A/N: When we left Arnen she had just gotten her memory back; what an extensive memory it was. It turns out that she is a Maia, and that she and Gandalf were the best of friends before he was sent to Middle-Earth.

Family

Legolas took his place at the rear as the Fellowship started their journey again. He could feel the oppression of the stone walls at either side of his body. Reaching out, his calloused fingers traveled over their rough surface, unrelenting at his touch. The sensation sent a deep longing through his being. He longed for light and fresh air and trees. Though for most of his life he had lived in the underground palace of his father, the prince had always had a balance of wood and stone. Now the only oak it seemed he'd ever encounter again would be a petrified column.

The melancholy elf tripped over unseen rubble. Silently, he tumbled, holding in a grunt of shock, closing his eyes against the dust that rose, hoping that Merry would move so he could stand without knocking the hobbit over. Legolas heard a scuffle of feet as he ended the tumble by gracefully standing. Upon opening his eyes he saw Arnen before him.

"Are you well?" the woman whispered faintly, knowing he would hear her. Meanwhile, she tried her best to look him over in the dark of the mines.

He smiled at her attempts. "I swear to you that I shall surely live."

She glared at him icily. Dropping the hand that she was examining for any cuts, Arnen walked toward the rest of the group that was moving slowly so the two of them would not be left behind. She did not appreciate his trifling with her when she was genuinely concerned. Next time, she would remember the fact that the elf thought himself so invincible.

A pair of hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her to a halt. Arnen huffed and tried to pull free, but they held firmly. Turning around she looked at Legolas in frustration. She could just barely make out his features, but it was evident that a smile was spread across his face. Her hands clutched into fists of irritation, but before she could knock the elf in his jaw – regardless of the possibility that he would shake it off and laugh, unhurt – he took her fingers into his hands.

Arnen's annoyance was quickly replaced by a feeling of awkwardness. The ranger fidgeted and looked down at her fingers that were being so gently held by her friend. His touch reminded her of something – a memory that seemed so distant – and she did not like the way it made her feel.

"We must not be left behind by the others," she mumbled.

"Arnen," his voice was as warm as his fingers, "are you well? When I found you, you seemed to be in some sort of delirium. I was not sure if…are you…I am sorry."

Arnen was so preoccupied by his hands that she did not hear him. She asked him with an uncomfortable stammer what he'd said.

"I said that I am sorry."

She chuckled. "Why are you apologizing? Unless you dumped me in that spot and abandoned me – which I know for a fact that you did not – there is no reason for you to feel sorry."

"I did not notice that you were gone. I was awake and I did not even hear you leave. If I had paid more attention, you would not have been placed in danger. I – "

"Legolas," Arnen sighed in exasperation, "There will be many occasions to say 'if only' on this journey. But, if we continue to say it, mellon, we will soon find ourselves unable to look to the future. Then, we will say 'if only I had not dwelt on the past'. What fools we are if we continue to utter those poisonous words: if only."

The prince looked on her with grateful eyes. Arnen smiled at him while she slowly pulled her fingers from his grasp. Through her speech of sorts she had only concentrated on being rid of the peculiar knot in her stomach.

"Then, you forgive me?"

"Gimli is right in asking, 'How can you claim to be an Elf when your people are known for their wisdom?'" Arnen slapped Legolas on the back and walked towards the rest of the group, chuckling once more. Legolas jogged after her. The prince clamped his hand over her mouth and began to tickle her mercilessly. Arnen convulsed with laughter, giggles muted by the firm hand, trying to escape his skilled fingers, tears of mirth spilling down her cheeks.

When he felt that she had enough punishment for her jokes, Legolas released her then strode ahead to follow the rest of the Fellowship. His rumpled female companion soon caught up with him.

"I thought you are not ticklish," he said without glancing at her.

"I am not."

"So back there you just happened to be suddenly seized with laughter, unable to control yourself until I went ahead."

"You were not fair. Somehow you found every spot. Only Aragorn and Halbarad are able to do that."
"I have a younger sister to thank for years of practice."

"You have a sister," Arnen asked in surprise. She thought Legolas was his father's sole child.

"I have two, in fact. One is my elder, Eruanna (grace). My younger sister is Calimetaure (bright wood)."

"Are there any brothers I should know about?" she chastised gently.

"Do not use that tone with me, Arnen. You never asked me of my family or my life. It is I who should be reprimanding you. A true friend would have inquired sooner."

The woman felt ashamed and said so quietly. Legolas had mercy on her.

"No harm is done to our friendship for your small fault," he said teasingly; "But, to answer your question, I have one elder brother. He is Cenyondo ('see, a son')."

"You are not the heir?"

"Would it make sense for me to be here, in danger of dying at any moment, if I were?"

Seeing that what he said was reasonable she went on, "Then, tell me about your family."

And so Legolas began to acquaint Arnen with his life. He described to her each of his family members so well that she could see them in her mind. She could picture his father's blond hair and piercing, grey eyes. King Thranduil's frame was solid, with evident strength; unlike Legolas's lithe build that belied his power.

Cenyondo was clear to her. His hair was dark and his orbs were a misty grey. By the stories Legolas told her – and the ones he was on the verge of telling her but then thought better of it – the brothers were close and caused much havoc for the king when they were elflings.

Eruanna was the complete opposite of the two. She was levelheaded and wise, like her father. Her eyes were the hue of a clean river and her hair the shade of twilight. What endeared her most to Legolas was that she would exonerate him most of the occasions he found himself in trouble.

The youngest, Calimetaure, was Legolas's favorite sibling. She was full of light and energy, piercing through the darkness of the years. Her hair was blonde and her irises a stormy grey. The elfling was the laughter and the joy of the kingdom.

When Legolas mentioned his mother, Arnen could almost see the lights in his eyes. She was the one who would concoct wild adventures for them as children and encouraged them to explore Mirkwood as they grew. A free spirit, she would often sneak from the city without an escort, riding through the wood, killing spiders, drawing the poison from their bellies to make an antidote for their sting and bite, finding new paradises untouched by the shadows of evil, learning more about the forest she trekked through as a youth. Her skin was fair, her locks dark, and her eyes sweet.

"You love her very much," Arnen whispered. Her voice was choked with tears of shame for she had not thought of Gilraen. Though she knew now that she never had a mother, the woman was her caretaker, and the pain that Arnen felt for her passing was still very real.

Legolas rested his hand on her head gently and stroked her hair.

"You will see her again. One day."

Arnen appreciated his kindness even though he was ignorant of the fact that where the dead of Men stay, the Maiar can not go. Arnen would not see Gilraen again until the history made by the Song of the Ainur reaches its end.