Hello everyone, sorry for my delay. Life hasn't been easy with all my medical dilemmas.

A/N: Anyways, this chapter is more of a filler to push the story forward. Several chapters back there was a review about Calaerien's father. So If you posted that review and are reading this, I have a treat for you.

Secrets of a Raven Beauty

A Wrinkle of Time

TA 2740

A thick blanket of snow coated far beyond Mirkwood and it continued to fall. Calaerien gazed up at the heaps of grey clouds and watched the flakes drizzle down. It felt like cold kisses against her cheeks. Winter came early in October and elves were jovial to bask in the frozen gardens where elks bravely greeted them. Calaerien inhaled the cold air, tucked the fur cloak to her chin, and a wisp of fog escaped her lips. Her feet step lightly over the snow, never leaving a sign of a print. In her line of view, her favorite tree was adorned with icicles and red chirping birds. She placed her bare hand on the cold and wet bark.

She greeted in gladness, 'Hello old friend…'

The tree shivered in delight, shaking a layer of snow off its branches and responded, 'Oh thou returned to me. May ye sing a song of old to celebrate the snow?'

The corner of her lip curved into a bashfully smile followed by a muffled giggle of delight. She gathered her layers of skirts before she perched herself on a thick root. The cold seeped through her clothing, but Calaerien's body had adjusted to the bitter cold, as her kin before her. Leaning against the tree, Calaerien sang a hymn that was spell-binding and softening into a melody. The words easily feel off her tongue, inviting the birds to twitter to the lyrics.

A blizzard came later that month with a fierce and terrible rage. Every ounce of water froze in the region. It's the worst that the elves have seen in decades. The cities of men were heavily affected by the snowstorm. Trade was Esgaroth's crutch to survive. Humans by the lake often required thick wool, herbs, and hearty food to survive harsh conditions. The center trade of the North slowly declined each day when no boats from the harbor reached their docks. News of starvation and frostbite reached King Thranduil's ears. The king does not stray from business in the cold but rather eagerly sends his agents to the city known for its large bells.

Trade increased dramatically for the Elves.

On one night, Thrandruil's spies brought word of the King under the Moutain. Plunder of gold-filled every hall and corner in Erebor. King Thror thrived, and yet, this blizzard caused unrest between Erebor and the Dales. The humans and the dwarves place a great effort to survive until spring. The King sat on his throne, mulling over the news. The strain between the Elves of Mirkwood and Dwarves ran deep. A thought which left a bitter taste upon his tongue. However, Thranduil was no fool but possessed an entrepreneur's mind. An opportunity to prosper his kingdom on the struggles of the dwarves.

In the month of December, the king ordered the blacksmith and wood carpenters to craft ten carts. The news traveled like wildfire and most of Mirkwood Elves increased their production. When the day came and all carts were masterfully crafted, a select few envoys were tasked to barter Elven goods in the Dales and Erebor. Elves huddled closely together at the gate, eager to present their merchandise to another land. Excitement brewed in the air as the elves conversed in delight and laughter echoed.

Supplies piled in the belly of the carts ranging from food, artworks, tapestries, and clothing.

Lost in the crowd, Calaerien stood hesitantly while cradling boxes of gowns in her arms and rolls of fabric tucked in a burlap sack strapped to her back. She came to the gate with an uplifted heart but now she succumbed to anxiety. The commotion was overwhelming.

The Raven Beauty glanced at her crafts, felt inferior in her works, and wondered if she would prosper in another land. It was an intimating thought which made her squirm in her own self-worth. An internal battle fermented in her mind until she almost wished to flee. 'What if nobody wants her work? Would the Dwarves or Humans think her craft is trash?' The thought entered sinisterly into her mind but forced herself to remain steadfast. If she wanted to be a well-known seamstress, then she would gamble her chances with the humans and dwarves.

'Its time…' She thought to herself and willed her legs to move.

Calaerien weaved through the crowd, scarcely heard the laughter under the pressure, which the sound came to her as inaudible muffles. When she came to the end of the crowd, she approached a nearly full cart. An elloth with a ledger in hand recorded every detail and kept his back toward the crowd. Calaerien cleared her throat, partly to demand his attention. The elloth in question curved his attention to Calaerien.

The elloth glanced at the items in her arms and ordered another elloth to collect them. When Calaerien's items were plucked from her grasp, she suppressed the overwhelming vulnerability that threatened to claim her. All that she was, was weaved into her works.

"What is your name and what did you bring, my lady?" The elloth with the ledger inquired, with his feather-pen ready to scribble.

"My… My name is… Calaerien, daughter of Romonil." She struggled to muster, her hands fidgeting with the thread designs in her dress. The elloth nodded in comprehension, scribbling the information on his parchment paper before he glanced at her again expectantly.

A neatly groomed eyebrow cocked when he inquired a second time, "...What did you bring, my lady?"

Calaerien flushed and retort, "oh! I brought gowns…. and rolls of fabric…. My designs."

She felt herself rambling but the elloth was polite enough not to comment as he scribbled the information on his parchment. The feather swaying to his ever move came to a stop when he offered a smile and dismissed, "Thank you. Any proceeds will be returned to you, my lady."

The raven beauty caught the hint and swiftly gave the elloth a nervous smile before she ducked her head. Calaerien swiftly escaped the crowds before she changed her mind about sending her crafts to another land. Slow deep breathes calmed the storm raging inside her. A storm that was conflicted between excitement and anxiety.

Weeks following melted the icicles from the caverns halls when the Grand Doors opened and welcomed the elves to the fold. The city of Mirkwood rumbled with excitement. Calaerien was weaving when she heard the commotion from outside of her door. When she peeked her head out, an elleth paused and squealed with gladness, "They've returned, Calaerien."

The corner of Calaerien's mouth curved in a hesitant smile and she abandoned her work and followed the crowds to the front gates. Elves filed into crescent line around the carts, curving their attention to what the trade has procured. The working elves used their ledgers to dispense the proceeds to those who provided trade. One by one, elves took their profits in a fit of joy. Calaerien waited patiently in the crowd, her fingers fidgeting and, wondering if her works were a success or utter failure. Anxiety bubbled in her core until she nearly felt the need to hurl. An odd sensation, in which, she rarely felt.

As the crowd shrunk, Calaerien noticed an untouched cart that held a large sum for the king. Calaerien wasn't sure how much time had past but when an elf stood before her and inquired, "Lady Calaerien?"

Trepidation paralysis the use of her mouth, leaving Calaerien silent and she nodded in response.

The elf presented a burlap sack with odd items bulging at the bottom and a small pouch. Calaerien took her proceeds, intrigued by what could in the burlap sack. There's a jingle sound of coin rumbling in the small pouch. As strange as it were, Calaerien never possessed a single coin since she always traded her works for items. A breath of relief escaped Calaerien's lip since none of her crafts returned on the carts. She turned on her heel to escape the dwindling crowd.

Calaerien scurried to her chamber, eager to see what's in the large burlap sack. She plunged her hand in and pulled a neatly wrapped wooden jewelry box, three books translated in the common tongue about human fairytales, and one dwarven toy. Calaerien curved the toy in hand, scrutinized the peculiar item. Calaerien never has seen a child's toy, since most elflings rarely require anything to entertain them. She was beguiled by the small doll with dark frizzled hair and painted face. As strange as it were, Calaerien softened by the strange gift.

Trade with the Dales brought more promise for the elves of Mirkwood in the months to come.

Time moved without rhythm until months past and summer finally came. Calaerien found herself leaning against her favorite tree, as the sunset blazed with bright colors of orange and pink. But beauty could not ease the disappointment that lingered in her heart. The past month provided commissions and trade with the Dales but for all her efforts, it failed to capture the eyes of Lady Escaries.

She gave herself her dry laugh that distorted the thoughts that bounced in her mind. She mulled over the idea that she couldn't capture the eye of the prince nor the famed seamstress Lady Escaries. Calaerien brought her eyes to her hands, examining the contours of her skin in mild disappointment when she heard, 'Thou is no different then thy kin.'

Calaerien sighed in frustration before she crossed her arms over her chest and memories of the day flashed in her mind...

Earlier in the day, Calaerien mustered her courage to stand in Lady Escaries talon, cradling a deep green gown. A dress, Calaerien deemed as her best design. The weaving was flawless, embroiled with leaf designs, and carefully treaded trimmings.

Her heart was pounding, hope dangerously filled until the anticipation threatened to drown her. Lady Escaries, an elleth of refined poise and popularity, hovered over the gown and scrutinized every detail with sharp eyes. She gently, if not meticulously, rubbed the texture of the fabric between her fingers. Sharp green eyes followed the trimming on the hem and the stitching around the bell-shaped sleeves. What were merely seconds felt like years. At the corner of Calaerien's eyes was Sylleth, the famed seamstress daughter who held a patient but curious expression. No smile of encouragement came from Sylleth as time moved on.

Calaerien's attention was drawn back to Lady Escaries, and to detour her scrambling thoughts, Calaerien was memorized by the older elleth's long silvery hair. It was pinned in a tight braid down her back, revealing the neckline of her own designs. The weaving was beautifully intricate which made Calaerien sigh in envy. Many elleth, since the time of Doriath, sought after Lady Escaries apprenticeship but too few were granted the prestige position.

Calaerien's eyes returned to Lady Ecaries's hair and it made her mind wander to Legolas who patrolled the outskirts of Mirkwood Forest.

Lady Ecaries stirred and pulled away from the gown. When the older elleth stared directly into Calaerien's eyes, it forced the raven beauty to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The dignified gleam lingering in Lady Escaries's almost shattered the small amount of Calaerien's self-confidence.

"You have lovely weaving skills, my dear." Her deep voice offered the compliment and earned a surprise glance from Calaerien. Before Calaerien could revel in the comment, Lady Ecaries narrowed her eyes strictly and continued in a professional tone, "However, I will not be accepting you as my apprentice."

Calaerien felt as though someone punched her in the gut. Her very breath was ensnared viciously from her lungs and confusion clouded her mind.

Lady Escaries turned and glided with a predatory step to her craft table. It leaving Calaerien bewildered and hurt by the lady's standoffish behavior. Lady Ecscaries explained, her voice thickened with resolve, "I have many seamstresses come to my talon wanting an apprenticeship, and just like you, their names are spoken on many lips. Enchanting crowd with adorable colors and knit-tight threading."

Calaerien listened with a faint heart, and it constricted each time the elder elleth uttered a word. A hard and cold knot twisted in the pit of her stomach, weakening the structures of her dreams. Her expression must have reflected what she felt, for she noted the sympathetic gleam in Sylleth's eyes and it humiliated Calaerien.

Lady Escaries curved her attention back to Calaerien, where she noted the young elf flushed with restrained disappointment and sadness. The older elleth sighed inwardly before she continued in a softer tone, "I do not wish to harm your feelings, my dear. However, many have fallen from their pedestal overtime. This trade is not a hobby. One must dedicate their full attention to this demanding trade. It can be harsh. I wager you would soon follow that path just like the others."

Lady Escaries articulated as kindly as she could.

The gown in Calaerien's arms felt suddenly heavy, and her fingers slowly loosened their grip. Calaerien understood the truth her in words, which is why Lady Escaries remains as the leading seamstress in Middle-earth for many centuries.

Lady Escaries allowed her words to slowly sink into Calaerien's mind. The young elleth's disappointment was one she has seen many times in the past but, like any trade in the world, a craft must have a steadfast craftsman. After a moment or two, the older elleth broke the silence when she enunciated, "I do apologize for causing your distress but I must return to my work… you understand?"

Distraught and forlorn, Calaerien hesitantly nodded before she retreated without a single word.

Thus, she came to the one place where her heart could grieve in peace. Without shame or fear of another's pity. Her favorite tree. A voice of friendship and comfort. The sun grew brighter as it slowly descending at the end of the world. A single tear crept from the corner of her eye and threatened to escape.

'Do not grieve… my little mouse.'

The voice of the tree entered her mind but she felt utterly lost. Over hundreds of hard work left her empty, sad…. then angry. Calaerien wanted to scream or claw at her hair. The pressure of her anger bottled until Calaerien collapsed onto a thick root and cradled her head in her hands. Her finger-combed her hair as she lifted her head up. Despite the truth in Lady Escaries's words, Calaerien felt a heavy urge to succeed on her own. This would not tramble her road to success but fuel the fire to rise above the shattered pieces of a fallen dream.

Calaerien felt her heart turn to steel with resolve as she rose from the root. Thoughts in her head wheeled until it clicked. When she squared her shoulders, he placed a firm hand on the tree and declared strongly, "I must continue working…"

'There's your spirit, my raven beauty….'

The corner of her lip tilted upward into a determined grin as she hastened her return to her chamber and continued to perfect her craft.

Three years past in a blur and Calaerien scarcely noticed until one evening while she tided her mess after designing a dress. The young elleth held the pink gown by the trimming up as her eyes followed the trail of design down the bodice. She sought after any errors on the intricated threading but found none. With a sigh of relief, Calaerien gently folded and tucked the gown into a customary white box. It was ready to be delivered on the morrow to her newest patron from the court. She left the box on her small table before her ocean eyes fluttered to the cavern wall at her side.

Above her head, was an array of displayed weapons owned by her deceased father. It was evident that her father favored cold-steel blades above all else. He had a collection of ten daggers and six long, curved swords. Though, Calaerien's eyes returned to the black, large bow at the center. It held a familiar sentiment. A pang tugged at her heart. She leaned up on her toes to remove the weapon from the wall to further inspect it.

Leather-wrapped the shaft but the bow tapered into blackened wood with etchings of elven designs. It surprised Calaerien how thick the bow was. Her fingers barely touched each other around the shaft of the bow. As hard as she tried, Calaerien couldn't remember how large his hands were. The details of his face smeared in her memory. However, she remembered his dark hair and ocean eyes. A shadow of an elf lingered in her mind.

Calaerien breathed heavily, while she brought the bow into her embrace and pretended it was her father.

She missed him….

She often wondered if he would be proud of the elleth she became. If he were here, would he train her in the arts of archery? Perhaps she would have joined the guard instead of being a seamstress. Maybe she would have had siblings. Calaerien waved the thoughts of another life out of her mind. No matter how much she desired it, nothing would bring him back from the Halls of Mandos.

Lost in her own thoughts, she scarcely heard the door to the chamber open until it whined in protest. It shattered her forlorn remembrance and elicit Calaerien to curve her attention. In the threshold stood her mother Erweth, who narrowed on Romonil's bow clutched in Calaerien's arms. Calaerien linked her eyes with her mother, half expected a lecture but only found sympathy.

Erweth veered further into the chamber, closed the door behind her without breaking eye contact. She approached her daughter, gently took the bow into her own hands.

"You're father was an excellent marksman…" Erweth whispered beneath her breath, her emotions swelled with painful memories of his death. Drenched in sadness, Erweth returned the weapon to its place on the wall, "But he preferred his sword… he named it Ainolsése."

Calaerien eyes followed her mother's direction where a long, curved sword hung above all the others. It elicited a memory when her father was training in Lothlorien with the weapon and then upon the clearing when the orcs waylaid them in the night. It was a strong weapon worthy of a mighty warrior such as her father.

"Mother….." Calaerien's tender voice shattered the silence, her tone losing ground. When Erweth glanced at Calaerien, she offered a smile of encouragement. The raven beauty struggled and faltered with the thoughts in her mind before she settled with, "...Would you tell me about him?… I… everyone else knows him better than me… How is that fair?"

The question hung in the air with a bitter taste. Every elleth and elloth remembered Romonil. They knew him for centuries while Calaerien barely had two decades with him. How was it fair? Erweth couldn't answer. There was nothing she could say that would cease the burn that smoldered Calaerien. It wasn't fair. Nothing could make it fair. Erweth sighed in defeat. There was a mixture of sadness and surprise lingering in Erweth's eyes.

Erweth grabbed Calaerien's hand followed by a sad smile curved on her lips. "You were so young when he passed... Come."

Before Calaerien could utter a word, Erweth led her away from the chambers. They came to a familiar place, a garden which they use to visit during the earlier years after their arrival to Mirkwood. The garden bloomed with lush flowers and beauty. Slowly they came to a spot beneath an apple tree and sat in comfortable silence. As Calaerien did before, she leaned into her mother's embrace as Erweth brushed her slender fingers through Calaerien dark hair.

Erweth articulated, "…Your father…. was born here shortly after the Sindar established Greenwood the Great…"

Thus started the story of Romonil, second to the Guard Captain of Mirkwood. Erweth recited every detail Romonil bestowed upon her during the days of their courtship. He was the only child to parents who've fallen in Battle of Dagorlad. Years before that battle, Romonil was trained to be a adroit swordsman and marksman. In his youth, Romonil strived for perfection in his skills. He befriended Thranduil while he was the prince of Mirkwood. For his tactful mind and skill in battle, Thranduil chose Romonil to fight along his side in the Battle of Dagorlad…

"He saved King Thranduil's life on the battlefield when the king was severely injured by dragon fire." Erweth summarized, her voice saddened by the tale which she learned from others.

"Is that why he was favored by the king?" Calaerien inquired softly, her mind envisioned her father and the king as comrades during the war.

"Aye."

Deep down, Calaerien hated that her father wasn't here to tell her of his story. As they fell into a silence, Calaerien felt her mother's soft touch as Erweth fiddled with her long dark hair. For a brief moment, Calaerien felt the familiar burn of salt tears before she inquired softly, "Mother… would you tell me of the time when father came to Lothlorien?"

Erweth froze momentarily before she chuckled, "You truly love that tale…"

The corner of Calaerien's lips curved into a smile.

"Of course..." Erweth consented. Calaerien repositioned herself against her mother, as her mother's finger continued to stroke her locks and began, "It was centuries ago when a fleet of woodland elves came to Lothlorien…."

TA 2746

Thranduil and his company of elves dismount their Mirkwood bred horses. The grand doors of Erebor loomed at the face of the mountain welcoming the crisp wind. A deep and loud rumble echoed as the looming door heaved open. Dwarves mumbled beneath their breath as Thranduil walked with poise, his steps in sync with warriors behind him. Down the long bridge through a chasm of pillars and gawking dwarves, the King arrived at the throne of Thror.

A mighty dwarf with grey bushy hair, and a beard filled with trinkets weaving through his unruly strands. Royal robes adorned by fur and gold trailed to the dwarf king's large boots. A thick crown appeared too heavy sat upon his head. Those of his court was at either arm, watched with disdain and mistrust as the elf king came to the dias.

"Welcome to the vast halls of Thror, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm." King Thror greet, not kindly. His voice thick and eyed the elf suspiciously as Thranduil barely offered a kingly nod.

"Greetings King under the Mountain. You have a hoard of gold and fine gems, which you clench to your bosom." Thranduil implied through his teeth, as his eyes swept across his court. Every dwarf in his line of view brought memories of his time in Doriath. Slowly if not dangerously, Thranduil drew back his attention to the mountain king, before he warned, "This Greed of yours will summon foul things, oh mighty king."

The dwarves fell into muttering as the Thror looked upon the elf through narrowed eyes. Even though Thranduil could not see the frown through the mass of facial hair on the dwarf, but Thror's posture reflected the uneasy air surrounding him.

"To which foul things, do you refer to King Thranduil." The son of Thror inquired carefully.

"A foul creature long beyond your years. A time of dragon fire and ruin." King Thranduil retorted, his voice gathering conviction. "For plunder of great wealth will always call their ilk."

"indeed…." King Thror articulated as his people whispered amongst themselves. "Are these the words of wisdom or the roots of a jealous elven king?"

The voice of Thror rang through the chasm. King Thranduil's eyes narrowed on the dwarf, who sat mightily on his throne of stone when the soft wails of babe ensnared the elven king's eyes. He swayed his attention to the end of the dies. There, barely a few feet away from the throne of Thror was a dwarven... woman. He presumed despite the dark facial hair that was dressed with ribbons and golden beads. Her light eyes watched in warily as she cradled a small babe to her bosom.

When the babe made another wail, the dwarf rocked the child softly.

Following the elven king's curiosity, King Thror introduced proudly, "You were summoned to feast your eyes on the future of Erebor. My grandson Prince Thorin Oakenshield."

The elven king returned his icy gaze to the King under the mountain, his eyes filled with disdain when he retorted bitterly, "I would hope he will have, what you do not, oh proud king. A strong will for reason…."

King Thror's eyes narrowed but King Thranduil simply turned on his heel and sauntered out of the mountain with his warriors following in unison.

Another winter came and gone.

The last icicle dripped into the puddle at Calaerien's boots as she sat beside Legolas under the ancient tree. The roots offered a seat since the moist ground swallowed the rims of their shoes. Under the cover of darkness, Legolas smirked whenever he planned on increasing the difficulty on Calaerien. She suspected the prince enjoyed pushing Calaerien's to the limit and break down the walls that held her back. After a vigorous training session, they came to the tree and fell into a comfortable silence.

As they sat, Calaerien struggled to fletch her own arrows, just as Legolas had taught her. For an elleth of refined weaving skill, Calaerien found fletching rather challenging. She held the shaft of a branch, preparing to force the feathers into position when Legolas glanced at her handiwork.

He paused before he reached over to still Calaerein's hands and elaborated, "Nay. You'll break the shaft that way."

His gently brush against her skin made her heart skip a beat. When she curved her attention to the prince, she blinked in surprise when his eyes were guarded. Something bothered the prince.

"You can not force your work. Do like so…" Legolas instructed softly as he directed her hands to properly fletch the arrow. He patiently waited for Calaerien to take control before he removed his hands.

She missed his touch, but that fact something bothered the prince, bothered her. It was as if she could hear the wheel turning in his head, steam screeching from the pressure. Those who didn't strive to spend as much time with him as she did wouldn't have noticed the settle tenses in Legolas's posture. The way he clenched his jaw or how his eyes focused until they burned holes. He brooded so silently that it screamed at her.

Calaerien diverted her attention to her arrow again, unsure about how to approach the topic. When she pursed her lips together in resolve, she commented, "Something is on your mind."

She felt Legolas stiffened next to her but when she glanced at him at the corner of her eye, it surprised her to find a small smirk forming on his lips.

Legolas retorted, "Many things are on my mind, my lady."

His attempt to divert her from her current path only fueled to reset herself on course. Two delicate eyebrows furrowed on her face. The prince had trusted her since the beginning of her training and yet, here he was withdrawing from her. It left her confused and worse.. worried. What did the Prince mull over so greatly that he would create distance between them?

Her hands fell into her lap in defeat before pressing, "What troubles you?"

Legolas's hands paused before his eyes rose to the night sky. The branches above curved in the night air but through the canopy, starlight glittered with beauty and memory. Though it did little to ease his mind. Whatever shadow haunted him, denied him the comfort of what woodland elves loved most. When he sighed, his eyes fell and stared nonobservant at the yard before him. He confessed, "It has been quiet at the borders... No orcs have shown themselves."

"Is that not good?" Calaerien inquired, confused as to why this would cause him such distress.

Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose and elaborated, "Six years ago, orcs raided Eriador…These orcs were becoming bolder, dangerous…. Something stirs beyond our borders." Legolas explained, his voice tight as he turned to connect his gaze with Calaerien, "Evil doesn't simply disappear..."

His voice, his words sent a chill down her back. The silence bothered the prince more than raids themselves. It tormented him. The prince was required to remain still in Mirkwood, forever frozen by the duties of his title and the command of his father. The raven beauty wanted to say something, anything but what words would comfort him? She could not promise the safety of her people or for all Middle-earth.

"I fear what may come…" Legolas implied as he turned away from Calaerien.

As Legolas returned to fletching the arrow, his hands were rougher than before as he added the feathers. Calaerien sighed inwardly, at a loss on what to do for the prince. She only desired to ease his mind if only for a short time. As her eyes fell to the arrows in her hands, Calaerien couldn't return to the task at hand. The prince has done much for her and the people. If she could offer a small amount of peace to him, it would be worth it. Resolve formed in her chest as she rose from her perch and extended her hand to Legolas.

"Come."

The prince offered a cocky expression in response before challenging, "Is this a request or a demand?"

She felt the strings of his bait tugging on her self-confidence. Her eyes narrowed playfully on Legolas. Calaerien couldn't… wouldn't back down now. Then she felt the corners of her lips inching upward almost devilishly as she responded, "Do you truly wish to find out?"

A single groomed eyebrow cocked to her surprising response followed by his own impish smirk. He placed his arrows and feathers beside the tree trunk before he took Calaerien's proffered hand and rose to his feet. Under the ancient tree, Legolas towered over Calaerien by a full head. He gazed down at her, only but a foot apart from her raven crown, and breathed in the fog that escaped her parted lips.

His hand didn't slip out from hers.

Calaerien felt his air, it tightened every knot in her core and almost ensnared her breath. What truly took her breath away, was the way he looked at her. It was different. He wasn't searching or hunting for something in her ocean blue eyes. This time, he was seeing.

Legolas swallowed before he implied, "I must say, my lady, the more I spend with you, the more I see you."

Whatever guard she held to protect her heart, shattered into pieces. She was exposed from the shadows, locked in his line of view. Beneath the shy exterior, there was an elleth, too scared to let anyone see. But now, she was simply an elleth who stood in front of an elloth. No titles. No walls between them.

"Where did you plan to lead me?" Legolas's voice was barely above a whisper, as if he refused to break the purity between them.

Calaerien bit the corner of her lip before she tightened her hold on his hand. As she turned, she pulled him behind her toward the entrance. Legolas moved the vines away and allowed Calaerien to exit first as he trailed behind her. Their hands remained locked as Calaerien's favorite tree came into their line of view. A trust old friend of hers, who always welcomed her company. Disappointment filled her momentarily when his hand slipped out of hers.

Calaerien came to the tree trunk first and turned to Legolas who took leisure step closer.

Before Legolas came any closer, she muffled an excited chuckle before she leaped into the tree, and climbed toward the highest branch. Following closely behind her, almost challenged, Legolas raced her to the top. They perched themself next to one another on the highest branch. So close to the night sky where the starlight dazzled above them.

For the rest of the night, the raven beauty and the prince of Mirkwood simply talked.

Several later, Calaerien strolled excitedly into the yard, her eyes scanning the terrain for Legolas who often arrived several minutes before she did. Under the dark night, there was no sign of him. Her heart fumbled slightly. 'Perhaps he'll be here soon.' Calaerien mused as she approached the ancient tree and placed a delicate hand on its bark.

'Welcome, welcome, my beauty. You made yourself known this night, but he who came left a boon for thee.'

Calaerien blinked in surprise as she pulled away and gingerly circled the tree where on the other side, laid in the tall grass was a wide box. The young elf perched herself on the thick root before she cradled the box in her arms and placed it on her lap. Bewildered by the gesture, Calaerien lifted the lid and her heart stopped.

Within the box laid a beautifully carved bow from the darkest wood. As she gingerly pulled it out, it felt sleek and smelt of fresh wood. She brushed her fingers on the etches that read, 'Light of the Ocean.' upon the crest with elven designs toward the tapered ends of the bow.

It was stunning.

A parchment paper caught the corner of her eye when she noticed it in the box. She plucked it out and read, 'Forgive my absences, this night Lady Calaerien. Duty has called me away. May your new bow serve you well.'

She bit her lip in excitement.

I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll get the next one up ASAP. Thank you for your patience. Don't forget to review!