CHAPTER II

Elwing tossed her head and danced sideways. Lassiel spoke to her softly, and she quieted, if only for a moment. They had been riding for nearly an hour, and still the mare would not walk calmly. Though she feigned annoyance, Lassiel was secretly glad for this, for it provided a distraction from the sickening silence that stretched between her and Legolas. Relaxing the reigns she sighed heavily and shifted her weight in the saddle.

"I was told you had a way with animals, horse especially," ventured Legolas cautiously. "Have you ever tried to ride without saddle or bridle?"

"No," she replied flatly. This was an immense lie on her part. She did so often, though never in public, as she refused to give the rest of the village a new excuse to label her strange and ostracize her. Her response to him was guided by an unconscious oath that in a year's time from now he would have gained no ground with her, and that she would leave Mirkwood and never return. This rule governed all her actions, whether or not she knew it.

That exchange was the sum of conversation for the following three hours. Legolas saw little hope for anymore, and Lassiel refused to try.

The hour now approached noon, and the travelers came upon Laketown. The streets were a blur of activity, and Lassiel was instantly disoriented. Legolas, however, had been there many times on political errands, discussing the price and delivery of various goods to his father halls in Mirkwood, and negotiated the chaotic, commerce-based town with confidence.

As they rode though the town, Lassiel was painfully aware of the number of eyes upon her and her estranged father. She soon became aware, however, that many of the observers were quick in giving bows and nods of respect, which Legolas returned graciously. Twice she came very near to asking him why this was, but she could not bring herself to swallow her pride.

They stopped briefly and ate, though Lassiel hardly tasted anything. The reality of things was beginning to set in. She had not thought before she left; in her anger and hurt she had simply stormed out. Now, she reflected over her actions, and grew frightened, wondering what she had thrown herself into.

Legolas was having similar doubts as he watched her pick at her food sullenly. She had quite a temper, which he did not find surprising, as so had her mother. But her mother, he thought, had been reasonable. Lassiel seemed to be no more than a raging torrent of emotion, with no restraint or self-control.

They moved on, out of Laketown and into a neighboring village. The sun burned orange on the horizon when they came upon a humble little house on the very edge of the town. Behind it stretched a length of uncultured field, and beyond that Lassiel thought, if she strained her eyes, she could see the forest rising dark and foreboding.

Legolas' eyes lingered on the house. "That was where your mother lived," he said quietly.

Lassiel was surprised. "So close? I thought she moved 'many miles' from the forest."

Legolas nodded. "So she told me, in an effort, I suspect, to detour me from following her. I was shocked when I was told she lived only a day's ride from here." He finally tore his gaze from the house, and sighed. "From here on we have two choices: we can stop here and make camp for the night, or ride on and reach our destination by midnight."

"It does not matter to me," she replied. He was clearly asking her if she was tired, which she was, but she would rather have ridden to exhaustion then admit this. She was anxious to avert any situation that offered him a chance to play father to her.

"Well, let us ride on then. That field is green and level; ideal for letting the horses have a good run, which your mare seems eager for."

Lassiel nodded. Thought they had traveled all day, they had done scarcely more than walking, and Elwing was still high strung and full of nervous energy.

They set off at a measured lope, and Elwing flung her head eagerly. Lassiel gave her the reigns. If Legolas wanted to keep up, he would.

His gray stallion matched Elwing step for step. Legolas turned towards Lassiel, and she stared back, daring him to reprimand her. Much to her surprise, he smiled. She looked away quickly. That had not been the desired effect.

For time she lost herself in the rhythm of pounding hooves, her heart soaring with a wild joy as the mare lengthened her stride and ate up the distance to the edge of the forest.

Lassiel would come to describe the next few moments as the worst of her life. Elwing flowing stride broke sharply as the mare lurched forward. She stumbled and fell, legs folding beneath her and skidding across the ground on one shoulder. Lassiel was pitched off, her vision spinning almost comically as she was flung to the ground. As soon she landed she was on her feet, despite that she had fallen hard.

She ran to Elwing side. The mare still lay on her side, eyes wide with fear, nostrils flaring, sides lathered with sweat from exertion and fright. After a moment, she struggled unsteadily to her feet and then stood, legs spread in a wide stance that afforded her more balance.

Frantically, Lassiel ran her hands down each of the mare legs, searching for something, anything, that was out of place. Aside from the expected scrapes and bruises marring the soft gray hide, there was nothing obviously wrong. No bowed tendons or fractured bones.

Her horse's safety no longer in question, she suddenly dissolved into a mass of tears. She clung to her mare's neck and buried her face in the rough silver mane..

"I could have killed you," she whispered tearfully. "What was I thinking?" She knew, and had known from the time she was a child, that you do not gallop a horse over field you did not know. A horse could break a leg, if he stepped in some animal's burrow or some uneven footing and stumbled.

A light touch on her shoulder commanded her attention. She spun around and hissed, "Will you not just leave me be for a moment?" into Legolas' concerned face.

He paid her less than warm reception no heed. "Are you all right?

"Fine."

Elwing's ears flickered; she was well aware of the tension that existed between these two, though she would never comprehend its cause. Then, in the wonderfully simple nature of horses, she bent her head to the ground and casually snatched a mouthful of sweet green grass.

A smile played upon Legolas' face as he watched the mare eat. "It seems she thinks much less of this incident than you do," he said good-naturedly.

"That is because she knows only what it is, Lassiel replied darkly. "She does not understand what might have been. She does not know it might have cost her a leg, and therefore her life."

Moodily she turned to the mare and loosened her girth. No need for it to be tight if she was not to be ridden. And after a fall like that, Lassiel did not intend to ride her for a day or so.

"Lassiel, you are tired," said Legolas. "I will not have you walk. Take Alagos, and I shall walk.".

"No," she replied simply. "I would prefer to walk with my horse."

"Alagos is well-broken. Do not let it trouble you that he wears no saddle or bridle."

Lassiel looked at him incredulously. "I am not afraid of your horse!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I have no wish to abandon my injured mare!"

And so they both walked, for Legolas refused to let her walk while he rode and she refused to ride. Soon they had reached the edge of the wood, which rose dark and thick before them.

Legolas was telling her something, Lassiel knew that much, but she did not hear a word of it. Her eyes were fixed on the trees.

They were ancient, majestic birches, with proud bows and green leaves that swayed in the gentle summer breeze. And as she looked at them, she found them not frightening but alluring, cool and green, drawing her in. Her head spun. The forest seemed to breath; it had its own rhythm, and it pulsed with a life she had not believed existed. She was overwhelmed and frightened; these feelings were alien to her. She sucked in a deep breath, and became aware that Legolas was watching her.

"I do not wish to go," she declared, though her voice shook and lacked conviction. "Evil things now dwell there, and it is not safe."

Evil things such as Wood-elves? he nearly asked, but did not, partially because he knew what answer she would give. "We have preserved what we could," he said. "And where we keep it, it is safe. You have nothing to fear when in my father's realm."

Lassiel looked at him. "Your father's realm?"

He turned towards her. "Yes. My father holds kingship over the northern part of this wood."

"Oh," was all she could say. The Elvenking was a prominent, slightly feared figure where Lassiel came from. He was responsible for a majority of Laketown's commerce. He ensured the city a steady source of income, through drought and flood. In essence, he was the backbone of the economy of Laketown and its surrounding villages. Beyond economics, though, there were the tales of his great halls wrought of stone, protected by elven magic, the likes of which mortals could only imagine.

Well, she thought, feeling a bit giddy, I shall return with many tales, that is certain enough.

Legolas stepped into the trees, and Lassiel followed, managing to coerce a wary Elwing into coming after.

For moment he paused, face turned upwards towards the great boughs that formed a ceiling overhead. When they continued on, it seemed to Lassiel that his entire manner changed. His eyes lacked a nervous edge, something she had not noticed before because she had never seen him without it. He would reach out and brush his finger tips across the leaves of the trees as they passed them, speaking quietly to himself in his own tongue.

He is glad to be in the forest once more, she realized suddenly. She felt a pang of sympathy. She understood homesickness all too well in this last day.

Their trek through the forest seemed endless. The branches of the trees stretched over the path, twisting and tangling into ceiling that blocked out the light of the stars and moon. They were submerged in an inky, suffocating darkness, and Lassiel was very afraid she might stray off the path and be lost. She locked her eyes onto the pale tip of Alagos' tail, flickering like a silver flame with every step he took. Suddenly, she was so tired that she nearly set aside her pride and asked if she could ride the stallion. Just as she about to do so, when her legs could carry her no further, they rounded a bend in the path and the fabled stone halls came into view. Before them lay a river, spanned by a wooden bridge that led to the towering iron gates that were said to be held shut by some force beyond mortal knowledge.

Legolas stopped. He cocked his head slightly, and then turned towards an old, gnarled tree that grew just off the path.

"You are not as silent as you might be, friend," he called out in the speech of the Elves. Lassiel, of course, understood almost nothing of what he had said, and was not prepared for an Elf, armed with knife, bow, and arrow, to materialize from the surrounding forest. He was dressed in the soft greens and browns of the wood and had the fair hair of his people.

Lassiel listened to exchange between Legolas and Elf, presumably a guard, with fascination. It was evidently about her, and the guard, having let them pass, watched her with obvious unease.

"We are a suspicious people," explained Legolas, sounding apologetic.

"I do not expect them to welcome me," she said. "Not anymore than I would welcome an Elf into my own home."

Legolas stared at her, and wondered how it was that she, despite her youth, could twist her words so skillfully as to seem understanding, and yet cut him deeply at them same time.

Lassiel stared back. They locked eyes for an awkward moment, and then Legolas began to walk once more.

Elwing took a few strides forward, and the balked. She evidently did not trust the bridge. Planting her feet into the ground, she locked her knees and would not move another inch.

"Elwing, please!" Lassiel cried in annoyance. "I have little patience for this now. Come on." She tugged hard on the mare's reigns, to no avail. "I should understand if you were so afraid those great gates, but it is a bridge!

"Let her follow Alagos; perhaps then she will realize it is safe," suggested Legolas, already beginning to lead his horse across.

Elwing suddenly decided that being left in the dark forest was far more frightening than the bridge. She nearly leapt on to it, snorting and skittering so violently that Lassiel feared she would be pushed off the edge of the bridge. When they neared the other side, Elwing took a nervous, sideways hop and landed on the grass, eyes still rolling and nostrils flaring.

"You are ridiculous," scolded Lassiel, but her words were softened by affection. "I know of no other animal that would make such a scene over a bridge." She rubbed the mare's forehead gently, and was suddenly glad that she still had Elwing with her; one thing she had not lost.

All at once, the gates swung open and out came many Wood-elves, all armed with slender bows. They all began to speak at once, softly at first, then louder as they called out directly to Legolas. A groom came and took the horses at Legolas' command. Lassiel watched, a bit hurt, as Elwing followed him without so much as a backwards glance.

Legolas raised a long hand, silencing the agitated crowd. They parted to let him through, and Lassiel followed closely behind, gaze turned downward. Many of the Elves stared at her outright, and she could feel the eyes upon her. In an odd twist of fate, she found herself clutching Legolas' arm; he now was the only thing remotely familiar.

Legolas was shocked by this. He looked back her, and she watched him with eyes that pleaded for protection and strength, looking like a lost little girl in dire need of help. His heart twisted painfully as he was reminded so much of her mother, when she had strayed into the forest one fateful day and become lost. She was only a girl at the time, and Legolas' sudden appearance from the dark and seemingly empty wood had terrified her. So much, in fact, that she had actually run the other direction at first. He overtook her easily of course, and managed to convince that his intentions were good. He guided her to edge of the forest, and sent her home.

She should not have returned, he thought gravely, as the memories began to pour forth.

Lassiel ripped her hand off his arm, horrified with herself for allowing him to see her in a moment of weakness, and glowered at him. He gave her a look of pity, which she did not want, and compassion, which she did not need. She straightened up and tried to hold her head high, face burning, though she told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of.

This is because of you, she decided silently, looking at Legolas with newfound contempt. Because of you, I was tortured as a child. And when I finally earned their acceptance, you ripped me away, and brought me here, where I am once more destined to be the outcast.

They were now come through the mighty iron gates and into the halls of stone, delved by the Dwarves so many years ago. The gates clanged shut, and the hollow sound of metal upon metal echoed ominously.

The interior was much warmer and pleasant-looking than she had expected. Lit by lanterns and the occasional torch, it was washed in the soft, russet colors only firelight could produce.

It was also, to her relief, quiet and quite abandoned on the inside. She took a moment to inspect the large hall they stood in now. The stone of the walls was hewn into many forms, and she suddenly realized that she was in essence surrounded by one massive carving. Horses, deer, eagles, and many other splendid forms danced through mighty trees, borne from stone and yet as real any she had ever seen.

Amazed, she found herself tracing the lines of one the eagles, this one in flight, beak open as it screamed a challenged, fierce eyes gleaming dangerously. Each feather was carefully crafted, down the very quick and tiny fibers. And every carving in the hall, there had to be hundreds, was done with the same care.

"The work of the Dwarves," commented Legolas. "A wondrous thing, is it not?"

"It is," she admitted softly, without turning from the carving.

"And yet it cost us what little tolerance we had for each, the Elves of Mirkwood and the Dwarves." His voice carried a mixture of irritation and amusement. "My father paid them their price; and then they demanded more." He sighed. "Nonetheless, these halls are well-crafted, strong, and fair to look upon."

She did not reply. They are lovely, she thought. She had certainly never seen anything like this before. She felt a bit of guilt. It was just now that she began to understand that Legolas, though obviously on close terms with his people, was truly considered royalty here. And his life style, while certainly quite different than most things she had associated with the upper class, was luxurious in its own right. His clothing was modest but fine, very fine, and though at first she had attributed this to the Elves, she now realized that it was still much finer than most.

Am I to live like this as well? she wondered, both pleased and dismayed. Her thoughts turned to her old bed in the small loft above their humble house, and the now familiar feeling of burning anger began to rise in her chest once more.

I may live here, but this will never be my home.