To quote one of my most annoying teachers ever: 'Happy Friday!' Of course, it was most annoying when she would breeze into the building at eight on Monday and declare 'Happy Monday'. Her voice was of the carrying kind, so you could hear her all around the blasted building.

Anyway. Friday. Weekends. Updates. ;-)

Thanks to those of you who reviewed!

eyes of sky: Thank you very much for your reply--it was nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks that way.

Iluvenis: Anytime--don't be shy!

Swasti: And here you go. Good?

LJP: A very interesting comment. I'll get back to that eventually.

Navaer Lalaith: I'm sure with a lot of practice and time I could learn to write in an 'authentic' manner. I simply don't care to. If I'm going to spend twenty plus hours of research, then no doubt days of writing to get comfortable with the flow, with the language use, with the verbs and the slang, the subtle hints and word bandying, then I'm not going to do it for this. I'll do it for one of my original works. I write fanfiction as a form of stress relief, to get away from long, dull reading assignments that contain all of that stuff already. Okay, try this: Show me where Tolkien says they can only have blond hair and blue eyes. As far as I'm aware, he wasn't Hitler. What Tolkien I have read (which is admittedly only the LOTR, The Hobbit, The Sil and the Fall of Gondolin) is generally very vague about most appearances, with few exceptions. He'll talk about the fire in their eyes or the light of the stars in their hair or on their brow, but he doesn't often say so-and-so with blond hair. Even those times he does, you could quibble over the language, the wording to such a point you could deny a color actually exists even there (much of the time, though admittedly it would be a stretch in the cases I'm aware of). As for the rest of it and any other objections you could raise to my writing, I can only reiterate that I'm a struggling student coming up on finals and graduation, and this is what I do to relax. Start your cruisade somewhere else, please. I doubt I'll have time to write anything more than I have for fandom, anyway, once my two current stories are complete, so you can rest assured I won't be furthering the corruption of the true and pure Tolkien world much longer.

Idhrenniel: May I ask what you meant by 'knowing herself well'?

Chapter 8 Fool enough to live

Legolas shook his head slightly—it had occurred to him that he usually spoke more than this on any trip to Imladris. Even when he was alone… save for his horse, anyway. He and Ashes had been getting along fairly well… of course, they hadn't spoken, except for a very few words, the entire time they traveled through the woods. Now they were facing the open grasslands, and he was, quite frankly, bored stiff of silence. When he was traveling alone he would sing, talk to himself or his horse, or just play a tune on the crude reed pipe Elleri had given him several years past for amusement on these trips.

He withdrew it now, and studied it for a time. He glanced at Ashes where she rode silently a bit ahead of him, as she had been—she clearly knew the way and was keeping an ear open, should he speak or fall farther behind. Still watching her, he brought the pipe up and played a few notes, meeting her eyes when she glanced back in surprise. He paused, but she made no motion to stop him, so he began playing.

As always seemed to happen, what tension was in him began to slowly seep out, the melody changing from time to time without conscious thought or will. He closed his eyes, at peace with the music, with the calm world around him, with the animal trotting along beneath him.

Suddenly a hand fell upon his arm, shocking him into jerking upright, falling silent, and opening his eyes. He looked at the elf the hand was attached to, and saw her concentrating, head tipped slightly, hair away from her ears… A warm, full smile suddenly appeared on her lips, filling her eyes with peace and joy as she glanced at him for an instant before riding swiftly off in another direction.

"Ashes!" he called in shock, commanding his horse after her. "What are you—" he froze, voice paused in his throat when he saw her horse rear up to meet another dark-colored horse who had been idling the day in a small thicket. It was certainly not an elven horse—stocky and coarse in appearance.

"Ashes?" a rough voice asked. A tall figure rose from the grass and the ground to peer under her cloak.

She laughed and excitedly threw her arms around his neck. "Who else, fool?" she laughed.

He chuckled and swung her around, one arm pinning her firmly to him as the other managed to remove the hood. "Wandering my way?" he asked.

"Depends," she replied with a crooked grin. "Which way is your way?"

"Back to the Dell," he replied.

"Then it is," she smirked, holding out a hand as his horse came over to nudge her. She gave the large soft nose an affectionate rub before patting his neck. "Though we're in something of a rush."

"Really?" he quirked a brow, and then noticed Legolas. "Oh." He stared for a long moment, taking in clothing, weapons, and the proud white horse who served unadorned. "A Mirkwood elf, Ash?"

She shrugged. "I went back."

"Clearly. Then why are you off to Imladris?"

"He's carrying a message for Elrond from Thranduil."

"And you're along… why?"

"So he's not alone. Thranduil's orders, Elleri's request."

"Elleri… the prince requested you leave?"

"No," Legolas said shortly, looking down at the man. "He requested she accompany me."

The males sized each other up for a long moment, neither seeming quite satisfied when they were done. "Well," the human said at last. "Shall we be off?"

"Mmm," she agreed, swinging onto her horse's back with more joy in her eyes than Legolas previously believed her capable of.

"You seem to have fallen in quite well, for no longer than you can have been there. Only eight months?"

"Four," she replied, moving so he was riding between the two elves.

"Four months and you're already on a first name basis with the younger prince, and accompanying the crowned one on an official errand."

Before she could respond, Legolas did. "Well. You know who I am. Now who are you?"

Ashes's open expression closed, making Legolas's lips tighten slightly, though he wasn't conscious of it. The man, however, was, and quirked a brow. "Strider," he answered at last, before looking up at Ashes. "We plighted our troth."

"What?" Legolas gasped. "But… but she's an elf!"

"Be quiet, Prince," Ashes sneered, moving her horse quickly so she was between them. The large black horse nudged Legolas's roughly to the side. For her part, Ashes turned to Strider and ignored Legolas's very existence. "What does her father think of this?"

"I don't know that he knows yet, but I can guess… he thinks loving me is her death."

"It is," Ashes murmured softly. "But having her love you back brings you back to life, old friend."

Strider half-smiled. "Hardly a decent trade. She gives up her immortality, and I get another short number of years with the one I love… knowing that my love will bring about her death. I…" he sighed, shaking his head. "You were right, Ash. I should have just left it all alone. She didn't love me, then. In time perhaps…"

"You would have always loved her," she countered.

"I know," he agreed after a painful pause. "But she didn't love me. She could have lived forever, not loving me. Some day she—" he broke off, struggling with the words, with the thought. "Some day she would have found someone to love, who could love her as she deserved, and for the rest of their immortal lives."

"Immortal life isn't the gift you make it out to be," she whispered.

Strider glanced at her searchingly. "The time in Mirkwood has been hard on you."

She sighed, turning so Legolas couldn't see her face, though he was trying. She put Strider between them once more.

"You needn't answer. You aren't happy there, my friend. Why remain?"

"I am not unhappy there, either," she replied at length.

"You were happier elsewhere."

"Happier, yes, but never truly at peace."

"Is it in your nature to be at peace?" he mused, studying her. He reached over and tugged the hood down.

Pain lines had appeared around her eyes, and shown in the tense lines of her mouth. For a moment she looked old, as ancient as the land they wandered, but she controlled it quickly enough. "I don't know," she whispered. "As I was only briefly at peace—true peace. I have not felt it in many centuries." A bitter smile curved her lips, a cruel mockery of hope and happiness. "I shall never feel it again. But I'm fool enough to live—and life breeds hope."

"Or hope breeds life?" Strider suggested.

"Don't," she murmured after glancing at him. "I want no pity."

"You don't have it," he replied softly, waiting until she looked at him again. "But you do have my sympathies."

She slowly shook her head with a smile. "I don't really care for that, either."

"How about my love?"

She chuckled softly and smiled gently at him. "I have that."

He laughed. "So you do. Dear friend," he murmured, watching her, shaking his head. "How long will you suffer in silence?"

"Until the end of the earth's life-ages, or the end of my own," she responded quickly, gazing at him with hardening eyes. "As I must."

"I don't know that you must do anything, as you only ever allude to what bothers you so."

"Enough," she hissed, touching her horse's neck, sending him into a gallop.

The two males knew well enough to leave her be, letting her draw up well beyond them. Strider looked at his companion, his grey eyes knowing as he studied the sapphire ones as they thoughtfully considered the other elf. "She's already been hurt, Prince Legolas."

Legolas glanced at him. "Why tell me that?"

"Because you watch her with interest I doubt you show for all the females in your kingdom… and I sincerely hope it's not the interest shown for all members of the guard."

Legolas frowned. "How did you know that she—"

"It's what she would do. She's been more or less alone and on her own for so long… what else would she do? Start sewing? Cooking? Become a laundress? I can't imagine her doing such as that. I can see her in a line of archers, or waiting for orcs or spiders with her swords or daggers ready."

After a moment's thought, Legolas agreed with a curt nod. "Still," he murmured a moment later, "your insinuation that I'm interested in her in any sense other than as a soldier in my patrol is utterly—"

"Correct, whether you admit it to yourself or not," Strider cut in. "Otherwise, why the pain, shock, and then fury when you misunderstood me, thinking I was her betrothed?"

Legolas stared blankly at him for a long moment, his automatic thought to simply deny it, but the question took root, digging deeply, searching for the truth. The color left his face entirely, his lips paling to a faint grey. "Oh, Valar," he groaned, covering his face with a hand.

He rode silently for a time, and Strider waited, watching the prince think.

Finally he shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"What? How can it not matter?"

He sighed. "Because she hates me. Fears me. Despises and avoids me."

Strider hesitated for a long moment, then decided. "I've never known her to hate anyone, Prince. Even those who have tried to kill her. She doesn't hate. She just doesn't."

"She is quite good at hiding her emotions."

"Not that one. It would show in her eyes. Have you seen it?"

"At times," Legolas admitted on a whisper.

After staring at him for a long moment in complete and utter shock, Strider urged his horse after Ashes, slowly pulling up beside her. He glanced back, reassuring himself that the prince was well out of hearing. "Do you hate him?"

She glanced at him in surprise, then sighed. "Estel…"

"Answer me, Ash. Do you hate him?"

"At times," she admitted softly, before shaking her head as if she hadn't intended to speak at all.

Legolas's head bowed slightly, and he dropped farther back, not wishing to hear any more.