~ The Gardens of Rivendell ~

Aerlaer sat in front of the dresser gazing at her reflection in the pale dawn light, absentmindedly running her fingers through her hair. She picked out the different colours in its lengths; golds, chocolates, honeys, creams, chestnuts, dark browns and auburns. Most Elves had hair a single colour, but not her. Aerthor's hair had been the same, like their father's and his father before him. A mark of their bloodline, different colours of falling autumn leaves. Now she was the only one who carried that bloodline.

The thought rested heavily on her mind. Since she had awoken in Imladris the morning before, Aerlaer had remained in the family guest halls, her cousins dropping in when they could to keep her company.

Elladan had remained by her side during the night, and they had shared stories and past pranks between his twin and her own. She had thought speaking of her lost family would have bitterly hurt, but it helped. Her cousins too had lost their mother, and Aragorn had lost his father, followed by his mother when he was but a young child. The Ranger had dropped by alone the previous evening, and they had spoken. It was yet another reminder her own family were now safe in the West. One day, she would see them again. Not even the Eldar knew the fates of the souls of man; Aragorn might never see his own blood family again.

The pain would ease. Elladan had gently told her that as she had awoken from haunting dreams in the early hours of the morning. It would become easier, she believed him. She'd known pain before and it had slowly gone away. She could bear it.

Overnight Aerlaer had decided she would take Aerthor's place for certain at the council. Elladan had hinted it was a council to discus the fate of Middle Earth, and a way to defeat the darkness. This news gave Aerlaer hope and maybe even a purpose. Whether it be in Imladris, Lothlórien or with the Dunedin Rangers of the North; with all the strength and skill she possessed, Aerlaer would help keep the darkness of the enemy from consuming all of Middle Earth.

Standing to turn from the large mirror, she moved to the window, gazing towards the trees and large gardens which were bathed in golden light as the morning sun rose higher into the bluing sky. A longing to be out there, with the breeze lifting through her hair, and cool damp earth beneath her feet, swept through her. She was healed, lifeforce restored, and her soul desired to run. Shaking out her mane of hair in anticipation, Aerlaer swept from her chamber, hoping no one would catch her sneaking off.

Barely four steps out of the hall, her gaze found Aragorn's. Internally she groaned, he worried far too much whenever something happened to her, or anyone he cared about. Considering the majority of those he worried for were healers, it was quite silly in her opinion.

"Aerlaer?" She paused and threw on a bright smile.

"Greetings." She murmured, noticing how he gazed at her with slight worry. "Estel I am fine." She berated him lightly. He nodded, although his brows were still creased.

"You will still attend the council?"

"Yes, I think I will head into the garden woods for a light run first."

"Do not be late." He chuckled, seeming to believe all was well with her, or at least knowing not to dredge up memories she was trying to push away.

"Perhaps save me a seat?" She grinned at him and he nodded, his gaze shifting left to where Aerlaer caught sight of, no? A Dwarf? She hadn't seen Dwarves in Imladris since Thorin's company had passed through some decades earlier.

"And no annoying the Dwarves." He added, and her grin only widened.

"I cannot promise anything." She snickered and before he could say another word, she shifted and leapt away.

…

The gardens of Imladris had always fascinated Legolas. They were such a contrast to those he had grown up around, which were native to the Greenwood and Doriath. No, these stretched across acres in a flatter part of the Hidden Valley, and every plant imaginable had been cultivated and grown under Lord Elrond's watchful eyes and nurturing hands. It was truly awe-inspiring, especially with the early morning dew clinging to the plants and newly spun, small spider webs. Like perfect little crystals.

He wandered aimlessly along the paths, boots brushing through dew-clad grass, every now and then tracing his hands along the trunk of a tree and feeling the tingling sensation on his fingers of its lifeforce. Some he silently greeted, others he left to awaken to the new day. As the sun rose, blossoms unfurled, turning their bright hearts to bask beneath the warm light.

Movement to his right, pulled Legolas's attention from the refracting droplets upon a weaving spider's web, and to the densely wooded part of the gardens. A flash of creamy white was moving through the trees. He knew many creatures lived in the garden and in the meadow beyond, horses usually grazed. He could faintly hear hoof beats upon the soft ground and frowned.

The elleth he had found and brought to Imladris two days earlier, where had her horse been? It was not in sight when I arrived, but I heard it and so did Niphredil. That afternoon had been quite a blur in hindsight. Upon calling for aid as he'd galloped over the bridge into the valley, he had been intercepted by Elladan. Upon seeing the elleth his friend had cried out in utter anguish and then Glorfindel was there too, his expression holding the same level of pain as Elladan's had. It had been the Balrog Slayer who had taken the dying elleth from him, as if she were precious to he alone, and raced away towards the Healing Houses.

Later he had learned from Lindir, the elleth was a cousin of the House of Elrond. With her dire condition and the entire realm being host to an assortment of races from across the lands, Legolas had been left to his own devices. Unsure what to do, he had tended his mare, unpacked his belongings, tidied himself up after many long hours journeying and then found himself sitting on a bench near the entrance to the Healing Houses.

To his surprise hours later, Lord Elrond had rushed out acting most unlike himself, and pulled Legolas into a very uncharacteristic embrace, thanking him profusely before hurrying back into the Healing House. With the reassuring knowledge the elleth would live, he had made his way quietly to the Hall of Fire.

Presently he felt he was being watched and turned toward the feeling of eyes on him. In the long meadow of wild flowers ahead, a horse gazed back at him; ears pricked, twitching back and forth curiously. He was stunned; the horse had a creamy white body, but instead of having a lighter mane and tail or a black mane and tail, it was a cascade of colour akin to autumn leaves. The horse suddenly flicked her long tail and lifted her head up to the side as if to say; Yes I can see you looking at me.

Legolas was sure she was not one of the Meara. But, what is she? He'd always had a good eye for good horses, and he appreciated the build of the one before him. Long, clean limbs and a straight back. Well sloped, strong shoulder, and a strong chest; not too narrow not too wide. This horse was exquisitely put together. Her head started with two dainty, pointed ears which were turned towards him. An expressive, slightly dished face with intelligent, strangely deep blue eyes tapered to a soft muzzle and delicate nostrils he suspected would flair if she were angered or crossed.

She shook her mane and looked at him again. What, have you not seen a horse before? A smile crept up on him at what the she seemed to be conveying by the way she gazed back at him. No, he was quite sure he hadn't seen a horse like her before.

…

Aerlaer knew full well no other horse in Middle Earth looked like her. She was likened to the Meara to those who did not know what she was, but even Meara, although her great decedents gained their horse attributes from them, did not have her unique colours of a body paler than mane and tail but, not a true buckskin. Nor did they have the tell-tale colours of her mane and tail, which only a small few recognised for what they signified.

The Elf watching her clearly had no idea and it amused her to no end. She had spied him earlier as she'd revelled in the freedom of running through the garden woods. Deciding she had run enough, she'd wanted to play a game with this Elf, who was clearly watching her through the trees. Swiftly, she'd trotted, hidden by the woods, and entered the meadow from the side. She'd quietly walked through the long wildflowers and grasses; watching amused as the Elf had continued to look intently into the trees she had just been in.

Aerlaer waited and soon enough, he must have realised he was being watched and he'd turned toward her with a look of open surprise. She'd swished her tail in humour and thrown her head up to see if he would come closer, letting him know she was aware he was there, watching her.

To her surprise he did not approach Usually people, Elves, Men or Dwarves couldn't resist approaching a free roaming horse and usually when they unknowingly tried to approach her, she'd have fun with them; leading them on a merry dance of chase as they tried to catch her. All thoughts of playing games through the gardens now left her thoughts and Aerlaer looked properly at the Elf, trying to figure him out.

He was tall, weapon-less but clearly used to fighting from his stance and the way he held his arms. He wore soft looking leather boots, trousers and a long fitting tunic in a light, silvery green. His hair was a pale blonde and pulled back softly off his face with a braid down the middle and the rest flowed freely resting just below where she imagined the bottom of his shoulder blades were. His face was honest and like all Elves, fair. Yet his features were finer than other male Elves she had seen or knew of, with well angled cheek and jaw bones. Curiously, for they were rare among Elves, his eyes were a deep brown Thy were full of life and wisdom, but he looked young like her. She picked him to be maybe close to her own age of Seven-hundred and thirty, giving or taking a few hundred years.

Aerlaer shook her mane out, starting to feel a bit picked apart by the gaze of this Elf, and then she realised he had begun to turn away and walk back the way he'd come. She watched him walk a few meters and then unthinkingly started to follow. It took her six curious steps in his direction before she abruptly stopped, shaking her head in annoyance. Aerlaer had very nearly fallen for the oldest trick in horse lore. Slightly disgusted in herself, she turned and galloped back into the meadow.

…

Legolas did not want to bother the intriguing horse, knowing she would likely flee if he tried to approach. So, instead he turned back towards the halls of Rivendell. He listened carefully as he walked away and was rewarded with the softly muffled sound of her following him. He kept walking and then quite suddenly the near silent footfalls ceased before he heard the swifter, louder four-beat pattern of the horse galloping away. He'd secretly hoped perhaps she would follow him, but there had been a wildness to her and he expected she belonged to no one.

Chancing such an encounter had been enough, as it always was when any wild creature ventured curiously forth to establish some type of contact with him. With a contented smile playing on his lips, he made his way back to the guest halls for the morning meal, and to attend Lord Elrond's council.