Author note: Okay, feeling a little more grounded after my emotional outburst last time! Really enjoyed writing this chapter :)

Mediocre Dunces, thanks so much for making your first review such a great one, I'm so glad you've enjoyed the story so far and have been bingeing! OctoberOpal you win the prize for the most questions - I'm pretty sure by the end they will all be answered actually! There were some *very* special reviews from others who have been following this story a while (years, some of you), and I know it doesn't take much to set me off at the moment but they genuinely made me have a little happy sob. THANK YOU xxx Captnschick58 I'm so touched by your suggestion of a Pat*eon to help support me (and shocked you think my writing deserves that) - I would be keen but would like to know the legalities of doing that for fanfic/writing in general, does anyone have any info, or done a similar thing?

This is quite a long chapter with a lot to cover - Thranduil doesn't really make an appearance, I'm too pissed off with him. What you do get is a literal training montage (lol), some mild angst, AND *winces nervously* a little smattering of... Nup, erase that, a fairly large basket of LEMONS. I just couldn't separate them without them EVER touching each other again. It was tricky to write because I don't want this story turning into a porno (God, can you imagine? DON'T imagine) but I also thought it was important to finally show that part of their relationship properly. I've done a pretty good job of hinting at stuff up to now, I think, but I just wanted Keren to actually properly GET SOMETHING before she's off in the wild alone and, ya know, might die...

So yeah. Enjoy x

Chapter five - The Stranger

"Right. Bow and arrow." Keren stopped short when she received a sharp look from Legolas. "Oh, longbow, sorry. Dagger. Shortsword. Longsword. Broad… broadsword? Staff. Axe. Mace. Um… Oh, dagger! No, I said that. Um… Um… Chain… chain…s?"

She was in a forest clearing with Legolas and two others. The elves she had not yet met properly were stifling laughs, but Legolas looked deadly serious, worried beyond humour.

"Names aren't important, as long as you know what to do with them," he said. "And you will not be using half of the things you have just listed. You will have a shortsword, a dagger, and a small bow for hunting. Any more and it will slow you down."

"No… no shield?" Keren asked.

"Never do I carry one," he offered as way of answer. He had been decidedly chilly since the feast two nights ago, towards her, towards everyone. She knew why though, and, as hard as it was, she gave him the space he needed, for if he was not distant with her she knew he would break. In a way it was helping her too.

They had had a brief exchange of words directly after the feast, a hurried moment in the passage behind the dais, before Legolas was called away. It was all too short, and since then they had barely spoken a word to each other. Her mind fled from arrows and swords back to that painful few minutes.

"Well. Ciraen." He had spoken as if it physically hurt him.

"I was going to tell you…" she had said, too quietly, and knowing she sounded like the liar she was.

"I love you. Keren. I cannot call you the name you have been gifted." He spat out the last word, the most bitter she had ever seen him. She could not speak. He went on.

"A most worthy gift to you from Galadriel. Again the fates taunt us. Whether it was a name sent to her from beyond the earth, or from her mind only, it is cruel."

"Cruel?" Keren whispered.

"It mocks me. Mocks us, our future. Even your name is sent to remind me of the road I must take. And you knew, and hid it from me."

"No, wait, no," Keren said quickly. "It is Quenya, I don't know what it means. No one will tell me what it means, though I've been the bearer of it for more than a year. I promise you, Greenleaf, I don't know."

His face twisted in pain and anguish. "Then perhaps you were meant to wait to hear it from me, again it is my bitter duty to impart - "

"Please, please don't talk like this," Keren interrupted, as gently as she could. "We can't fill our remaining time together with this… all of this, we can't. And I will find you, in Ithilien. You know I will. The stars will guide me. I cannot fail."

She sounded far more confident than she felt.

"I will do everything in my power to see that you are safe," he replied, after a little while. "I won't lose you."

"Then speak to your father," she said quickly. "See that I have training, help with fighting, and hunting. I need a map and - "

She had been interrupted by an elf, sent with a mission he did not want.

"My lord, it pains me to say you must leave your lady's side, by order of the King," he said, awkwardly, before retreating from the passage, waiting just beyond the arch.

Legolas sighed. He kept her hand in hers. "I will see you every day. Though we cannot be alone, know that it is all I want, all the time, to see you, touch you, hold you in my arms, everything." His eyes told her what he meant, and without thinking she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, arms folded around his neck, but an awkward cough from the other side of the wall made them break apart before they had even begun. With a last look, Legolas's hand slipped from hers, and he was gone, and still she did not know the meaning of her name.

And now three days had passed. Thranduil had granted Legolas's request for Keren to have lessons. Her first attempt at hunting and foraging had not been a huge success, but she had almost two month's worth of learning ahead of her. Any longer than that and she risked her chance of making it to Ithilien within the year. But it did not feel enough.

Legolas was not expecting her to come into any real trouble in the North, but once she drew closer to Mordor he became fixated on rogue bands of orcs, or other mischievous, dark things, fleeing their dark land by the quietest route. He could not imagine her making it to Ithilien without needing to defend herself at some point, though he prayed otherwise.

"We start with the bow," he said, trying to clear his mind of anything but practical matters. "You will need it for hunting primarily, though it is useful for combat if you can get the distance."

Keren nodded. She knew the bow was always his weapon of choice, and she had seen him use it now. She would have no-one but him teach her, though this of course required watchful eyes under Thranduil's ruling. The elves who had been tasked with this job seemed friendly, though a little embarrassed to have to be checking up on their prince. Keren wondered if they were being rewarded.

She was expecting to be fairly adept at accuracy and tactics when it came to combat, given all her years of surgery and diagnosis, but as for strength and skill - she was not a natural.

"Look. Watch." Legolas took up his stance, bow string taught, arrow nocked. "Look at all the details. Try and emulate it." He then passed her a longbow, far smaller than his, probably made for an elven child.

"My first bow, be careful." He confirmed her thoughts as she tried to stand correctly.

"Front foot toes forward, towards the target."

Keren adjusted.

"Fingers should be - ah, good." He had noticed the natural placement of her fingers around the bowstring. She had tended a young boy new to archery training as one of her first jobs as a fully fledged healer. The amount of blisters and welts on his fingertips was almost unbelievable, and it had been her unpleasant task to burst and cauterise them, so he could get back to creating new ones. She had worked out not to clasp the string too tightly.

"Now, back to your chin, pull, go… and hold it there," Legolas instructed.

Keren had to fight not to make a sound of strain in her throat. Though it was the right size for her she was shocked at how much effort it took to draw back the bowstring.

"Elbow higher." She winced as she obeyed. "Even higher. It should be uncomfortable. But not too high as to affect your grip. Now take aim."

She looked at the tree ahead, tried to line up the arrow with where she saw many notches about halfway up the trunk. She closed one eye to try to focus.

"No, both eyes open," Legolas said quickly. "And breathe."

She did, deeply, for she had been holding her breath without realising.

"Keep breathing, and keep looking. Everything still, and when you release, nothing moves but your fingers. Ready… and… now."

She let the arrow fly. It went sailing up into the leaves.

Legolas's voice cut through her disappointment. "Always aim lower than you think it needs. Try again."

She reached behind her, pulling an arrow up from the quiver she wore across her back, failing to smoothly twist it in her fingers and nock it all in one move, as he so gracefully did. She fumbled with it, almost dropping it, and tutted. Normally she would have patience, maybe laugh at her clumsiness, but now it was urgent, she needed to be good at this, in a matter of weeks. Her whole body was taught with tension, which she knew wouldn't help.

"Relax. We have time." It was the gentlest his voice had sounded so far. She looked at him, saw nothing but him, and he returned her gaze steadily. Safe. Home. Taking another deep breath she nocked the arrow, drew the string back. This time both her eyes were wide and focussed, she tried to remember to keep breathing, and save all her tension for her arm and shoulder muscles, nowhere else. She angled the arrow lower, as he had said.

"Alright. Ready? Elbow," he reminded her. "Good, now… shoot."

She shot.

This time the arrow was the right level, but flew to the left of the trunk. She sighed.

"Better. Again," Legolas said.

"And again," the elf with black hair said. She looked at Keren with blank indifference, not commenting on how she was doing, just drilling until it was perfect. Negeneth was her name, and she was one of the best with swords amongst the guards. Keren found her cold and a little dull, but they got on. One of the few elves in the Woodland Realm whose bloodline was not mixed with Silvan, she had been in the party of elves that had travelled with Thranduil's father from Doriath, and the pure Sindar nature showed in her cool, clear tactics, and absolute lack of emotion.

Keren had got to grips with all the technique of swordplay much easier than she had ever hoped, proving light on her feet and quick, though her arm strength was weak, as expected. Negeneth kept making her carry out moves that needed that strength, trying to build it up, and it was from these lessons that Keren always left shaking with exhaustion. Legolas was always there, a quiet, supportive presence, never correcting Negeneth, for it was she who had trained him.

"Now you attack," Negeneth instructed. "It's unlikely you will face anything as tall as me, I will crouch - imagine I'm an orc, they stand about your height."

It had been a month since the beginning of her training, and Keren was no longer phased by the talk of such a foe, though she had no idea how she would react if she genuinely came face to face with something that wanted to kill her. A baby spider had been one thing, and even that had managed to bite her. But an orc with weapons… she would consider it a victory not to just turn and run.

She was panting and sweating, but she planted her feet and began her attack. She knew the elf was predicting her every move, and very much going easy on her, but Negeneth had assured her the worst foe she might face would be strong though nowhere near as quick or clever as she was. It was the highest form of praise the elf could give. And it was true - the sword felt like an extension of her arm, her feet naturally found the correct place, her swings the correct rhythm. The strength in her shoulder and arm was building, and if she forgot about her very basic archery skills and hit-and-miss luck with the hunting, she almost felt confident in her ability to stay alive. And she still had three weeks to go.

Negeneth stepped up from defence to attack. Keren was laden down with the weapons she would be travelling with, and was beginning to tire, but she gritted her teeth and continued. She was looking for an opportunity to outsmart the 'orc' that was facing her, rather than the elven warrior that she knew in reality she would never defeat. And she found it. Negeneth stepped to the side and raised both her arms for an overarm swing - Keren took a risk and attempted something she had seen Legolas do against the spiders, spinning to the floor, crouching beneath the elf whilst reaching for one of the daggers crossed behind her shoulders, then standing suddenly. Suddenly her sword was at Negeneth's heart and the dagger had found its way to the elf's throat. Both froze.

"Very good," the elf said. "And again."

Keren stared at the map before her. She had never seen the world laid out like this. Just over a week until her departure, and she was seeing her route for the first time, for the map had been drawn up especially for her - all of the lands east of the Misty Mountains, from the Grey Mountains in the north all the way down to Minas Tirith, her old home.

"We're here." Legolas pointed to the north-eastern tip of the vast expanse of forest that dominated the northern half of the map. "You see how close we are to the edge of the wood, not even a day's journey from the border."

"So I should go that way?" Keren asked, trying not to be dismayed at the amount of land she had to cover.

"It would seem so, but the land east of the forest is not inhabited other than Esgaroth, and it is pointless you going there as you cannot use the river." He dismissed the River Running with a long finger. "You may perhaps find less people along that route, but that means less chance of shelter and food, and it may well be winter by the time you reach the southern reaches of the forest."

She nodded. "So I should head west, back along the path we took?"

"I think, though you may potentially meet the spiders, it will on the whole serve you better, as then you will be on the right side of the wood. And that way you would have some form of protection up to the Enchanted River, for our people would not see you come to harm. You'd then turn south and skirt the edge of the forest, through the lands of the skin-changers and the woodmen. They are both wild folk, but not cruel, and you may find they can help you."

"Skin-changers," Keren said flatly.

"Men that become bears," the map-maker spoke up. "Or bears that become men. Either way, if you do not incur their wrath they are at least not willing to do harm. They allow folk to travel through their lands without check, unless they are there to make mischief."

"And the woodmen?"

"They dwell in the outskirts of the western parts of the forest, a secretive people, though often venturing to the Great River for fish and water. With the fall of Evil our King has granted them and the skin-changers lands in the forest, from the mountains to the narrows."

"The narrows?"

"See here, where the forest is at its thinnest, where the bight is in the east." The map-maker showed her. "All forest lands south of that now belong to the Lord of the Golden Wood, though I cannot say that all evil has yet left them."

"You must stock up on food and water in the friendlier lands. Once you pass the narrows your road becomes wilder," said Legolas. "There are no more settlements of people that side of the river until you reach Gondor, far to the south. If luck is with you you may come across the elves that have started to colonise the southern reaches of the forest, but other than that there is only desolation."

He could not stop his voice from cracking with worry.

"I'll be alright," she tried to say, but it came out as a very unconfident mumble. The map-maker looked at them with pity, whilst Legolas gathered himself.

"Follow the river south through the Brown Lands until you reach the Drear Hills," he went on, showing the route on the map with his finger. "They are a maze of blank rock, but keep an eye on the sun whilst travelling through them, like we've been teaching you, and you should not stray too far off course. You want to head steadily south-east - that should lead you to the one path that lies between the Nindalf and the Dead Marshes. You must stay on that road. Stray too far to east or west and you will become lost. The Nindalf has no paths, and the Dead Marshes too many. You cannot go through them. They are haunted and dark, and you will fall to your doom unless you know the way."

"I know," Keren whispered. She had heard the tale of Frodo and Sam's journey, she knew what lurked beneath the poisoned waters.

"That will be the darkest and hardest part of your journey," Legolas said. "The marsh road is where you are most likely to meet… unfriendly folk. But once you clear it, you will be in Ithilien, and you can find food and water, and sheltered places to rest. And Cormallen will be close." He tried to smile.

She took his hand, and tried not to cry.

The last day of her training dawned, and it was a success. She had returned alone from the forest, the skinned body of a young deer across her shoulders, that she had brought down. She had tracked it, stalked it, then shot it - one arrow to bring it down, one to speed its passing. She had remained out of sight as she watched it die - hardening her heart against the tears that threatened swiftly - then, with her healer's hands and mind, skinned it easily and thoroughly. Her hands were thick with its blood, and smears of it were on her face, when she returned to the halls. The pelt went to the tanners for leather. The carcass she gave to the kitchens, where she would go later to learn how to prepare it, to dry and make it last days. Never in her life had she had to cook for herself, and she was ashamed to realise it.

Legolas had looked at her grimly when she walked past him with a look of disturbed pride, the quiver across her back, her clothes stained with dark blood. She smelt of death.

"Clean your arrows," he said. "Always clean your weapons as soon as you can after bloodshed." She nodded.

Behind the halls, up a narrow, wooded path that wound steeply up the northern side of the valley, there was a pool that was fed by a lively tributary of the Forest River, before it tumbled over into a tall thin waterfall. It was a place Keren had got to know well in her time in the forest. No one ever seemed to go there, though once she had crossed paths with two elves strolling back, hand in hand, eyes bright and love shining from their faces. An openly secret place, she had realised, if it was safe for lovers to go there and not risk being disturbed, a silent agreement that if you saw someone head up that path you would not follow. It became a place she found her feet going to when she needed to sit with her thoughts, away from elves, away from the reality of her situation. Eyes always watched her like a hawk, waiting to see if she would find a way to run to Legolas, but the two female elves who had been tasked with watching her soon realised she dared not, for she was growing more and more fearful of Thranduil's apparent madness. They now allowed her to go to the pool with no questions, and with a sympathetic smile. But she felt they would watch the path nevertheless, for any sign of Legolas following her.

She went there to clean the arrows, her clothes, and herself. She was waited upon within the halls, never washing her clothes herself, bathing in luxury. Now she faced many months travelling alone she wanted to know how it felt - to use cold, spring water, rather than hot fragranced bathwater to clean her skin and her clothes - to see if she could make it a pleasure rather than a task. She had to believe that she could have some respite on her journey after all.

She started with the arrows. The walk had been enough to clear her head of what she had just done. She sent a prayer of gratitude to the deer as she stooped beside the water, something she had never thought to do in all her years of eating the flesh of animals. Somehow it was different when her hand dealt the blow. Death for life. She knew she would kill again before journey's end.

Once the heads were shining silver again, and the shafts were at least only lightly stained, she dried them roughly with her skirts, then laid them in the sun. It was the end of August, and the Elvish summer had just started making way for their autumn, though the leaf-fall of Fading was months off yet. The days were still warm and long. Keren knew it would not be like this for most of her journey, and she revelled in the feel of the hot sun on her skin as she started removing her hunting gear, light and practical. Casting a look round to make sure no-one had followed her, she crouched beside the water in only her shift. She grabbed a nearby stone and began scrubbing the fabric under the shallow water, finding it satisfying seeing the blood float off and away downstream. It was warm work, despite the coolness of the water, and sweat began to drip down her face. She would remain in the waters of the pool until her clothes had dried enough in the sun, she decided. There were still enough hours of the day left, although she would have to ensure she made it back for the awkward hour after sunset that involved a meal with Thranduil and Legolas, all three of them sitting in silence.

When all her outer garments were washed and laid out to dry she gave another look around the glade and along the path. No-one. Taking a deep breath she slipped the shift off and hastily waded out into the depths of the pool. She wasn't entirely sure of the elven attitude to nakedness outside the bathroom and the bedchamber, but she didn't want to unexpectedly find out.

Crouching slightly she was able to immerse her whole body in the water, and several times she ducked completely under to wet her face and hair. It was not, would never be a bath, but she told herself after weeks on the road that even finding a cool stream to wash her face in would feel like bliss. She just hoped there would be places along the way where she could safely stop for cleanliness. And food. And sleep.

But she couldn't allow such thoughts to intrude now. She felt her limbs relax as she gently moved about, swirling her arms, laying her head back, enjoying the feel of the cold water and the hot sun. It was not really deep enough to swim or even lift both her legs off the bottom, but just swirling about felt good enough. She always kept half an eye on her surroundings, just in case, but she heard no footfall, saw no trace of another soul.

Finally convinced that she was not going to be interrupted, after a while of lazily splashing and paddling about, she stood, the water at her waist, and set to washing herself properly, as best she could. Removing the blood was all she cared about, was all she knew she could do without proper soap, so she scrubbed at her hands, forearms, neck and chest, where it had hit her skin directly as she had made the first cut, hot and sticky. She ducked under again, and stayed under, feeling strange. When she surfaced again, she would have to be different - she knew it somehow. Here she was, Keren from Minas Tirith, covered in the blood of a wild deer she had killed, with cuts and bruises on her skin, and callouses forming on her hands, bathing naked in an elven pool in the far north of the world, about to set out on a journey that would probably end her life. When she came out of the water she would need to be ready, need to accept who she had become. Was this who Ciraen was?

Beneath the surface she scrubbed at her face and hair, stayed under as long as she could until her lungs began to burn. Then with a gasp she emerged from the water, the air feeling cold now on her skin. She rubbed at her eyes, opened them, looked up at the sun shining through the bright green leaves. She felt the water trickle down her back, drip off the ends of her hair, long and dark and heavy. She felt heavy. She had to leave this place, in two days. Already some of her things were packed, already her map had markings, scribbles, drawings, put there by Legolas and others. But was she ready? Who was ever truly ready for such a journey?

She sighed and turned to wade back out to her things.

Except when she turned she saw there was a person waiting for her beside a tree on the bank.

Three thoughts went through her head whilst they stared at each other. One, how had she not heard him? Two, how long had he been there? Three, this was definitely breaking the agreement.

Then suddenly she realised the water and her hair barely covered her nakedness, and she crouched swiftly, water up to her neck once more. She could cry, she could laugh, she could shout, all at once, at the realisation that they were alone together. This was madness. This was dangerous. This was joy.

"What are you doing?!" she half-shouted, half-whispered from the centre of the pool. "Did you follow me?"

Legolas took a long time to answer, during which she felt deliciously conscious of her nudity beneath the cool water. Finally he nodded.

"How were you not seen? Tríwath and Lumorn, they would have been watching the path."

"I was seen," he said hoarsely. "But they are good friends of mine, they - they understand. I have their word they will not betray me. They have told me you do not smile anymore. It - it broke me. They let me go. No one will come here."

"But it is such a risk for them." Keren could not believe it.

"My father would not harm his own people," Legolas replied. "Though he will not know about this, they have sworn. I needed to see you, needed to touch you one last time."

"Don't speak as if I am going to die tomorrow," she said as firmly as she could, though it just came out sad. He could not reply.

She assessed the situation, and realised there was one thing that was dominating her thoughts. She took a breath, a little nervous.

"Join me?" she said, and it was the first time she had smiled in days.

He smiled too, and looked down, shaking his head slightly.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"Just in time to see you disappear under the water and not resurface for what felt like hours. I was about to run in and save you from a watery grave."

His face turned from good humoured to serious.

"For a moment I thought you were… That you had grown so unhappy that you were trying to…"

She grew still in the water.

"Never, my love. You know I would never think of doing that."

She could visibly see the tension leave his body.

"But then I saw you break the surface, and I saw you… well I - I saw you…"

She could not hold in her laughter at his unexpected shyness. She was inexplicably happy, to have been caught bathing by him. She felt light now, and mischievous, and powerful.

"I need to come out and get into my shift, at least," she said.

He nodded. "I will turn my back."

"No," she said quickly, too loudly. His eyes snapped to hers. She shook her head, and spoke more softly. "No, don't do that. I… I don't want you to do that."

She saw his throat bob as he swallowed. "Keren. We must… I can't…"

"Can't what? Can't even look at me? Greenleaf, you've lain beside me for more nights than I can keep count of, and you've held me, and kissed me, but no more. And I know why, and I know we must hold to that. But it was supposed to be for a year from our betrothal, and your…" - did she dare? - "your stupid father" - she dared - "is making us wait even longer, until the end of a journey I might not even survive. So we may never…" She wanted to sob with frustration. "I just want another moment like that time after the spiders, when it's not all politeness and - and rules, and we can just listen to our bodies and our hearts and - "

"Keren, stop," he said firmly, and she blinked in surprise. She had not been trying to tease him, was not prepared for his anger. "Come out, then."

She had not been expecting that. "Wh - what?"

"I want that too," he said, defiant. "Of course I do, don't ever think I do not. Every night I dream of it. Every night that I lay beside you I was tempted. Your body is an image that - that has burned its way into my mind. So. Make it real."

He suddenly stopped as he realised how angry he sounded. His voice was far gentler as he went on.

"Will you show yourself to me?"

Now she really was nervous. "But - but you said - "

"We both know we cannot lie together now," he said. "Not until you are at the end of your long road, and even then not until we have done all the formalities, said the words, worn the rings. If we do we forfeit everything, our whole future together. But you can come to me now, and stand before me, and I will have a memory that will stay with me until I can be with you again. Until we can finally, truly, be wed. I am done with trying not to think of bedding you."

He meant it, she realised. She was as tense with nerves as she was with desire. But oh, how she wanted him.

"Alright," she said quietly, and she slowly stood to her full height, the water at her navel, and held his gaze.

She took a step, then another, feeling the water get lower each time, and she was far more out of breath than she should have been, just walking. But his eyes reassured her. She could tell he knew she was nervous, and she loved him perhaps the most she ever had at that moment, for keeping his eyes gentle and patient, locked with hers, though she knew now she was fully naked before him. She could tell his body was taught as a bowstring, and she wanted nothing more than to sprint to him, awkwardly through the water, ungainly, slipping and sliding up the bank, and pin him up against the nearest tree. Let them be married now, what was the worst thing that could happen?

But somehow she managed to control herself. She didn't quite know where to put her arms, her hands, she seemed to have forgotten how to just stand.

He took a few steps so that he was on the very edge of the water, and held out his hand. She felt a thrill as she saw it was trembling slightly. Did she really have that effect on him? She took it, and she felt the warmth, the callouses, the real-ness of his touch.

"The first time you took my hand this way," he said, "was the night I bonded with you. You took it, and you spoke my language, and you understood me, and I had my proof you were a friend of my people." He smiled at the memory.

"And I thought it was strange," she replied, "how your hand looked so perfect, and yet when I touched it it felt human, rough and calloused and… I liked it." She smiled crookedly.

He gently pulled her up to him, and she stood before him, still only touching hands.

"You were starting to feel it even then, the bond," he said quietly. "As soon as it had happened to me, you noticed it. I am curious. When did you… Before it truly awakened within you… what did you feel for me?"

They had never spoken of this before.

She allowed herself to take a tiny step forwards, so that the knuckles of his hand brushed the skin between waist and hip. She had the pleasure of seeing his eyes flare ever so slightly. She was enjoying this, the gentle talking, whilst the space between them grew smaller, slowly, achingly so. The promise of what may yet come.

"In the caves of Helm's Deep was the first time I truly felt it, when I realised I felt different being alone with you than with anyone else. I just did not know what it was, then. But in Lórien, that was when I started… well, when I stopped trying to fool myself that you were not filling my thoughts, that from our very first meeting I had unwittingly held you in my mind as a testament to what beauty is." She let out a chuckle as she finally admitted it, to him and to herself.

She took another step closer, and his hand left hers. She shivered as gentle fingers stroked her from hip to shoulder, coming to rest to gather a strand of her hair. "The night we danced together in Lórien was one of the happiest of my life," she went on, "until I thought it would all have to end, for how could our friendship survive me falling in love with you? Little did I know that you… although I could have kissed you, the night upon Amon Hen, and I know you would have kissed me back," - she watched him raise his eyebrows in surprise as she teased him - "though I thought you were just… I don't know, curious I suppose."

He chuckled in the back of his throat, and slowly brushed her wet hair back over her shoulders, so that there was nothing between her bare skin and his fingers. He lightly traced her collarbone.

"I am curious to kiss you now," he said with a smile, and finally took his gaze down, and she felt the warmth of his eyes as they travelled the length of her body for the first time.

"I want you to," she said, and she took the last step. Suddenly she was lost in his arms, and their lips met, and the feeling of her naked breasts against his chest made her moan in the back of her throat. The sound seemed to spur him immediately, for he kissed her harder, and knelt and took her with him until she lay on the soft grass beside him. Everything was moving much faster than she had anticipated - the feel of his lips suddenly at her neck made her realise that if this went much further she would not be able to stop, and she tried to push him away, but found she wasn't even trying.

"Stop," she whispered. "Stop, I shouldn't have… We would ruin… We would risk so much, after all we… On your father's lands. We - we can't." But her voice sounded feeble even to her, for his fingers were sliding over her skin and distracting her from being able to form proper sentences.

"We won't," he said gently, and stopped, looking at her. "I won't. You have my word. You will leave these lands a maid still, and when your journey is ended we will have our night of bliss in Ithilien by the falls, as I promised you. But I want to give you - "

He was about to say something incredibly loving and tender, she was sure, but she threw her head back and laughed.

"Your word is enough for me, foolish elf. I trust you with my life, of course I trust you with my body. It's whether I'll be able to control myself, that's what I'm worried about. Honestly, isn't that obvious?"

The look he gave her was measured at first, then he saw she meant it, and a light grew in his eye, and the wolfish smile he gave her would stay with her for a long time.

"Oh, you don't need to control yourself."

She gasped as he pulled her beneath him and kissed her hard. For the first time, after more than a year of imagining it, she felt his hand briefly stroke between her legs, and she heard herself make another, much louder, cry, which was silenced by his kiss. The small amount of coherence she had left felt mischievous, curious, and she reached up to stroke the pointed tip of one of his ears, something she'd never done before. She got a sharp intake of breath and a bite on her lip in response, and decided that was a good thing, before all coherent thought left her.

They lay together, in the light of the setting sun, restful and quiet. They had not broken any vow made to anyone, and they were most definitely not married, although Keren felt they were as good as. She smiled to herself, for now they had a secret. She was not yet returned to her body enough to process just how dangerous the secret was, how close they had come to undoing everything. But they were safe, they had friends here, no-one else would ever know they had shared this moment together. It would shine golden in her memory, until the time came when they could lie together fully.

There was just the small matter of a near-impossible journey to face first.

"Legolas," she said gently, too lazy, too happy, for Sindarin. He was lying with his eyes closed, a rarity for him, one arm behind his head, the other gently playing through Keren's dark hair that fell across his chest. She propped herself up on one elbow. "Do you promise you will be waiting for me, at the oak tree?"

He looked at her solemnly, his fingers still stroking her hair that now fell down in a messy sheet.

"I promise you. I will be sat beneath its boughs, and my feet will be bare, and I will be singing, as I was when we met there."

"But what if I never make it?"

He was silent, for he could not face that thought.

"We have to accept that I might not," she whispered.

"I will send a prayer to the Valar, every waking hour, to keep you safe. I will ask Elbereth to watch over you, to guide your steps home."

She smiled. "Home."

She leant and kissed him gently.

"The sun is almost set," she said reluctantly as she noticed for the first time how late in the day it had grown. "It will soon be time for supper with your father."

"My favourite time of day," he said drily.

"We must go before he guesses anything is amiss. You go first, I will follow far behind, it is far more likely I would be delayed due to… I don't know, a training mishap." She tried to chuckle, but couldn't.

He sat, kissing her again. Both knew that from now on there would be no more chances like this, not even to talk alone. Even their final goodbye would be in front of others.

"I love you," he said simply.

"This is our real goodbye, isn't it?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"It is farewell. I said it to you before, long ago. Fare thee well, and may thy paths be green. We did not know if we would meet again then, but we did."

She smiled through the tears that had formed. "I remember."

"And now may you find your way back to me, and may we meet again beneath the oak tree where I said those words to thee."

The words were more formal than either had used to each other for a long time, and sombre, and full of love.

They kissed, one last time.

"Until Cormallen," she whispered.

"Until then."

The next day dawned, and when she woke she saw mens clothes laid out in her chamber. She smiled for a moment, thinking they were Legolas's, and he was there somewhere, and all was well, and they were allowed to be together after all. But she checked at their size, held them up in front of her. They were for her.

A gentle knock on the door sounded.

"Come in," she said, marvelling at the fabrics, beautiful yet hardy, light but thick. They were an exact match of Legolas's travelling gear, she realised, down to the boots, and the belt for knives and quiver.

"Oh, good," Tríwath said as she walked in. "You like them." She had seen Keren's appreciative eye. "They will serve you well on the road, though try and take care of them. Put them on, see how they feel to move in. There is still time for adjustments."

But of course none were needed, for they were of Elvish make. Keren practised some stances and reaches. They fit perfectly, moved with her, like a second skin.

"And here." Tríwath unfolded the fabric draped over her arm. Keren knew it on sight.

"That's a Lórien cloak," she said, for she recognised the strange fabric, the leaf buckle at the throat.

"It is Legolas's Lórien cloak." Tríwath smiled. "His gift to you. It will keep you hidden, warm and dry as it did him, on his travels with the Ringbearer."

She smiled, and for a minute went blank, just the mention of his name taking her back to the night before. She shook the delicious memory away, and donned the cloak too, and stood in front of the mirror.

"I look…"

"…like an elf?" The elf behind her smiled again.

"I was going to say like a man," Keren admitted, for her hair was still tucked into the cloak. "But perhaps that is no bad thing. In fact… will you cut my hair?"

Tríwath looked at her solemnly for a moment. "You are sure?"

Keren wasn't, but she knew it made sense.

"My hair gives me away," she said. "I'm flat-chested enough for the disguise to work, and I know I'd be safer travelling if strangers thought me a man rather than a young woman."

"A sad fact, but true," the elf conceded. "I am happy to do as you bid me."

Keren waited nervously. She curled the ends in her hand, a parting, and so Tríwath found her when she returned.

The elf set to work, quietly, which Keren silently thanked her for. She found it hard to watch as the shape of her face changed - the jaw becoming more prominent, the chin sharper, the nose larger - for no longer were they framed by her long dark hair. When it was done she stood and assessed herself.

"Perhaps not a man," Tríwath conceded, "but people passing who only see what they expect to see… they will see a boy of sixteen summers or so. This is good."

Keren nodded. From the mirror a stranger nodded back. Tomorrow the stranger was to leave.

Author note: Oh god this is really happening my baby I don't want her to gooooo. Oh and yes I know sensitive pointy ears are a cliched and overdone trope but so are love scenes involving Legolas ;) so I figured I'd go all in.