I can't even believe how long it's been! A couple years? Crazy. I know most of you gave up on this story. I half did myself. But I really would like to finish it. I don't know how fast updates will come, as I am in college right now and life is busy, but I will try to get at least one a month out. If you are still reading this story, bless you. And I hope you enjoy this chapter. Took me a while to get my head back into the story!

Disclaimer: Tolkien's genius. Anariel is mine.

Chapter Eight

The night crept in on stealthy feet, whispering through the pines on the ridge above Imladris, descending on the quiet valley. As the night deepened, light sprang to life in Lord Elrond's halls and music spilled through the golden courts.

Anariel sat on her window seat, staring out into the deepening darkness, away from her room and the thought of preparing for the feast that evening. It would be the first time she would meet and be introduced to the members of the Fellowship – at least in her new role as an addition to their party. After she made her decision, she felt a profound sense of peace and rightness. This was what she was supposed to do. That didn't keep her from worrying or keep the fears from preying on her, but it did help her to fend them off and to stay strong. She sighed – if only her archery skills weren't so lacking. She had made a regular fool of herself at practice that afternoon and the smirk on Glorfindel's face had much wounded her pride. But, at least she could hold her own against him in a sparring match - for about five minutes. Which was longer than any other elleth in Rivendell! She smiled softly and rolled her neck, wincing when the sore muscles protested. She was black and blue all over. Glorfindel did not hold back, even when sparring with a mortal woman who had not lifted a sword in years and whose head barely reaching his armpits. She could have healed herself, at the cost of maybe a small headache. But she was training herself in more than just swordplay. When they left Rivendell, she could not afford to sped her energy on paltry things such as sore muscles. In her solitude, she would heal herself of a paper cut or a pulled muscle, but her abilities were no longer her own.

"That's what you wanted, Anariel!" A voice inside whispered. "Remember! Remember…"

Guilt gnawed at her insides, but she pushed it away. She didn't want to remember right now. Now, she wanted to see the Fellowship's faces when she was introduced. She turned away from the night outside her window and moved to ready herself for the feast.

The hall was bright, alive. Elf lords and ladies mingled in groups like exotic, glittering birds. Vibrant colors, silver voices, tinkling laughter and gentle music – Anariel felt like a stranger in the midst of her old life. She had never felt more mortal than in the instant she stepped into that swirling kaleidoscope of beauty and liveliness. She had felt quite pleased with herself when she left her room. She wore a long, form-fitting gown of forest green that flared out at her hips to fall to the floor in soft folds. The color suited her pale skin, though it did accentuate the freckles that had appeared on the bridge of her nose since sparring in the sun that afternoon. She'd let her hair loose of its binding, allowing it to flow in free waves down her back. Now, she wasn't confident at all. Scanning the hall, she knew that the only reason anyone would look twice at her would be because of her hair – silver, gold, midnight, deep brown, but absolutely no red. She sighed, but straightway felt disgusted. She had chosen this life and it did no good to be envious. Besides, tonight she would not be the only mortal present. Perhaps Boromir would condescend to keep her company, though she did not relish his company as highly as he seemed to think she did. She had tried not to think of the Lord Aragorn. She felt decidedly disoriented when she did.

She lifted her head and set her shoulders. And so she entered the bright hall, letting the light and music wash over her, flooding her mind with memories of other times, happy times, times when no darkness lay upon her soul, when all was light and song. It was glorious, greeting those she knew with soft smiles and sweet words. But as with all attempts at going back in time and trying to capture the past, it could not last. She saw their pity masked behind their warm greetings. They thought to feel sorry for her and this was hurtful. So, she made her way through the hall with bowed head and soon found herself a somewhat secluded corner where she might remain unnoticed. She was prepared to give in and just feel sorry for herself. The luxury of self-pity was beckoning, but she was mercifully saved from this temptation.

"Is it true, Anariel?" Her eyes shot up from her hands in her lap to meet the pale blue ones of Legolas. He looked at her with worry and disbelief etched on his face. Anariel smiled at him.

"How wonderful to see you! Why, I nearly did no know you without your crown, my lord prince! You really should make a point of donning it if you wish folk to notice you." Legolas' face grew less and less sober as his smile crept across it. He sighed.

"Anariel," he said accusingly "stop joking around and tell me if it's true."

"If you would explain to me what exactly you are questioning the veracity of, I may perhaps choose to gift you with an answer." Legolas pressed his lips together into a thin line and his eyes glinted. Anariel merely flipped her hair over her shoulder and laughed gaily up at him.

"Sit down, Lad, and I'll answer what you will." He glared at her use of an old, despised nickname and sat in the empty chair at her side. He wondered at her location, hidden away in the shadows. She looked so magnificent in the light. Some elves may not see it, their eyes blind to all but immortal beauty. Legolas was not so narrow-minded. There was a blazing, astounding beauty that mortals possessed, as though they were a fiery flame leaping up from the embers in a shower of sparks only to be extinguished in a moment. Anariel was too proud for her own good sometimes. He'd talk her out of it.

"Anariel, is it true," here he lowered his voice "that you are to accompany Frodo and the Fellowship?"

Anariel's blue eyes lowered once more to her hands, twisting and releasing the fabric of her dark green skirts. Legolas' hand darted out and stilled hers, causing her eyes to return to his serious face. She swallowed.

"It is," she whispered. Legolas stared at her for a moment and then let out a deep breath.

"Though I knew that Gandalf would not deceive us in this, I could not but hope he was mistaken." Her chin lifted and her eyes flashed, but he cut her off as her mouth opened. "It's not that I doubt your abilities, but it would be dangerous, Anariel. I only worry about your safety. You can't pretend that your life would not be in danger."

Anariel leapt to her feet. Did he think she had presumed to volunteer for this?

"Legolas, you know nothing of this! Do you think it was my choice to go on this potentially deadly mission? I am not so blinded as to think my abilities greater than they are. I was approached by both my uncle and Gandalf. It was only after much work on their part that I was finally persuaded to this course of action. I thought you knew me better than that, my friend!" All this was uttered in a heated whisper, unwilling to draw too much attention to herself. Legolas listened with wide eyes and when she finished, bowed his head.

"I do apologize, Anariel. I should have recognized that you be the last person to over-estimate your talents. Forgive me. I would not wish for your ill will."

Even as quickly as her anger sprang to life, it died. She knew that many would think the same – that she desired to prove herself, to gain glory, to achieve impossibilities. Many would believe that she sought this out. For, who would think that Gandalf, the great Istar, and Lord Elrond Half-elven would desire her help for such a task? She sat back down, her shoulders drooping slightly.

"It is forgiven, Legolas. I shall find, no doubt, that many others share your opinion. But, I did not ask for this. I will no longer complain of this path, but I did not plan to start down it. It was laid before my feet. I can now but travel it to my best ability."

Legolas grasped her hand once more in a friendly gesture, and she smiled at him, a sight which gladdened his heart. But her hands were cold.

"What are you doing tucked away in this dark, cold corner? You will freeze to death! Come! Let us to the fire before the bell for dinner sounds." Legolas pulled her gently but firmly to her feet, despite her protestations. He steered her masterfully through the crowd to the great fireplace in the hall, its blazing flames crackling and hissing, pouring forth warmth into the room.

Anariel, short as she was, couldn't see past the heads of those they passed on their route to the flames. Therefore she was not aware, as Legolas weas, of who exactly was gathered around the grand stone fireplace. She soon found out.

"Ah! Here you are at last," Gandalf's rough voice said merrily as he caught sight of Legolas half-dragging Anarial into the light of the fire. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming." He chuckled at the glare Anariel sent his way. The Istar was teasing her and she knew it. Then, her breath caught. He was there, still and silent. The tall Ranger stood in the light of the dancing flames, leaning against a pillar. His grey eyes were trained on her and she felt exposed and vulnerable in his gaze, as though he could read her every thought as words on the page. She shifted nervously, feeling a blush creep across her cheeks, and looked at the other assembled. And then she smiled. It was the Fellowship.

They were all there and Anariel felt her cheeks flush further, for they were all looking at her with mixed expressions. She had yet to meet more than half of their number and she sent a pleading look at Gandalf, anxious for the silence to be broken with introductions. Gandalf chuckled once more.

"Well, it seems as if a round of introductions is in order – Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, or Merry and Pippin as they are known. This is the Lady Anariel, though I heartily suspect she will scarce allow you to call her such." Gandalf's eyes twinkled as two young, brown-haired hobbits stepped forward. They clearly admired Anariel and bowed deeply. Anariel curtseyed slightly, sending a glare at the wizard.

"'Anariel' will do just fine, young sirs. It is my pleasure to meet you."

"Are you an elf?" Another hobbit, slightly rounder and with lighter hair, asked suddenly. He turned bright red as soon as he asked this and turned away as Anariel looked at him. She hesitated slightly and Gandalf winked at her.

"I am, Master Hobbit. And I am not. As the Daughter of Elros I was given a choice and now a mortal I am, and a mortal I shall remain until my dying day, which will, please Iluvatar, be many ages from now."

The hobbit hung his head slightly and muttered his thanks. Another darker-haired hobbit smiled at Anariel.

"Don't mind Sam, miss. He's just curious about anything to do with elves. I am Frodo Baggins. And this is my gardener and friend Samwise Gamgee. I would rise, but I am still recovering from a recent injury." He bowed his head as he said this and Anariel felt immediately drawn to the young hobbit. He bore a burden through no choice of his own, but he bore it with grace and nobility.

"It is nice to meet you, Frodo. And if Master Samwise has any other inquiries regarding the habits of elves, let him consider me an aid in this pursuit."

Sam's ears turned red and Frodo laughed gaily, something Anariel felt sure he should do more of.

With a throat-clearing the dwarf stepped forward.

"My Lady, it's a pleasure to make the acquaintance of so lovely a lady." He bowed deeply, if a bit stiffly, as he said this and then returned to his place by the fire. Anariel was no ruffled by his brief greeting. Dwarves were not known for their eloquence.

She nodded at Boromir, as they had met already, and was steeling herself to do the same to Aragorn, when he stepped forward. His grey eyes pierced her soul and he took her hand. Was it possible to know so quickly? She wasn't sure. But all she knew was that, as his strong calloused hand gently took hers and his lips touched the back of her hand, she truly lived for the first time. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest. It soared like the Great Eagles above the Misty Mountains. And she felt as she looked in his eyes that this was where she was meant to be. This was where she belonged.

He decided that it deserved a name – the great battle that he had fought with himself that night. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward on the balcony, lifting his eyes to the star-strewn sky.

She was … enigmatic. He didn't know her and yet… every time he looked at her, all he wanted to do was hold her. He wanted to know every secret held by those amazing blue eyes. He wanted to run his fingers through that magnificent red hair. And he… he wanted to kiss her, to love her, to know her.

But this was madness! Complete madness! He couldn't give his heart this quickly. Not now. Not ever. But especially not now. He sighed. It wasn't like him to be so … physically attracted to a woman. But it was more than that. If he was honest with himself, it was her soul that called to his. It felt more like a piece of him had been missing and now he'd found it.

And then he had heard. She was coming with them. And the emotions wreaked havoc on his insides. Fear, astonishment, anger, fear, wonder, annoyance, fear – she would not survive. How could she? But … he stood up and stared at the bright cold moon. He would die before he saw her come to harm. He could not love her. Not now and perhaps not ever in this world. But he could protect her. And this he would do. His first pledge was to Frodo. But his second was to her. Though she would never know it.

Goodbye, my almost lover.

Goodbye, my hopeless dream.

I'm trying not to think about you,

why can't you just let me be?*

Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts after all this time. : )

* "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy