Okay, quick chapter before I'm bogged down in work once more!

Thanks for the reviews, guys.

Navaer Lalaith: Okay, I realized I skimped a bit on my initial disclaimer for this story, so here is the full version, which I tend to cut down for obvious reasons: I am not Tolkien, and I don't channel him on a regular basis. I am a full-time student, part time supervisor, full time peace-keeper and personal advisor, and I write in my spare time--what little of it there is. I have read LOTR, The Hobbit, and the Silmarillion. Anything I could not have learned in there is from my own imagination, and should not be taken as biblical or Tolkien fact--it is from this marvelous little invention known as imagination and authorial discretion. If you don't like people taking some slight liberties in the writing of FANFICTION you can, and are welcome, to go elsewhere. Otherwise, read on, and I hope you enjoy it. (and I'll admit I don't know what all the different elf-types are, so I may have made a hair-color 'mistake' somewhere there, but I've never and will never write an elf with brown hair.)

Iluvenis: LOL, thanks. You don't think it's going to be that easy, do you?

Swasti: At times, keywords there.

LJP: I WILL NEVER write a tenth walker story. Promise ;-) So, Legolas and Aragorn don't know each other but know of each other, obviously Aragorn and Ashes met in the wilds as they explored (she met a few others as well, as you'll see soon). And no, she's not melinnia older than he is. You might be mixing fics, or I may havedone too well at making her seem independant and self-sufficient. (Shh, don't tell anyone--she's younger than he is).

Chapter 9 Self-exiled drifter

"Estel!"

Strider, Estel, Elessar, Aragorn—looked up with a grin at the enthusiastic call. "Elladan!" he laughed as the elf in question dropped down from a tree. "Come to greet me?" he teased.

"We heard there was a small group of travelers," Elrohir answered, "so we came to see…"

"And warn you that Ada isn't happy with you, or Arwen, really."

Aragorn sighed. "I wouldn't know him if he was happy with this, Elladan. Why should he be happy? I've condemned her to death, haven't I? Unless, of course, I go off and get killed somewhere in the wild."

Ashes smacked the back of his head for that one.

"Hey!"

She lifted a brow.

He snorted and looked away, properly chastened.

Elrohir lifted a brow at the hooded elf. "Well. Aren't you going to introduce us… One of you? Legolas? Estel?"

"Oh, right." Aragorn smiled a bit sheepishly. "Ashes, my brothers Elladan and Elrohir."

"We've met, actually," she murmured softly. "Unofficially, of course."

The twins wore identical looks of concentration as they studied her, which broke into comprehension as she unsheathed a blade, showing it as her identification. "Oh! Right. You know," Elladan murmured thoughtfully, "we talked to Glorfindel about you later. He said he'd run into you several times."

She half-smiled and inclined her head. "He has. Literally and figuratively, in truth."

After a rather awkward pause, Elrohir cleared his throat. "Well… we should probably get going, right? You'll probably be wanting something more…"

"Something with more flavor," Elladan murmured.

"Er, yes… to eat?"

Legolas lifted a questioning brow at their less than elegant speech, but didn't question them. "I need to speak with your father sometime today, if possible."

"Of course," Elrohir waved a hand dismissively, before hoisting himself up behind Aragorn. Aragorn's horse snorted a bit and swatted Elrohir with his tail, but continued on, flattened ears the only sign of displeasure.

"He's free all evening. Considering you've brought the kid back with you, you'll likely all be at the head of the table with us, anyway. Not that you wouldn't be, anyway, mind you, but he does sometimes let you slip away."

"Not often enough," Legolas murmured quietly, shifting a bit so Elladan could join him in riding.

"Well, you're here now. How long, by the way?"

Legolas shrugged. "That greatly depends upon your father… and what Ada asked of him."

"You don't know?"

He shook his head slightly. "Not this time."

"Must be either something to do with you or very secret, then."

"Obviously," he replied dryly.

The horses stilled for a moment at the top of the trail, looking down at the valley dwellings. "Welcome home, Estel."

Aragorn sighed, and shook his head slightly before leading the way down.

Ashes looked after him sympathetically, understanding completely—home. It was home, and yet it might never be home again. Not truly. Citron moved a bit nervously beneath her, knowing they didn't usually go this way. "On we go this time," she murmured, patting his neck, calming him down. "On we go," she mused, staring at the peaceful looking dwellings that would never bring peace.

Elladan stilled Legolas, keeping him from following. "Why is she here?"

"She is a new recruit in the King's Service… Elleri wished her to accompany me here, as Ada refused to allow me to travel alone."

"Well, she's got the weapons experience to be a guard, I suppose… but she's a wanderer, Legolas. A self-exiled drifter."

He glanced back. "How do you know?"

"Estel doesn't get so close to those who were exiled for other reasons, Legolas. She chose to begin wandering… like him, she may never be at peace in a single place for long."

Legolas mused over that, allowing his horse to pick his own path through the rocks. She was a wanderer, but she had chosen to leave? He couldn't even argue with himself that he didn't understand why someone would do that, because he'd entertained the thought on occasion himself. If he weren't the eldest prince, he probably would have left Mirkwood to wander, at least for a time. Of course, if he weren't the eldest prince, he most likely wouldn't feel the need to wander.

But what could make a young female elf want to roam? No pressures of obligation in running the land, clearly. No service missions she would rather not be a part of. A betrothal she didn't desire or approve of? Possibly. He found himself admitting that things were decidedly easier on males than females, in Mirkwood. If a male didn't like his situation, he could, for the most part, change it. At least so that it was bearable. A female, though, had it a bit harder. She was to yield to the eldest male of her family, or lacking one at all, to the male she had been entrusted to. Those who didn't yield, didn't submit, were usually out of luck in many ways.

There were, of course, exceptions. And it would be very unfair to say that the majority of males took advantage of the unspoken contract between the genders. Jarthey had become a soldier. Had fallen in love…

He shook his head, hating to go on with that line of thought. There were very strong and important she-elves in Mirkwood, but they were vastly outnumbered by male elves. If 'Ashes' had come across a situation she couldn't abide and couldn't avoid, running away was, really, her only choice, sadly enough.

Most she-elves who came to that point ran to his father, though, which was what confused him about her. She spoke of Thranduil easily enough, and knew the halls a bit too well for one who should still be unfamiliar with them. It stood to reason, then, that she had run from the halls.

Which would most likely make her a lady by birth, as the servants would turn to the King more quickly and over smaller things than any village lass would. A lady, though, might believe the King too close to her situation to give impartial judgment on her behalf.

Could that really be true? Could the silent, dark, dangerous and deadly elf riding ahead of him have been born a lady? The word lady in Mirkwood had long been considered something of a joke, at least to those of the 'lords' who could be even slightly objective. Most of the 'ladies' were simply of higher blood and lower worth, really. They might be better educated than the masses, but it was pretty hit or miss. Most felt their title was all that they ever needed to know, and acted accordingly. They tended to generate interest in others through their beauty only, which was always over-valued and flaunted. There were, of course, exceptions beyond his sisters, but they had been married off long ago.

Ashes could read, write and speak every tongue he knew, though, which indicated a fair amount of study—one may speak a language from travels, but writing and reading it required a different form of contact, which no true wanderer would ever have.

She hadn't been trained formally in any form of weapon use, which was another good indication that if born to the halls, she was a lady. The servants all spent their training rotating through the possible jobs, so they could not only find one best suited to their own talents and tastes, but so they could fill in in a pinch. Every female to walk into the hall for work in the last twenty-five hundred years had been trained while in the kitchens to wield a knife quite deftly—on males as well as vegetables. Throwing knives was a specialty, and most carried one in a pocket near the waist of their gowns.

Ashes carried several daggers along with her long knives, sword and bow, but he had never seen her use one. She kept them as a last resort, while some of the servant girls would pull them out if a male pressed in too close for their liking.

He could remember complaints about that right after that particular training had begun, but he'd been young enough at the time he didn't understand why it was a bad thing the she-elves had been taught to defend themselves.

"Legolas? Are you awake?"

He blinked and glanced back at Elladan. "Just thinking."

"Well, you can come in for dinner anytime," he murmured back, an amused glimmer in his eyes before he left.

Legolas shook his head and dismounted, allowing a faintly familiar elf to lead his horse away. Ashes's horse was protesting, but she calmed him enough to suffer being led away.

"Why do you stare so?" she asked suddenly, turning slowly.

He tilted his head, trying to see someone he knew in her features. Something tugged at his memory, but refused to come forward. If she did resemble someone he knew, it had been a long time since he last saw whoever it was. "You were born a lady of our halls, weren't you?"

She stared at him for a long moment, before blinking with a shake of her head. "No."

"But…"

"I wasn't born in Mirkwood at all, Prince."

He frowned. "I was lead to believe Mirkwood was once your home… for longer than a few years."

"It was. I was not born there, however." She started to turn sharply away, only to be faced with the edge of a blade.

"You're distracted," her attacker observed.

She blinked, lifted a brow and leapt back, drawing her sword to counter the arching blow that was coming. "You're doing better at sneaking," she countered softly, dropping into a roll.

Glorfindel lifted a brow and followed, doing his best to keep her on the offensive. Even with two blades it could be very difficult, and nigh on impossible when she went all out to defend herself. "Like I said," he murmured, pausing to hiss in a breath as she attacked a bit too quickly and closely for comfort. "You're distracted."

"Look where I am, Glorfindel," she growled, narrowing her eyes as she drew a dagger, using it as a shield.

"Finally decided to see it properly?" he suggested, whirling around quickly enough he caught her sword, aware that her dagger was in a dangerous location for them both. He hooked his right leg around her left one, pulling her towards him sharply, dropping his blades to the side to catch her hands as she stubbornly began falling rather than giving up her own weapons. Before she'd fallen far he had disarmed her with a flick of his wrists, and joined her hands over her head, enclosing them in one of his, holding her up.

Not for the first time he studied her, wondering what had led such an elf to the life she had chosen. Her features were very strong, yet delicate in a way, and there was enough there to let him know the truth… when he would bet few others did. It was possible, he mused, that even she didn't know the whole truth, though it was impossible for her to be ignorant of the majority.

She had regained her footing, unintentionally warning him by narrowing her eyes as she considered her attack.

Since he had a free hand, he used it, pulling her even closer, turning her at the same time so her back was pinned to his chest. He rearranged his own legs so she couldn't upset his balance, even with a good kick—which she was very capable of. "Yield the match, young one," he murmured, holding her still.

Her breath released in a pant, and her body relaxed for a moment. Then the faintest tension in the abdomen muscles beneath his firm touch… but not warning enough, this time.

Elrond winced as the dark-haired elf Glorfindel was sparring with jerked her head back, catching him squarely, making him stumble back a half-step, his hand involuntarily rising to his nose. She used the space gained to turn, bringing a knee up before jerking around again, releasing her hands and kicking him upside the head. Before he could straighten she had recovered her dagger and kicked his blades aside to join her sword. She rounded him slowly until she was between him and their weapons.

He watched her hold the dagger, eyes narrowed and considering, before he slowly inclined his head. "As ever, the match is yours," he sighed.

She relaxed slowly, her caution and wariness making Elrond frown. Glorfindel didn't heed it, simply walked around her to their blades, passing hers back without comment until she'd sheathed them. Then he ran a hand through his hair and faced her. "So. Why are you in Imladris?"

She tilted her head to someone who was still in the shadows, and Elrond saw the Prince of Mirkwood watching the pair with a look of intense thought and consideration.

"Prisoner?" Glorfindel smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly," she sighed. "Guard. Sort of."

Glorfindel lifted a brow, then glanced at Legolas. "Oh?"

Legolas shrugged. "Ada didn't wish me to travel alone. She was Elleri's suggestion."

He glanced over at her. "Oh?"

"I'm one of the new recruits in the King's Service… I tend to stand out."

"I'd imagine so," he mused, half-smiling as she avoided his lingering gaze, taking the time to study the buildings around her, instead. "Shall I give you a tour, my lady?" he asked, bowing gallantly.

She smiled and dipped into an easy curtsey made awkward only by her clothing. "A pleasure and an honor, my lord," she replied, hooking her hand over his offered arm amiably, though they soon stepped apart when their weapons tangled.

Elrond watched them go with amusement foremost, though a great deal of curiosity accompanied it. Who was she? "Welcome back, Prince Legolas."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond." Legolas inclined his head slightly. "My Father and King sent me with a message for you."

Elrond considered their location, then mentally shrugged. "Did he speak of its urgency?"

"It was urgent enough he was waiting for me to bring my soldiers into the mountain so I could carry it."

"Then perhaps I had best peruse it now?" Elrond murmured. When Legolas lightly inclined his head and retrieved the letter, Elrond wondered at the formalities that always lay between him and the prince. His sons had gotten around it to befriend the prince, but he had not yet managed. He had a feeling Legolas expected a certain degree of, well, lordliness about him, and he could hardly fault the prince for that. In fact, the unspoken expectation put him slightly ill at ease, a little worried that he might not live up to it. All in all, their uncertain footing when together made their interaction a bit forced, a bit too formal… but he had hopes for future times.

He took the letter and read it in silence, half-aware that Legolas remained facing him, still, silent, solemn, and seemingly unconcerned with the contents. He was rather surprised at the contents, himself, and glanced at the prince in some surprise. "I have no answer as of yet, Legolas. Your room will be prepared before the meal's end… along with one for… her."

"Ashes," he murmured dryly in explanation. "I would appreciate being informed of its location… I don't know that she would tell me honestly."

Elrond lifted a brow at that.

Legolas interpreted both the questions and the thoughts behind them in the gesture. "She is new to Mirkwood, and innovative with her blades, as you've seen. However, she fears and hates me, at least at times, though I don't know why. But, as she harbors such feelings towards me, she avoids me… rather understandably, I suppose. The last time I asked to know where I could find her, she put me off for more than a day before answering… and then it was only after a direct order."

After a thoughtful moment, Elrond inclined his head. "See if some time away from the rigors of the Mirkwood Service help things ease between you. My reply shall take some time, and cannot be hurried."

Legolas bowed his head slightly, a gesture Elrond returned entirely. "Might I suggest we attend the meal, then? It has been a while since I was so blessed to find myself at your table, Lord Elrond."

Elrond smiled faintly. "You are always welcome at it, Prince Legolas. You would be, Prince or not."

Legolas glanced up sharply, and for a moment a glimmer of understanding, of comprehension shown in those sapphire eyes. But his features were soon schooled into diplomatic neutrality, and he bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Lord Elrond, but you would not know me, if I was not a Prince."

Elrond sighed, realizing now that it was he, himself, who had not understood. And he had thought his messengers joking or at least exaggerating when they spoke of how paranoid and cautious Mirkwood elves were. "Legolas… your father is your ruler, and you must represent him well and truthfully. You represent the kingdom, all of Mirkwood… but you are an elf as well as a prince, and you can have friends even where politics would seem to beg otherwise."

A muscle tightened in the young elf's jaw. "Friends and politics do not belong in the same thought, Lord Elrond. I do not believe I can balance them as they should be. Not when the Wood is so troubled, at least."

"Legolas, a friend with power is an ally in times of need—one that need not be asked, begged or bribed."

"True. But a friend of mine my one day be an enemy of my father, of Mirkwood."

"And even then they would be your friend."

"Even if they cannot be the prince's?" he asked quietly, his head turned aside.

"Yes," Elrond agreed quietly, closing his eyes. "Even then."