Disclaimer: Seeing as the illustrious Mr. Tolkien didn't leave Legolas to me in his will, I guess that means I don't own him. Evennthough we do get together every Friday night for my weekly archery lesson. Anyway, the point is, I owe nothing so you can't sue me. Even if you did, you wouldn't get much.

A/N: Wow!! Thre replies! Thanks guys! I really appreciate it! I'm glad that you want to read more of my story! Oh, and I was just wondering...jut what is the official definition of a Mary-Sue? I thought it was an OC that was annoyingly perfect and gets everything she wants. But I discovered it might mean something elses entirely. So, before this story accidentally become a Mary-Sue...what the hell is a Mary-Sue??

Chapter 2

The clash of swords and the screams of dying men were all around her. Aralin swung her blade and cut down another Orc. Her limbs ached but she had no time to think of her own exhaustion. All her thoughts were focused on survival, for herself and everyone who lived still. Rushing forward, she ran an Orc through and quickly looked around, searching for someone. With a grim smile, she spotted him. Her best friend and love, Tatharion was fighting fiercely and she could see where the Orcs had gotten through his defenses. His face had a long gash running from his forehead to about mid-cheek and the hair on the back of his head was caked with blood. Aralin sliced through a few Orcs so she could get to him. Fighting by his side always made her feel stronger, more powerful. She was about to hack through another Orc when something smashed into her face and all she felt was pain. It didn't take her long to regain her wits and continue fighting. She looked around once more, and as she did, she heard a scream which drowned out everything else. All the sounds of battle had disappeared and in their place was this awful, agonized scream.

Aralin sat up in bed with a gasp. She took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. It was the dream again. She thought she'd put it all behind her. Obviously not. With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and dressed in a midnight blue tunic with black leggings and a pair of soft black leather boots. She tied her waist length hair into a braid, buckled her sword to her back and jumped to the ground from her window. Her father would no doubt hear her if she left through the front door and the last thing she wanted was for him to follow her, as she knew he would.

The she-Elf walked to the gardens, finding refuge in the branches of a large oak. She leaned back against the trunk and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the warm breeze on her face. After a few moments enjoyment, she opened her eyes and looked up at the higher branches of the tree, her eyes pleading. She turned around, now facing the trunk and placed a palm on the rough wood. Aralin waited, each second that past bringing her closer and closer to tears. She took her hand away from the tree before she lost control of her emotions and leaped lightly back down to the ground. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve it? She glared accusingly at the moon, wanting to blame everything on someone. But there was no one to blame but herself.

A noise stopped her in her tracks. Instinctively, she tensed and moved into a defensive position, listening carefully. It was a voice. A Human voice, at that. Curious, she crept closer, parting the bushes to have a better look at who was there. It was Arwen and Aragorn, standing had in hand, looking deep into each other's eyes.

"You cannot give me this!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"It is mine to give to whom I will. Like my heart." Arwen's clear voice said. Aralin immediately walked quietly away. She had no business spying on them during a private moment. It was common knowledge that the daughter of Elrond had fallen in love with a Man, and the Man in question was Aragorn, Isildur's heir, known as Estel to the Elves of Imladris. It was also common knowledge that Elrond did not exactly encourage their relationship. Aralin wondered why they bothered to try to be together when it was such a problem. They had countless obstacles in their way. Was Arwen really willing to give up eternity just to be with him? It seemed silly to give up so much, to die, for love. It just wasn't worth it in Aralin's opinion. She could understand dying for a cause, dying to protect one's home or one's family. But to condemn yourself to death for love , as Arwen was doing, that was utter stupidity!

Not too far ahead, Aralin saw Frodo, sitting by the fountain. He seemed lost in his thoughts, but he looked up when she came close. She nodded a greeting to him and he nodded back, neither in the mood to speak or be in the presence of another. Without another glance towards the Hobbit, the she-Elf left the garden. There were too many others there. She wanted to be completely alone. Stopping at the stables, she woke her mare Daewen, and hopped on her back. She took off at a gallop and didn't stop until they were out of Imladris, in the surrounding woods. She was sure to be alone there. She sat at the base of a tree and stared at everything around her; the grass, the plants, the trees. She was surrounded by nature and yet...and yet she felt so distant, detached from everything.

Frustrated, she got up and unsheathed her sword, going through several combinations, using just as much strength and speed as if she were battling real enemies. Her stabs and slashes were being executed faster and faster until the sword was a blur in her hands. Sweat dripped down her face and she roughly wiped it away with her sleeve, refusing to stop until she could no longer move.

Three hours later she was still going, though with significantly less speed than before. Her tunic was black with sweat and some strands of hair had fallen loose of her braid and fell into her face. Her breath was coming out in short gasps, but she still continued to weave her sword through the air, like a dance. Aralin often thought of herself as a Sword Dancer, because the movements she made to fight were graceful and fluid, like that of a dancer. And battles could be compared to dances as well. What did you do when fighting against an opponent, but synchronize your movements and go through learned and practiced steps? She much preferred Sword Dancing to any other kind of dancing, that certain.

The sky was lightening and Aralin reluctantly stopped. It was nearing dawn and if her father called for her and she wasn't in her room she would be spending the next fifty years working as Elrond's maid, a task she was not up to carrying out. Mounting Daewen, she asked her loyal horse to get back to Imladris as quickly as her legs would carry her. The mare obliged, breaking immediately into a fast gallop. Aralin began to panic a bit as the sky got lighter and lighter. She hadn't meant to go so far. And she hadn't meant to stay away so long.

With only a few precious minutes left until dawn, the she-Elf walked Daewen around the stables a few times to cool her off after the long run and when that was done, she immediately ran back to her home. She jumped up to her window, unbuckled her sword and climbed under the covers to hide the fact that she was fully clothed and sweaty. She was pretending to still be in the dream-state that was the Elven equivalent of sleeping when her father knocked on her door.

"Aralin, it is time to wake. Elrond has asked for your presence at a council today."

"Yes Adar." she answered, relieved that he didn't come into her room as he sometimes did. She got up and readied a bath. Something told her it would be a very long day. But she felt an excitement that was unusual for her. It was only a council after all. How exciting could it possibly be?

Reviews are always appreciated and looked forward to. Flames will be used to make flaming arrows which I will shoot back at you. And I'm getting pretty damn good at archery thanks to my Friday night lessons with a certain Elf...So once again You Were Warned.