how he had walked into this trap of words that had ensnared him as easily as a hunter's net does to a deer.

"Very well."

She glanced, surprised at him, before smiling. "Very well," She repeated, "Three weeks hence, Aragorn son of Arathorn, you will dance for us, and you will tell the tale of…" she paused, her eyes considering as the roamed the room before lighting on a solitary figure in one corner, dressed in a silver tunic and blue britches. "You will tell the tale of Beren and Luthíen."

Shocked grey eyes caught her own, and she felt a small sense of satisfaction.

To Be Continued…  

(1) Meaning 'little tree' in the elvish tongue

(2) If you are also confused, like Aragorn, please press one now…sorry, just kidding, but don't worry, things will become clearer with the little voices later in the story. Promise!

Two Brief Notes…

1) I forgot to put a footnote about Beren and Lúthien in the last chapter, so my apologies to the readers who have not read the books I'll attempt to explain now. Beren was a mortal man, who stumbled across the fairest elf maid of all time (Lúthien) whilst she was dancing in a clearing. They fell in love, and Lúthien eventually chose to forsake her people and become mortal for his love.

2) I also sheepishly announce that it slipped my mind to say that this is an AU… but I'm sure you all worked that out anyway! ^_^