My god.

I'm updating very regularly.

This is scaring me.


The miles blurred into the silence and then into the days.

Ashryn slept for a day and a night once she returned to her once again empty home, shunning company. Cassian came to visit, once alone and once with her uncle, but she sent them off both times, feigning exhaustion. She wasn't sure why – her injuries were healing swiftly, and she had enough restless energy to reorder her supplies, but even the barest hint of their voices sent her recoiling.

It was hunger which sent her back to the outside, a week later. She had eaten her stores dry, and she was utterly bored besides.

Dressing simply in greys and draping a cloak over her shoulders, Ashryn wandered slowly through the cavernous cave system, crossing one bridge and then another, under arching pillars and gnarled roots carved from stalactites, rushing water accompanying her every step. This was the hall of the elvenking – the outer wings of the caves which flanked the royal quarters, housing nobility and scholars and warriors alike.

Stone and wood formed this fortress, rustic, golden toned, and earthy, differing from the air which infused every inch of Rivendell, but Ashryn loved it all the same, relishing in each stone step and spray of mist. Most of the elves dwelt in the surrounding forest, however, and that was where she would find food.

It was slow, her progress: her ankle remained in a splint, but her race had ever been fast healers, and she had recovered enough to put weight on the joint. Neither did she mind the pace. It was peaceful, and she could properly absorb the spaciousness which she had denied herself the past days.

Upon the apex of a bridge lined with twisting stone vines, she found a man.

He wore a black doublet and confusion upon his face, staring at one side of the bridge and then the other, over the edge, and behind, clearly and utterly lost.

Ashryn hobbled up the last few steps, stopping some feet away, bracing a hand on the stones. "Are you in need of assistance, my lord?"

He had not seen her coming, a fact Ashryn found somewhat amusing as she awaited a reply. He had the dusky blonde hair and brown eyes of the horselords, one of the envoys from Rohan. She was surprised they had not yet returned.

"Aye," he relented finally, "it appears that I am, my lady." The man spread his arms, a self-deprecating grin on his face. "I seem to be hopelessly lost."

It felt good to laugh. Ashryn crossed the last few steps slowly, lowering her head in respect. "Well then you are in luck, my lord." She took his offered arm, guiding him back down the side of the bridge from whence she came. "The guest wing, I presume?"

"Indeed. Spacious, and altogether too difficult to find." The man had a weathered face, perhaps twenty five years, and a twinkle in his eyes that Ashryn decided she rather liked.

Their going was slow, in accommodation of Ashryn's ankle. "What is your name, my lord?"

The man scratched at his beard (she found it quite fascinating). "They call me Brego, after some long dead king some five or six hundred years ago, my lady. And yourself?"

Long dead… five or six hundred years ago. The times of men flowed strangely, grieving and forgetting so quickly. For a moment, Ashryn envied them.

"My lady?"

Ashryn shook her head slightly, smiling apologetically. "Ashryn, my mother named me," she replied finally. "Somewhat morbid, dust and sand and chasing, but she liked the way it flowed."

"It is a beautiful name, my lady," Brego told her seriously.

"Your namesake was a great warrior and better king," Ashryn said, "though his death was foolish." Brego did not know what to think of this, she could tell, lapsing briefly into silence, so Ashryn continued on. "Tell me of your cause, my lord."

Brego obliged her as they passed beneath a cascade of water, flowing over their heads to rejoin the stream below. "A futile one, I must admit, but necessary. If we join our strength, we could be done with this threat before spring, but that seems unlikely. My people are dying, and more will die before the winter in defiance of this force which will eventually bleed into your elven lands."

It already has, Ashryn though as she listened, hearing the undertone of rage. This man had attended her uncle's gatherings, she knew.

"The king has not received us for a week," Brego went on as they entered the caves marking the guest wing, carved stone doors open and flanked by glowing torches. "They say he is busy with his councillors. Busy! While Rohan bleeds…"

"I hear you, my lord," Ashryn responded, but she also heard what the lady Lithuin had said to her uncle those nights past. "And I wish you the best of luck in your -"

"My lord!" Their path was twisted around a spire of rock, doors leading off within the stone, and from some ways below a voice echoed. "My lord Brego!"

Ashryn tilted her head upwards, spying the man around the corner, hurrying up the path towards them, glancing nervously at the sheer drop beside him as he did so. "My lord, the elf prince was looking for you earlier to…" his voice trailed off, and Ashryn heard the snap of a cloak accompanied not by the sound of footfalls, glancing up.

Legolas swept around the corner, followed by a cape the red of autumn leaves, metal scales adorning his shoulders.

Brego bowed, and Ashryn assumed the nameless man did as well, but her own back remained ramrod straight.

The Prince returned the salutes with a fist pressed over his heart. "My lord Brego, Hamon, King Thranduil has called a council for sundown. We would be honoured if you would attend."

"Aye," Brego replied, either uncaring or naively unknowing that Legolas had heard every blistering word concerning his father. "Me and mine will be there." He turned to Ashryn, dipping his head. "Thank you for your assistance, my lady. I believe I know the way from here."

"It was my pleasure, my lord."

Hamon had opened a door, and Brego slipped in after him. Ashryn watched the door close, and when she turned back, Legolas was before her.

He had halted a step above, she saw, and Ashryn had to incline her head upwards more than usual to observe the way his eyes darted over her, down to the splint and back up past the hands, no longer bandaged but clearly scarred. Something flickered in the depths of the blue steel, as he beheld the green cloak which wrapped around her shoulders.

His cloak, Ashryn realised belatedly. Greenleaf.

"Are you well, my lady?"

There was a myriad of responses flitting through Ashryn's head, a great deal of them biting, petty, and hurtful – or was it hurt? "I am walking the halls, am I not?" Her voice was cooler than the pre-winter air, but the prince did not react.

"So you are. May I accompany you anywhere?"

"I cannot stop you," Ashryn told him, turning for the path back out of the guest wing.

Legolas fell in beside her, offering his arm. After some time, Ashryn took it, hating herself even as she did so, her ankle twinging with every step. Somehow, he managed to guide her despite not knowing her destination.

"Why are you angry, Ashryn?" The question came after several minutes of silence, Legolas looking down at her as he did so, his look inquisitive.

The audacity of it almost took her breath away, and Ashryn's grip tightened on his arm. "Why do you think I am angry, Legolas?" She had never before addressed him with anything but his title, but now she drew over the word tauntingly, mocking.

Something in the way she said his name made the prince stiffen slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Ashryn was close enough to see the way his pupils dilated. "I am asking you, my lady."

Ashryn clasped her hands together over his elbow, quiet. "I am angry because you saw fit to repudiate the deaths of my mother and father. I do not understand death?"

"You understand suffering but not mortality."

"I am angry," Ashryn bowelled over him, "because you sought to deny the impact death has wrought upon me. I am angry because you tried to define my feelings, and I am angry" - (I am hurt) - "because I never, ever, thought it would be you who would do this."

Something had shattered.

Legolas's gaze was stricken as he drew to a stop under the small waterfall she and Brego had passed earlier, his free hand reaching out tentatively. "My lady, I -"

"How could you?" The syllables crackled and broke.

His hand was inches away from her cheek when she flinched away, and Legolas snatched it back in a blur. "You could have died," he said softly, something painfully like devastation in his eyes.

Ashryn let her hand slide from his elbow and allowed herself to crumple against the stone beside her, damp from the water which did not quite make it over the passage, sliding to the floor. Droplets scattered over her head and soaked into the cloak as Ashryn drew her knees to her chest, the splint awkward, dropping her head heavily into her palms.

"Ashryn."

She could feel the warmth of fingertips not quite touching her shoulders as the tears finally came, filling the void which had consumed her for the past week, hot and silent and shuddering.

"I never intended to cause you pain," Legolas was saying, a hesitant hand finally bracing just over her shoulder, fingers gentle as he drew her away from the trickles of icy water but still holding her at a distance, "and I am sorry to have done so. Truly."

Ashryn raised her head, feeling as though something had fractured deep inside her, leaning heavily into the touch, hating the weakness and yet so starved of contact she could not bring herself to draw away. Something in her watery eyes caused Legolas to wrap both arms around her, one hand tracing soothing circles down her back while he hummed softly, the words undecipherable.

Slowly, the tears stopped. The scales falling down his chest glinted with moisture where her head rested as he held her, the both of them sprawled across the walkway.

"Are you well, Ashryn?" The question passed over her head, voice soft.

Drawing back slightly, Ashryn managed a tremulous nod.

They were very close. She could see every strain of silver in his eyes, and he could, in turn, discern the ring of green surrounding the golden hazel in her own. Legolas shifted slightly, bracing his hands gently upon her shoulders. "There are matters of which I would like to discuss with you, should you be willing."

A wry half smile split across her face. "Your wish is my command."

The prince's left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at her response as he rose, bringing her to her feet. "It is my wish to escort you back to your quarters then, my lady."

Ashryn spent the walk doing her best not to look as mortified as she felt – and by Elbereth the starkindler, she was mortified. Legolas, of course, showed no sign of discomfort at her quite complete meltdown, but Ashryn was a rather different story. She had always been – had always prided herself as being – composed, logical, and reasonable.

But something about the last few days had quite thoroughly destroyed that. She had been, by turns, utterly consumed with fear, anger, grief, and briefly realised she very well might die in Arda. Perhaps Legolas had served only as the trigger.

They were ascending steadily. Ashryn's quarters lay so close to the surface that she was practically above ground, and her window opened to grass and winds, unlike the royal quarters which were carved of an underground chamber within a chamber, all open spaces and stairwells without doors.

Cassian, waiting just around the corner adjacent to her door, jolted her quite suddenly out of her thoughts. Legolas's arm tensed under her grasp.

He looked different.

Ashryn had barely seen Cassian the day they departed the talan: he had scouted back to the site where the orcs fell as the rest of the party began the slow progress back to the city and rejoined them only after Ashryn had fallen into a drowse on the back of her horse, brought back by Legolas. After the returned, of course, she had refused to see him.

Now? Seven days had taken their toll on Cassian, though Ashryn could not fathom why. There was a feverish glint in his grey eyes, a gauntness under his cheekbones which had not quite been there before, and there was an insistent, recurring twitch under one of his eyes. Even his voice sounded different. The underlying playfulness which had always accompanied him had quite vanished, and his voice was raw as he greeted her. "I was looking for you."

"I was not here," Ashryn responded, perplexed. Cassian was not the type to wait around.

Cassian snorted. "I can see that. But now you are, and I need to speak to you."

Ashryn decided right then that she did not like this new, updated version of Cassian one bit, slipping her hand from Legolas's arm and taking a step forward. "Need, is it? I find that rather subjective, don't you? It happens that I am not in the mood to be spoken at, but should you happen to chance upon some food, I would perhaps change my mind. Now the nourishment of the body – that is (to some) necessity."

Cassian's face contorted. "This is not the time for your games, Ashryn."

"Perhaps you ought to rethink your phrasing," Ashryn told him coldly. "I am not interested in talking with you when you see fit to treat me like an inferior."

"You ar -" Cassian's mouth shut abruptly, but Ashryn knew exactly what was about to come out of his mouth.

"I'm afraid I don't recognise your position as being one superior to mine," Ashryn raised her head, "so unfortunately, even if you had sought to, ah, pull rank, I would have refused you."

"Ashryn," Cassian's voice took on a pleading note even as he set his jaw stubbornly. "We have to speak to – with you."

"We?" Ashryn clapped a hand to her mouth. "Pardon me, but I had not realised you and my lord uncle were a single entity. If he needs me, he knows where to find me. Now, if you would kindly excuse yourself." Stepping neatly aside, she swept out a hand, a clear invitation to leave.

Cassian ignored her, shoulders squaring and baring his teeth in a sneer at her. "So you'll speak with him but not me?"

"To whom are you referring?" The question was laced with vicious sarcasm, all polished manners.

Perhaps Legolas was closer, so Cassian chose to direct his wrath at the prince with a sharp jerk of his head.

"If I were you," Legolas's voice was deadly soft, only speaking now that he had been addressed, "I would be a great deal more respectful."

"Why?" Cassian shot back, disrespectfully.

"Because we have not yet discussed your actions during the patrol last week, which was explicitly ordered not to engage. I have heard from both Anduillon and Daemon, the latter of which will be out of commission for weeks yet. I know that your actions, as member and leader of that patrol, are responsible for both the injuries dealt to your friends and the attraction of orc attention." Legolas spoke with a cold fury which Ashryn had never heard before. "I am not happy, Cassian. And I will have you know that the next time you endanger others, your life in Eryn Lasgalen is forfeit. Do you understand?"

Cassian's face had bleached white. "You do not have the authority."

A languid tilt of the head. "Don't I?"

"Leave, Cassian," Ashryn interjected, before he could do something truly stupid. Perhaps Cassian felt as though Candor was his lord and ruler, but Thranduil's – and Legolas's – word was law. And Ashryn knew just how much value Legolas placed on those who led others into danger.

Cassian left.


Hope everyone is enjoying this so far! My characters seem to be evading me somewhat lately, Legolas most of all, because in the lotr trilogy he is distinct because he is an elf, and consequently it is immensely difficult to glean what makes him unique amongst his own kind. Dialogue is killing me.

So please review, my lovelies! Especially let me know what you think of characterisation, since this is a very dialogue heavy chapter.

Lots of love,

Silver