Author note: Hello! I can't believe people are actually reading this all over the world! Well I guess that's how the internet works, but still, it's cool. Thank you so much to my first reviewers, bluelake7 and jshaw0624 - so nice to hear that you are enjoying it! Also thanks to chamomilla, str81994, tuttachechka and maanou for faving/following - I hope you all enjoy where the story goes, it's going to be quite a rollercoaster for Keren. Speaking of which, she's just met Legolas for the first time. I am willing her to stay calm, but we all know she won't. If you think my chapters are a tad too long give me a heads up, as I've been toying with the idea of splitting them in half. Please keep leaving reviews, I love them! It looked like my bribery worked last time (only half kidding), so yes, there is a lot more Legolas in this chapter! I should be uploading chapter 6 in the next few days, it's all been written, just want to crack on with 7. x

Chapter five - A strange meeting

"You're an elf!" Keren spoke without thinking.

She was more excited than fearful for she had waited, it seemed to her, all her life to catch sight of one of these strange beings, and now one had just spoken to her!

"I am," the elf said," and I am sorry if I startled you. I am afraid elves have a habit of doing that."

She mutely shook her head, taking in his appearance. He was very tall, over six feet, slender and fair. It was hard to tell in this light if his hair was golden or silver, but either way it shone in the moonlight. It was long and straight over his shoulders, although it was pulled back from his face, which was, she was pleased to notice, very fair to look upon, as the tales had said all elves were. In the dim light she thought she saw two braids either side of his forehead, which revealed – she gave a sharp intake of breath – finely pointed ears. She thought he was dressed in different shades of green, but it could have been grey. She could not see the colour of his eyes.

"What are you doing…" She stopped, thinking she sounded rude, and tried again. "What brings you to the Houses of Healing?"

He smiled at her awkwardness.

"I am a companion of Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gimli, son of Gloin," he said. "I fought alongside them in the Pelennor fields."

"Oh, you've been wounded?" Keren could think of no other reason as to why he would be there, although she could not see evidence of any injuries.

"Nay," he replied, "I have been visiting a friend, one of the hobbits who is in the healers' care. His name is Merry."

She nodded.

"I know of whom you speak," she said with a small smile. "I have not the task of tending him, so I have not yet made his acquaintance. My work currently lies with the White Lady of Rohan, she who slew the Witch-King, and the Lord Fara…Faramir, the new steward of Gondor."

She inwardly cursed herself for stumbling over his name.

Legolas knew better than to comment on her hesitation, but better understood why she had been crying. He could tell, as all elves could, just by her voice and her eyes that she was not married, but her eyes seemed filled with a strange emotion when she spoke that name, one of hope yet sadness. Legolas did not fully understand love, but thought that was what was causing her pain and frustration. He had not yet, to his knowledge, been introduced to someone who could provoke such emotion in him.

Elves mated for beyond the duration of their lives, bonding to each other in a private and sacred way. In his over two thousand years on middle earth, not one had called to his heart, even though most of his kin met their bond mate shortly after reaching maturity. He had gathered a reputation therefore as a strange elf, choosing solitude over love.

He had witnessed many great partnerships.

Aragorn and the Evenstar were one such pairing, albeit an unusual one – a relationship that would ultimately end in tragedy, and yet Legolas could see the pure joy emanating from them when they were together. They had pledged themselves to each other, and he knew Arwen would find no other love after Aragorn's death, but would either die of grief, or dwindle into silence until she faded away to nothing.

Strange was their fate - having such brief happiness that was yet enough for Arwen to give up her immortality. Being half-elven she could make such a choice. Legolas would have no similar option. Not that he could ever see himself bound to a mortal. Or to anyone for that matter.

There had been no mention in Galadriel's prophecy that another would sail with him. He had grown to accept that he would never know the intimacy of love before his last journey.

His father despaired of him ever providing an heir for the woodland realm. But then Thranduil knew that elves could not be committed to one they have not bonded with, so all he could do was wait for Legolas to stumble upon the love of his life.

You may be waiting for all eternity, Ada, he thought.

Keren noticed the strange elf had fallen silent, so she gratefully changed the subject.

"I know of this Aragorn whom you spoke of," she said, "although he is now calling himself Elessar. He is a great healer, and has worked a miracle on my charges. But who is Gimli, son of Gloin? Such a strange name."

"It has a strange owner," he replied. "Gimli is a dwarf, and my friend."

He added no more, so she pressed on.

"And what is your name?" she asked. "If I'm allowed to know it."

She knew nothing of elvish ways other than the tales passed down, and was not sure if it was polite to ask an elf who they were. She had heard that they thought themselves far above mortals.

"An elf friend may know anything and all things," he replied, and Keren wondered what that strange remark meant. "My name is Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood."

Keren's eyes grew embarrassingly wide. These past few days just could not get any stranger – what with lost kings returning, witch-kings being slain, hobbits, wizards, dwarves, and now elven royalty standing right before her! She realised too late that she was staring.

He patiently waited for her to absorb his father's title, as he was used to having to do.

"And your name?" he asked politely.

Keren remembered how her mouth worked.

"Keren." She managed nothing more than a choked whisper. She cleared her throat and laughed nervously. He smiled in return.

"Sorry," she said more clearly. "I've never met an elf before, let alone a royal one. My name is Keren, daughter of Maleron. I'm a healer here, your highness. Is that right, do I call you your highness?"

She cringed. He smiled at her again, although he was puzzled as to her mention of having never met an elf. Her fëa was fair calling him to recognise her.

"My name will suffice," he replied.

She nodded awkwardly, but then her gaze was drawn past his shoulder to the mountains in the east once more. He could feel her fear.

"Were you crying because you are afraid?" he could not help but ask.

Her eyes snapped back to his.

"Oh. You saw that."

"I did not mean to intrude," he said.

She did not answer his question. Rather a question came to her mind which she knew she should not ask.

"Do such times frighten you? Do elves even feel fear?"

Legolas looked at her in surprise. No one had ever asked him if he was afraid before. He thought awhile before answering.

"Anyone who says they are not afraid in such times is lying," he eventually said, staring at the distant flames. "But elves, with our long lives, tend to be less fearful. We have seen many evils against the world be defeated. Our people therefore have more faith than most that hope will endure, and goodness prevail."

"But is it not true that the elves are all leaving Middle Earth?" she asked quickly.

"That is true," he said. "But not because we fear evil times, but rather that we know it is now time for the race of men."

"Will you leave?" she wondered.

"Yes, I have been called to sail," he said simply. "One day."

He sounded sad. She changed the subject again.

"I have heard that our only hope in this war now lies with a hobbit," Keren said. "How can one such as that be our saviour?"

The elf looked at her intently.

"His name is Frodo," he said, "and he has more strength than any human I have ever met."

"You know him?" she asked wonderingly.

He nodded and stepped a little closer, eager to share tales of the hobbit and his companions. He had told Prince Imrahil of their journey and trials, but very little had he spoken of his friends.

"We travelled far together. I was part of a fellowship that were all sworn to protect him as he travelled to Mordor. Aragorn, Gimli and Mithrandir were amongst the group."

"Mithrandir, the white wizard?" she asked.

"A great ithryn, yes," he replied.

"Ithryn?" She did not recognise the strange word.

"It means wizard in Sindarin, my language," he explained.

"I thought the elves of Mirkwood were Silvan," she said.

"Most are, but they all speak the language of the Sindar as well as the woodland tongue," Legolas said, surprised at the young woman's knowledge of his people. "The royal line is of mixed Sindar blood, but the elves under our protection are full Silvan. I myself would say I am both races, or either one, depending on who I'm speaking to."

He gave her a wry smile.

"What do you mean?" She was fascinated with all the elf was telling her.

"Although both races are related, Sindar elves are seen as noble and fair, Silvan a little wilder and dangerous, in the eyes of some at least," he explained.

"Oh," Keren said. "You don't seem all that dangerous to me."

"You have not seen me in combat, nor shall you," he said seriously.

Then with a lift of his chin and a change of tone in his voice he moved back to his tale, seamlessly taking the conversation away from himself, Keren noticed.

"Also in our company was Boromir, brother of Faramir, but he was slain at Amon Hen, pierced with many of the enemy's arrows. He fought bravely, but alone and greatly outnumbered. I heard the horn of Gondor as he called for aid from us, but he was dead by the time I reached him. Aragorn was by his side."

Keren was shocked. She had heard that when the steward learnt of his eldest son's death he went mad with grief. This elf had witnessed all. Was he the one who had told Lord Denethor the tale of his son's passing? No, she remembered, that had been Pippin the hobbit.

"The two periain here," she said, using the formal term, not wanting to use the strange word in front of the elf and risk looking a fool, "were they also a part of your group?"

"Merry and Pippin, aye," he replied. "And another, Samwise. He has followed Frodo. The prefer the term 'hobbits', by the way. But my path lay not with them, but with Aragorn. Now it has brought me here."

"Glad I am of it," she said without thinking, a smile on her face.

He looked at her strangely.

"I – I mean I – "

Curse my mouth!

"Long have I desired to look on one of your people," she forced out eventually. "And now I have seen one – you – I know that whatever happens in this war there are still good and gracious beings in the world."

Her fëa seemed to brush against his as she spoke this. Legolas stood entranced. She could not have been speaking the truth before, she was so closely and clearly bonded to the elvish kingdom. And yet she seemed honest. Was it possible she was unaware of it?

"Well, I would not say we are all good and gracious, but I thank you for your words," he said. "There is something I do not understand though. You say you have never met one of my kind before?"

She shook her head. "You are the first."

Her fëa pulsed in response – in denial it seemed to him.

"But how can this be?" he asked, stepping closer still. "You are an elf friend."

She stepped back from him, the catkins of the old willow tree now tickling her face.

"Elf friend? What does this mean?" she asked.

"An elf has welcomed you, blessed you with knowledge of our kind and any wisdom we have to pass on, in thanks for something you or your kin have done to aid my people," he explained. "It is rare for one so young, but you would be welcome in any of my people's homes."

He could tell by her face that no such event had occurred, at least within her memory. He did not want to frighten her, so did not question her further, but he was curious. She was a mystery to him, one that he could not solve quickly.

"I know not of what you speak," she said, slightly unnerved by this creature who looked so human and yet seemed so strange. "There are humans then, such as this? I have never heard of such a thing."

"There have been many friendships between elves and those of other races. Some are now legendary," he began. "In these times it is rare, but there are some. The one you know as Elessar, his elven name is Estel."

"He is an elf friend?" she wondered.

"Rather more an adopted elf," he said. "He was given a home by Lord Elrond and raised as his own, given a new identity."

"Lord Elrond?" she gasped, amazed. "The half-elven? He knows him?"

He grinned at her excitement.

"Aye," the elf confirmed. "Almost as a son he is to Elrond."

"Do all elf friends have elven names given them?" she wondered.

"No, it is a great honour," he said. "Usually it takes some special meaning. Estel means hope in Sindarin."

He did not go into detail as to why Elessar was named such, and she did not ask, although she had a feeling it was something to do with the ongoing war. She began to understand the man's skill at healing. But the elf's answers kept leading her to more questions.

"Do you have many languages?" she asked. She had heard of Sindarin – Minas Tirith itself was a Sindar name, and the steward and high nobles of the city still spoke it – but knew of no others.

The elf chuckled. She had the curiosity of a hobbit.

"Sorry," Keren said. "I'm asking too many questions. I should leave you to…whatever it was that you were doing."

Legolas shook his head as if to tell her not to worry. "There are many elvish languages and dialects, but today we mostly speak Sindarin, and most of us are also fluent in your tongue of Westron. Quenya is used at formal occasions."

His accent was most strange the more she listened to it, curiously lilting, and he had a peculiar habit of rolling his r's. It was a very pleasant voice however, and she knew that she would not tire of listening to it.

"And in answer to your other, unspoken question," he went on, giving her a knowing look, "I am not precisely doing anything. Rather I was visiting the gardens and decided to stay a while. I like being amongst nature, even if it is held within a city of stone."

His gaze turned to the trees, and he looked pensive before continuing.

"Now I have a question for you."

His eyes flicked to hers.

"Yes?" She wondered what kind of question such a noble creature could possibly have for her.

"What can you tell me of these gardens? How did such a place come to be? There are none others that I have seen, which saddens me."

Keren hesitated.

"You will have to ask the warden of the Houses for the history of this place," she eventually replied. "I do not know."

She was embarrassed, realising for the first time that she probably should have shown an interest in the history of the Houses of Healing.

"If I were to be honest…" she started.

"Always a good way to be," he added.

"Well, if I am honest then, I was always more interested in learning the history of your people than the history of here, which is perhaps something I should not admit to."

"And just why are you so interested in my kind?" he asked, not unkindly.

She shrugged. "I know not. I just always have been. My mother had books filled with great tales of elven Kings and heroes. I grew up with them."

Legolas wondered if there was something else her mother had passed on to create this strong connection with his race, something a little more unusual. Her fëa was once again pressing as if to draw his attention to something. Could her mother have been part elven? He had been quick to recognise the very faint strain of Elvish blood in some men before, but he supposed it could sometimes prove elusive.

"Never did I think I would actually meet one of you," she said to fill the silence, which felt incredibly awkward to her.

"Well," he said with a smile, "I hope I do not disappoint."

She smiled back shyly and shook her head.

"Never will I forget our meeting, your highness."

She spoke true. If her mother were still alive she would have been so excited to hear the tale.

"Just Legolas," he reminded her.

She pursed her lips, embarrassed by his familiarity.

"Why do you think I am an elf friend?" she said, to draw attention away from her nervousness. "I cannot be. My family are not great heroes; I have never even seen an elf until now."

Her voice rose in frustration, and perhaps a little with fear.

Legolas made a decision to be truthful and to tell her at least what he suspected. Better yet, he would show her. The girl would be worrying over this, perhaps for the short duration of her whole life, if he did not say. She did not have to believe it.

"Do not be afraid," he said softly, slowly closing the gap between them until both were now shielded by the hanging catkins of the willow, "and I will show you."

Despite his words, Keren was afraid. Now, even if someone were to enter the gardens, the two of them would not be seen in the dim light. The tree shielded them from view as if it knew they needed protection from any watchful eyes. She was entirely alone with this strange figure from the old tales, come to life before her. She had known elves still existed, but she thought they were reclusive, proud and disdainful towards the race of men. This one, even with his royal blood, seemed willing to answer her questions, and even had a sense of humour. He actually seemed to enjoy talking to her. The thought of that terrified her. She wished someone would come into the gardens so she would feel safer. Her eyes flicked to the entrance of the Houses in hope, but she saw only shadows.

The elf noticed her anxious glance.

"I am frightening you," he said, his dark eyebrows creasing in concern.

"A little," she admitted, looking down at his feet – which, she belatedly noticed, were bare – rather than having to face his gaze. "You are so strange."

She looked up at him then, mortified. She had not meant to say that out loud. What happened if one offended an elf? He had said he was dangerous.

But his eyes remained calm – still it was too dark to see their colour – as he took in her expression, assessing her. He could feel her fear, but also her curiosity. She looked lost somehow, at war with herself. He studied her face intently, looking for answers.

"Not as strange as you are to me, Keren daughter of Maleron," he said softly, his voice making her name sound strange and beautiful. "How can you not know what you are?"

She stared up at him, quite a long way up, for he discovered he had been right and she did only come up to his chest. Her young face was covered in signs of exhaustion, and Legolas felt great pity for her at how much this war must already be affecting her simple human life. She had great dark rings under her eyes, and a large red blemish just under her mouth. Her eyes were watery and red-rimmed due to tiredness and her recent tears. Her lips were dry and chapped.

Keren was momentarily lost for words again as she registered the elf's close proximity to her. If he moved any closer their bodies would be touching. She was conscious that she had not rested or washed properly in days, and that her healers' garb had many a bloody stain. She could not remember the last time she had looked in a mirror, but she was sure her hair was becoming greasy by now, and she could feel a large spot had erupted on her chin. Whereas he was of course, being elf kind, physically perfect. His skin had not one blemish or mark, and there were no dark circles under his eyes despite his long journey. His hair was long over his shoulders and smooth, with not one tangle in it, and she wondered if it would feel soft underneath her fingers if she reached up to touch it.

She was suddenly intensely embarrassed. She had never been this close to another male before. His words and manner intrigued her but also frightened her, and she had a sudden desire to run.

Legolas could sense the girls' discomfort. Perhaps this was a foolish idea. He had been planning on gently touching her arm, so she could feel the connection she had with his people, so much easier than trying to explain. But then he thought better of it as he heard her breathing grow uncertain and shallow. His instinct proved correct as the girl hurriedly spoke, looking anywhere but at him.

"I must go inside now. It was nice to meet you, your highness. Good luck with the war."

She ducked under the leaves, careful not to brush by him, and ran through the gardens until the shadows took her from his sight.

Legolas sighed in frustration. Usually his manner put men at ease, but this girl was clearly terrified of him. And now he would never know her story. He wondered why he was interested.

He walked slowly over to the wall where she had stood and gazed out across to the Black Land. He did not yet know the result of the debate which had taken place that day between the Lords of the West. But he knew that whatever the decision, he wanted to be by the side of his friend, the future King of men. Not for anything would he abandon Aragorn now.

Legolas well knew that to follow his friend would perhaps mean going to his doom.

He thought now of Aragorn, riding into battle with Arwen's standard flying, the knowledge of her love for him enough to give him strength and courage in the face of a terrible enemy.

If Legolas fell in this war, who would mourn? His father. Aragorn and Gimli, if they were spared. The fellowship, those of their number that survived. He could think of no others. Perhaps he had made a mistake in not bonding, and now he was doomed to die, or sail alone. But he could not force love upon himself, even now.

Such thoughts are unworthy of you, he chided himself, shaking his head. Now, when battle is upon you, is not the time for regrets.

Keren removed her soiled clothes and gave herself a hot bath before bed. As she washed the dirt away from her pale skin she felt her eyes drooping with tiredness, but she could not allow herself to go to sleep still with the blood of dead men upon her. Once her hair and body were clean she fell into bed without putting her nightdress on and with her hair still wet. She knew she would probably catch a sniffle by doing so, but a sniffle seemed a minor price to pay for sleep.

When her head hit the pillow she was annoyed, for immediately the elf's words echoed through her head, and remained there for an infuriatingly long time.

He had not even touched her, but she felt his presence around her as if his mind was pushing at hers trying to get in.

She was ashamed of her rudeness, leaving in such haste, and yet relieved that she had not stayed any longer. His words, his intense manner, the whole meeting were too much for her tired brain to process on top of everything else.

Her thoughts then flitted to her conversation with Faramir, and she remembered with joy that she was to go to him first thing in the morning, that he had asked for her to be by his side. But this was still not a good enough distraction from the memories of her meeting with the elf. What if he was still out there? What if he stayed there all night? She doubted she would ever see him, or indeed any elf, again, and the thought made her heart constrict with regret. She wished she had stayed and spoken further with him, to find out more of his people.

It was with that regret that her mind reached absolute exhaustion, and allowed her thoughts to settle into their familiar pattern before sleep – her last conscious thought was, as always, the shade of Faramir's imagined kiss on her lips, and the crystals' prophecy of what was to come. She sighed and slept.

She dreamt of nothing.