The serene spring afternoon found the pair alone once more under the guise of scouting the nearby hills for unwitting foes. But in reality it was little more than an excuse to be alone now that their true feelings had been expressed. Indeed despite bearing weapons neither were appropriately dressed for combat. Legolas had forgone his armour for a light riding tunic. And seated ahead of him on Arod's flank, Isobel was radiant in an emerald green dress. He held her gently against his lap, content to merely hold her while they swayed rhythmically with the motions of the beast beneath them. And if that weren't auspicious enough, the carry bag piled to the brim with spoils the elf had pilfered from the kitchens should have been.

It was nearing midday by the time they finally called a halt, the high sun casting the most wondrously warm rays over their skin as they seated themselves in a small but secluded grove. For the first time in a long while a peace had settled in their hearts as they chatted and ate in complete harmony, content just to be themselves and their love for one another.

Isobel had to admit that Legolas had done a fine job of securing lunch for them containing a multitude of cured meats and cheese as well as the season's best fruit. Given the shadow of the war that had been looming over Rohan for such a long time she didn't know how he did it. But was immensely grateful for his attempts to provide her with some sense of normalcy in the midst of what could only be called the greatest war of their time.

Isobel's legs were curled behind her as she reclined casually on one hand, facing the elf who held her affections. Long, brown eyelashes fluttered against the smoothness of her cheek, a serene smile of the utmost contentment gracing her features as she craned her neck to bask in the sun. It felt magnificent, renewing even, to finally be able to creep out from under the shadow of their impending doom; just to be in the moment with the elf she adored outside of the gore, the horrors and the heartache of their tumultuous journey so far. And for a while it felt just like home.

The longer they sat in silence, the more Isobel could feel Legolas' stare on her skin and she turned to face him with a question on her brow. Cerulean eyes watched her face carefully, attentively, as if he were drinking in every inch of her features, committing them to memory to recall at a later moment, should he need. He answered her question with a small smile before reaching into the bag behind him to draw something forth.

"I have something for you," he murmured softly, whispering against the hammering of his own heart in his chest. Carefully he brought the object forth and there cradled tenderly in his long fingers was a single white flower. Isobel eyed the offering with a mixture of awe and wonder.

"A gardenia," she breathed, sounding so very far away. Bolstered by confidence, the elf's lips stretched into a full blown smirk.

"I know they're your favourite. Allow me," he said, every ounce of his handsome features sparkling with unbridled joy.

He lifted the stem towards her ear and Isobel closed her eyes, revelling in the flower's sweet scent as it neared and the heat of affection that accompanied the elf's warmth towards her. Only Legolas didn't tuck the stem behind her ear as she'd so assumed. Instead he reached behind her head to pick apart the tie holding back her hair from her face. Immediately the bun fell away leaving her long chestnut locks to cascade down her back like a waterfall.

"Much better," Legolas muttered, enjoying the softness of her hair where he ran his fingers through it, loosening the bun further and tugging a few of the loose strands over her nearest shoulder.

Isobel's mouth opened in surprise, though when she caught sight of the assured expression on the elf's handsome face, she wasn't sure why. He was staring at her again, luminous blue eyes boring into her own as if he could summarise the culmination of everything she was feeling in a single passionate glance. Isobel felt her cheeks alight under the scrutiny and she made to drop her gaze. But the elf was quick to snare her retreating jaw in his palm, halting her as he gently cupped the side of her face.

Again her sapphire eyes held that look; the doe-like one that made her seem as if she were about to withdraw. The one that spoke volumes of an innocence and a fear so pervasive it had her wrestling with the urge to shy away. Legolas' heart sank at the sight, his own heart feeling like a leaden weight for the burden he was inadvertently casting upon her. But he was determined to hold onto the fragile threads of her love. Somewhere along the line it had become a part of him; as fundamental as the act of breathing itself and as invigorating as the warmth from the sun on a glorious day.

Gently he swiped the pad of his thumb over the peach blush that had formed on her cheek in a meagre attempt to erase the insecurity dampening her features.

"Valar, I am captivated by your beauty. I am powerless to turn myself away." Almost unconsciously the elf had blurted the truths that had been burning holes on the tip of his tongue for the longest time. "You are radiant, melleth nin; as alluring as the light from the stars themselves. You have captured my heart and never again shall I look upon the face of another woman the same."

Heart-wrenchingly Legolas could feel the wary disbelief where it seeped between their skin, although her expression never changed. Isobel wanted to believe him, he could see it in her eyes. Truly she did. But like always the response was automatic, almost symbiotic in nature; that unparalleled terror of rejection chaining her back behind a protective cage of isolation. And though immeasurably frustrating, given the outright hatred she was often subjected to as a consequence of her magical abilities, Legolas reasoned that this was hardly surprising.

But the stubborn elf was not one to be easily deterred.

"You don't see it, do you? The way the men stare at you. You never have. No matter where we go the eyes of every single man, soldier, peasant, noblemen or the like are helpless but to turn in your direction. You're like the epicentre of the world, my love, a homing beacon that males are powerless to resist. The most ethereal creature to grace this good earth. And I am hopelessly in love with you."

And there it was, the slightest glimmer in her irises; the hope he'd been trying to draw from deep within her. Legolas' soft lips were on Isobel's before she had a chance to respond, claiming them in a kiss that effectively shattered what was remained of her reticence. Gently he tasted her, revelling in the sweetness of her mouth where it moved so fluidly with his own. If Isobel's heart were thumping wildly before, it broke into a full-blown sprint the minute their lips touched, ignited as the anguish in her chest amplified tenfold. She longed to for him, longed to give herself over so completely to the love he was promising that might consume her whole. But deep down she was terrified of finding a rejection that would rend the last of a beating organ clean in two.

Unbidden, tears began to prickle in the corner of her eyes, trickling through her closed lashes. Startled when he tasted the saltiness of her distress, the elf made to pull away only to be halted by the young woman as she slid onto his lap and open her mouth to him, deepening their embrace. Legolas couldn't help the heady thrill of affection that spurred through his veins at the touch of her tongue to his. Nor could exercise any greater restraint than to groan wantonly when her hands began to stroke loving circles on his scalp. The effect on his loins was immediate, stirring something deep that he hadn't felt for an age. And never this intensely.

Instinctively Isobel seemed to sense the effect she was having on his body and before long her hips began to rock against his own of their own accord. The pressure on the elf's burgeoning erection was exquisite and given the way the vixen above him was gyrating harder and harder against him he had no doubt the feeling was doing equally sinful things to her own body.

But just as suddenly all lustful headiness gave way to his own emerging insecurities; the ones that very firmly instructed his highness that this was far from appropriate behaviour, let alone respectful of a lady of her station.

"Wait," he begged against a pair of determined lips. But the conviction of his words were betrayed by the huskiness of his voice and Isobel was again kissing him fervently in moments.

Long fingers reached down to clamp around her hips, prying gently against the bones in a bid to create some distance from the lust that seemed to be sparking between them.

"Wait," he tried again, this time unable to keep the amusement from quirking the corner of his mouth at the outraged expression that coloured her gaze.

Isobel's dark eyes were smouldering around her hugely dilated pupils. Bright red lips, swollen from their kisses, panted raggedly as she fought to regain the breath she'd poured into their embrace. But still a stain of moisture was written over her skin leaving a lingering trail glistening on her flushed cheeks.

Instinctively Legolas reached up to swipe away her earlier distress, his own heart beating erratically between his ribs at the sight. He felt his rapturous expression crumble, giving way to a seriousness fuelled entirely by his own uncertainties over her true feelings.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered softly, long elven fingers still poised delicately on her flawless skin.

Bright sapphire eyed flashed momentarily but never left his as she slowly leaned in to place the softest, most delicate kiss on his lips lingering just long enough for Legolas' own lashes to flutter closed of their own accord.

"I'm thinking that kissing you is the most exquisite feeling in the word," she replied, her sweet breath washing over his own skin when she withdrew a millimetre to speak. "Your proximity alone makes me feel things I've never felt with another. It's the most magnificent, most indescribably weightless feeling. It makes me feel like I could hold the whole world in my palm and I never want to end. I should be half as lucky to drown in you nearness for the rest of my life. I love you so much, Legolas Thranduillion. Everything else pales by comparison."

Legolas had held himself rigid against her for the duration of her monologue but the minute the sincere confession escaped her mouth something imploded deep inside of him. Something far greater and more spectacular than the insubstantial definition of love. He was on her in seconds, firm hands tightening around her back and tugging her to him once again. Mouths mashed, tongues tasted, hands roamed, it was the most passionate and marvellous experience for both of them.

The next few hours were spent in a delicious haze of exploration, though conducted entirely above their clothes. Despite Isobel's obvious willingness to have Legolas take her fully right then and there, the elf could still feel a tiny trace of doubt lingering in the recesses of her mind. He could sense it as palpably as the warning whisper between the trees that signified the impending war. And there was no way his moral sensibilities could assuage any feeling that he was coercing his lover into something she wasn't truly ready for.

The ride back to Edoras was mercifully uneventful for the pair of lovers far too enraptured by their thoughts of one another to be aware of their surroundings. A band of wargs could have ridden straight past and neither would have noticed the sight nor the smell nor the fear that accompanied the fell beasts, far too lost in the haze of each other's eyes.

As before Isobel sat comfortably before the elf, cradled in the harmony of his embrace. Her eyes were closed, an expression of pure contentment sparkling along her features where her head rested lightly against the fair being's chest. Legolas too was far too enamoured by the witch he could finally proclaim as his own. And as the sweet scent of her perfume and the softness of her body enveloped him like a lovers kiss he was powerless but to resist the urge to bury himself in her neck, placing tender kiss after kiss on her smooth skin as together they swayed in rhythmic motions.

A sense of propriety reluctantly forced some distance between their bodies when they arrived back in the stables, fortunately so, for it wasn't long before they were immersed in a chaotic hive of activity. Rohirrim, some still obviously nursing the after effects from the previous evening's revelry, flooded in, surrounding the newfound lovers as they readied themselves for apparent departure. Immediately the magnificent feelings of the afternoon's escapade dissipated, giving way to a powerful sense of urgency that sent them too in motion, searching for the source of the excitement.

As they bounded up the stairs to the main hall still holding hands, they were met by the King and his entourage, the former barking out orders as he donned his own armour. There was a measure of finality in the heavy steps of the monarch as he barrelled through the throne room doors and out on the landing that instantly seeped between the pair like a poison of the deadliest kind. Clad in heavy chain mail, sword sheathed and at the ready, the atmosphere around them was charged with what Isobel could only surmise was grim determination. For certainly there was no level of cheer evident on the pale faces that met them.

"Assemble the army at Dunnharrow. As many men as can be found. You have two days. On the third we ride for Gondor. And war."

And the young woman felt her heart leap to her throat at the threat now simmering gently beneath the surface. The beacons must have been lit. Legolas must have felt the tension that instantly hardened on her frame and he gave her fingers as squeeze in reassurance just as Eomer gave a single bow of affirmation to his king.

Turning suddenly to carry out the orders the blonde haired marshal nearly ran headfirst into the elf and the witch, who had paused on the topmost step. Eomer made to weave around them but something about the pair caused him to halt. Eyeing the young woman's tight expression he looked down to note her hand still entwined with the elf's. The relief of understanding smoothed the handsome marshal's face accompanied by the gift of a small smile that made Isobel's heart twitter nervously. But before she could respond, the king's voice forcefully punctuated the air once more.

"Gamling! Make haste across the Riddermark. Summon every able bodied man to Dunnharrow."

"But my lord," the aforementioned beseeched, scrambling after his liege. "There is not enough time!"

It Isobel who spoke next. Interrupting the pair she broke away from Legolas to ascend the final stair and address the king.

"Send me," she implored without hesitation, dark blue eyes searching for affirmation. "I can make it to the far reaches of your border in a matter of hours."

Instantly the atmosphere changed tangibly as her words seemed to freeze in the air, hanging as heavily between them as stalactites ready for the fall. All turned to scrutinise the woman who did not yet fully hold their trust. Pensive, Isobel resisted the urge to squirm, her heart thundering in her chest, rife with that threat of rejection that ever simmered below the surface. Instead of faltering, she stood fast, swallowing down the trepidation and staring resolutely at the king as she awaited judgement.

But it was Eomer who spoke first. After their afternoon together the marshal keenly felt the need to redirect some of the prejudice he felt was unfairly bearing down on the young woman. His hand touched Isobel's arm gently, startling the young woman who still wholly believed she deserved to be shunned.

"How?" he questioned, fixing her with his piercing brown stare.

Unseen, Legolas' mouth thinned with displeasure for both the contact and the direction of the conversation. His eyes narrowed further as he noted how the tension in Isobel seemed to ease ever so slightly under the warmth of the marshal's touch.

"I am able to transform into a bird, a falcon, more specifically," she replied softly, seemingly entranced by the warmth the handsome marshal was shining on her.

Though he hated himself for it, in many ways in that moment Isobel reminded Legolas of an addict; one so scorned for affection that she would quite literally burn herself at the stake to receive any morsel of the acceptance she craved. Distaste sat unpalatably on his tongue and right then and there the strong prince vowed that he would do anything in his power to banish that expression from her beautiful features for all eternity.

Turning now to address the king Isobel continued, "Please, I am your best chance for reaching as many as possible in time."

"No!" Legolas' melodic voice broke through as he shoved past Eomer to address his lover.

A hardness as fierce and unyielding as diamond graced his handsome features as he stared the young woman down, all those feelings of outrage on her behalf bubbling to the surface like a stew about to spill over.

"I will not stand by as you martyr yourself once more!" he stated firmly, his hard tone more commanding than she'd ever heard him. "Traversing the planes alone is madness. You cannot keep putting yourself at such risk!"

Surprised, Isobel's next words fell from her lips in a jumble. She blinked rapidly as she replied, trying to clear some of the fuzziness in her head as the furious conviction of the elf's glare imprisoned her gaze.

"I – What choice do we have? Are we not already at risk? " she urged softy.

Regrettably Legolas could see the vulnerability, the unshakeable punctuation of uncertainty, written across her features like words on a page. It made him feel awful for the distress his harsh words had caused her. But he was hardly about to retract them either and he quickly swallowed down the lump of shame that had formed.

Finding strength once more she stated, "We won't stand a chance at Minas Tirith without further reinforcements. You know this."

Displeased but his argument ultimately trumped, the elf remained stonily silent, glaring at the woman who had just unknowingly skewered him straight through the heart.

"Then it is decided," the King said with a calculated finality, as if he were measuring up a foreign entity of unknown origin.

Legolas' nostrils flared with renewed disgust but still he said nothing.

oOOOo

It was with grievous acceptance on his face that Legolas accompanied Isobel to her chambers. They had not spoken since the Theoden had dismissed them. To say he was enraged would have been an understatement. Fury radiated in heated waves from the ethereal being as they walked together through the halls in complete silence. As he stomped with uncharacteristically heavy footsteps beside her, Legolas was powerless but to wonder for the umpteenth time how Isobel could be so foolish; how she could be so unheedingly selfless. What of their love? Did she not care for him at all? How was he supposed to stand idly by while the woman who held his heart willingly threw herself into the fire before him. Cowardice was not in the elf prince's nature and if he could take her burdens from her and free her from this unending obligation to sacrifice herself at the behest of others he would do so without question.

But as they continued to traipse through the long corridors guilted moments of self-doubt began to plague the elf also. Nastily little beasts with barbed words set to send him spiralling. Equally they were as irrational as they were insistent. But also not to be ignored.

What if the real truth was that the depth of Isobel's feelings for him didn't quite mirror the depth of his own?

It was as awful to postulate as it was maddening. And before long torment began to mix with the fury, harrowingly muddying the weight in the elf prince's heart.

oOOOo

Eight years earlier.

The king's chamber was a foreboding sight, as it always was. Enormous, scalloped caverns as high as mountains themselves, vaulted all around them, each carved intricately with patterns of leaves and ferns and dotted with the glimmer of candlelight as ethereal as the stars.

The king himself sat perched upon what appeared to be the base of an old elm tree, fashion and sculpted into a hard, wooden throne. A cold, steely gaze beat down upon the backs of the pair bowed before him, intimidating as it always was. And more importantly, exactly as he intended it.

Beside Isobel, Legolas straightened his proud shoulders, lifting his bright blue gaze to address his father seated as opulently as a deity upon the throne.

"Father, I bring word of grave tidings," the fair being began, his enchanting voice low and laced with warning.

Isobel felt her heart twitter nervously in her chest, dutifully affixing her gaze to the velvety softness of the king's robes and resolutely away from the unforgiving stare he was casting her way. It was no secret that the king had not yet warmed to the young creature his son had recently dragged home from his travels in the remote regions of the world. Though, the king rarely displayed any outward emotions to begin with, so this was neither surprising nor was it invigorating.

"We have reason to believe Dale will soon be engulfed by a sudden and catastrophic weather event that will see the lower levels of the city flood. Many lives will be lost if they are not warned," Legolas continued, beseeching his father with his earnest words.

For all his impassiveness, the elf prince was in complete contrast to his father. Charming, warm and engaging, Legolas was the culmination of a soulful being whose desire to uphold life itself above all else burned with such intensity from within.

"Yes," the elf king replied, lifting a hand from the carved surface of his throne to inspect his immaculately carved fingernails disdainfully. "So I have foreseen."

With a twirl of his tongue against his lips, the pair watched as Thranduil's steel, grey eyes turned to fix them with a calculating expression.

"But the real question, my son, is what you intend to do with this knowledge."

If Legolas was shocked by the words that seemed as apathetic as they were cruel he certainly didn't show it. Indeed, the elf prince remained as stoic beside Isobel as he ever was. But for her, she had flinched, as repulsed as she was horrified by the sentiment that had her wrestling with the urge to retch.

"I am unsure, father. It seems we are too late to suitably warn them. No scout could reach their border in time."

"You are correct, Legolas. But pray tell, how came you by this knowledge for it is no small feat to predict the will of the sky. Few possess such a talent."

Only now did the ethereal prince falter, his stony expression flickering with a moment of hesitation that was not missed by the omnipotent king whose brow twitched with a curiosity that hadn't sparked since his son's younger years. Legolas' gaze didn't waver from his own, as assured as he'd been schooled when he spoke his next words.

"Isobel has felt it."

Cold eyes flicked to the young woman shielding herself behind his son, her chestnut hair still bowed demurely as if she were afraid to meet the king's gaze.

"Is that so? Come forth, child," Thranduil commanded, his fierce tone leaving little room for protest.

Sapphire eyes widened with warning and a quick glance for reassurance was quickly cast in his son's direction, though from his resolute stance, Legolas didn't see it.

The creature that stepped forth was a curious one to behold, that much was unquestionable. Young, no older than sixteen the king surmised, she was as docile as she was dangerous. A contradiction, if ever he had met one, though the wizened elf surmised that she not yet discovered such truths about herself.

Her long chestnut hair had been tied loosely behind her head in the fashion of his people, leaving a cascade of shiny curls bouncing over her shoulders as she stepped demurely forth before him. Somewhere along the line, though having no mind for such trivialities the king could not recall when, she had been clothed in a warrior's garb – a soft green tunic and leggings, complete with guilded sword upon her back. Delicate features held a serene expression that completely belied the pounding of her heart, so panicked that the elf king could hear it even from where he was seated.

Truthfully, she was a magnificent creature to behold, though he would never tell Legolas that. As graceful and as lovely as an elf maiden, Thranduil was forced to concede that she seemed to belong amongst his people, despite the curse of mortality that clung to her like a shroud of gloom on an otherwise serene night.

But as she drew closer the fair being recognised the tiniest glimmer of something else hidden in the shadows of those luminous blue eyes; a wretchedness borne from a truly evil deed that had caused an insurmountable level of scarring. But it was what he saw beyond that truly piqued the elf king's interest. The power he sensed inside her simmering gently beneath the surface; a molten volcano of golden energy, as addictively lovely as it was catastrophically deadly, just waiting to be released.

Immediately the elf king was entranced, his dark grey eyes flaring momentarily with intrigue before rescinding behind an impassive facade once more.

Legolas froze when his father reached forth to take Isobel's hands in his own. Having not shown an interest in her for the last year she'd been within his halls he found the action alarming. The king's warm hands cradled the young woman's reverently, turning the child's shivering palms over to inspect the smooth skin. Isobel couldn't help the moment her breaths faltered on her tongue, startled by the sudden attentions of the intimidating royal.

"You are an enigma," the king breathed quietly, casting his thumbs over the centre of her palms as if to feel the source of her power where it rippled beneath her skin. "I'll admit I thought so very little of you when Legolas dragged you through my doors all those months ago. Just another pathetic wretch he'd felt the need to save."

Behind the pair Legolas bristled, incensed by his father's savage words.

"But it seems you are far more than that, child. Or at least you have the potential to be," Thranduil pondered, finally lifting his hard gaze to meet those soft blue ones of the young woman. "I wonder what it will take for you to finally see that."

The king's steely gaze bore into Isobel's in a way she couldn't refute even if she'd wanted to just as something probed deep within her mind. She could feel the king's touch as tangibly as if he'd prodded a long finger through her brain. Delving deeper and deeper, it was quite literally as if he were parting the folds of her grey matter, searching for something only he could discern. She couldn't have withdrawn even if she'd wanted to, so imprisoned by the elf king's stare it was as if he'd shackled her to him, solidifying the union that was as invasive as it was unwanted. Finally, he seemed to find what he was searching for. The young woman saw it flare in his pupils a moment before his hold on her relaxed. And she was launching herself away from him as if she'd been scalded by fire.

The expression Legolas turned in his father's direction was entirely wrathful when he pulled the young woman's trembling frame against his chest, shielding her from the scrutiny he hadn't even realised had even happened. As ever, the king's face was a mask of impassiveness obscuring his true thoughts of the one he'd now discovered was indeed a very powerful sorceress. But he couldn't deny the rush of interest that flushed along his pale skin when he appraised the curious affinity his son seemed to hold for her.

"Carathon i iest lîn," (I will do as you wish) the witch gasped, switching to Sindarin in a bid to appease the king, her voice strong in complete contrast to the fragility of her body that remained doubled over on herself as if she'd just endured a very long and painful trial. "Len iallon, menna- nin." (I beg of you, send me.)

Inexplicably the pair watched as she staggered away from the prince to stand on the precipice of the platform, her back curved over herself to reveal the sharp protrusions of her spine through her tunic. A pair of arms tightened around her frame, squeezing hard against the bones that would not cease their shuddering despite the abhorrence she felt towards showing weakness. Moist sapphire eyes disappeared behind dark lashes when they clamped down tightly; a paltry attempt to reign in the penitence threatening to consume her.

She knew what the elven king had seen inside her. Her darkest secret. The greatest shame of her existence. Just the reminder of it filled her with such unending self-loathing. And she would do anything to atone that. Anything. Just as the king had seen.

"Len û-chenion," (I don't understand) Legolas' voice was a harsh bite from behind and she flinched with the tone that saw her flagellating once again.

"Im ola- aew," (I can become a bird) she replied so quietly it was a mere whisper on the breeze.

With her back turned and her hair concealing her features Isobel didn't see the way Legolas' handsome face distorted with incredulity. But she felt it in the harsh way he yanked her arm, more aggressive than he'd intended, to twist her around to face him. Hard cerulean eyes, suddenly as cold as the king's burned into her own, heightened by the state of trepidation that had filled the elf prince up to the brim.

"Û!" (It cannot be so!) the word was as harsh as the expression on his ageless face. But there was so much more behind his eyes than the apparent; a softness borne of concern that had the stench of fear on the young woman's frame disintegrating. Still in the prince's grasp her back straightened and the king could only watch, fascinated as a wordless conversation seemed to pass between the pair who stared at one another like lovers possessed.

Legolas knew of Isobel's powers, having seen them himself on a handful of occasions before. But never did he imagine this of her. It startled him as much as it made him feel inadequately powerless; as if he were suddenly relegated to the role of silent observer and not the sentient protector he had appointed himself.

But of anything it was warmth that Isobel saw in the elf prince's irises; the respect and the care that he generously extended towards her that had her heart filling with a strength and gratitude she didn't feel she deserved.

"Im'm ú- achas," (I'm not afraid) she replied softly, her whisper caressing his smooth skin.

Legolas' mouth shifted into a tight smile that was as wry as it was disturbed."Thand. A i na- whui grogon." (I know. And that is why I am troubled.)

With this the young woman inhaled a sharp, shaky breath, her gaze unfocused as if she'd drifted so very far away. When she finally returned to the present her eyes were laced thickly with sorrow.

"Im baur na ceri- hi." (I need to do this.) she beseeched softly.

And Legolas felt himself deflate, knowing that despite his best intentions it was not an argument he could win. There was no trumping the young woman's unending level of remorse. Nothing he had ever said or done seemed to touch the sides of the regret that stained every ounce of her pores as potently as black filth upon her skin. Leaning forward the elf prince laid a tender kiss upon her forehead that tugged upon his heart with resignation. And without uttering another word he pulled the young woman into his arms, encapsulating her with the promise that if there were ever a way to free her he would find it.

The king could only watch the affectionate display, wondering through a pair of inscrutable eyes what it was about her, of all creatures, that had netted his son's heart so effectively.

Whatever it was, she was entwined in their lives whether the elf king liked it or not.

Though given the spark of life she'd lit inside the elf prince,

he was inclined towards the former.

oOOOo

The door pounded loudly as it closed, piercing the heaviness that had settled between the pair once more. But Legolas felt the fight leave him the instant he turned to face the sedate demeanour of his companion. It was with instant regret that he recognised that the anguish, that the penitent sense of obligation over her magic, hung over her head like a poised executioner once more. And he was pulling her into a tight embrace before he could stop himself.

Valar, how he wished he could free her from this curse for it was only around strangers that she was tormented this way. When they were alone she shone with warmth and radiance. She was beautiful, strong, brave and kind to a fault. Moreover, her powers flowed freely through her as a natural extension of her being and not something to be feared. When she was free, she almost glowed with a luminescence the elf had never seen in another. Legolas loved her, indescribably so.

But despite recognising her pain now, the apprehension he felt over Isobel's feelings for him continued to weigh him down, forming an immobile lump of his own fear in the centre of his chest. But now was not the time to encumber her further; not when she was about to charge heedlessly into danger. Pushing aside his own misgivings for the sake of her own, Legolas leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers.

Through closed eyes and pained words he whispered, "Please be careful, melleth nin. I cannot lose you," before sliding his nose over hers to join their lips in a heated kiss once more.

oOOOo

Isobel knew she was trembling when she walked through the main hall. The clangs of swords being collated in vast piles splintered around her as men and women bustled past, their arms over-burdened with food reserves and armour.

But despite the hive of activity around her, the young woman felt entirely alone; more alone than she'd ever felt before. It were as if she were a solitary outcast, unwanted and discarded, about to embark upon a most heinous quest that no one else would. And despite having volunteered for this task Isobel couldn't help but feel afraid. Though she would never have admitted this to Legolas, whose reluctance to let her go had been palpable. For the first time in a long time she was to travel without the steadfast support of her friends. Moreover, she was to travel to remote villages, the people of whom in her experience, had a grave propensity for bigotry towards anything out of the norm. If Isobel felt like an aberration now, she knew this would be immeasurable compared to how small-minded villagers could make her feel.

Chewing her lip anxiously, she continued the seemingly endless path to the main doors as dread settled itself further in the pit of her stomach with each and every step.

Sunshine gleamed in her eyes as she broke through to the outside, momentarily blinding her vision. So she was completely taken aback when she was met by Eomer, who had evidently been waiting for her. The young marshal was seated on a nearby parapet, his golden hair shining in the bright sun, as he stared out across the plains of his home.

Rising when she exited the hall, he noted with some confusion how lightly Isobel was dressed. She was clad only in brown travelling leggings, a fitted tunic and soft leather boots. Her long dark hair had been plaited and pinned to her head in a crown at the nape of her neck. But confusingly she carried no weapons. The marshal felt worry crease his face.

"You're unarmed?" he questioned sharply as she approached, dark eyes boring into her own as if to doubt her own sensibilities.

The young woman froze, a darkness momentarily clouding her rich blue eyes at the well-meaning words that inadvertently prodded directly at the greatest wound in her side.

"I am never unarmed," she replied sardonically, heart-beating frantically while she swallowed the barbed sentiment that she would give anything for it not to be so.

Isobel could hardly look in Eomer's direction as she brushed past, headed for the nearest ledge, suddenly feeling vile for the unintended jab at her abnormality. Aware he had upset her, the handsome blonde man reached out to snare a retreating elbow, spinning the young woman and redirecting her gaze.

"I fear I must apologise for my actions yesterday. I did not know of you and the elf," he said lowly.

And while the words themselves were soft, it was the uncharacteristic shyness she heard in the normally self-assured timbre of his voice that had Isobel's gaze darting up to look him dead in the eye. For a long moment she was silent while she appraised the sincerity of his disposition, searching for any measure of distrust or reticence.

"You do not need to apologise. You did nothing wrong. I was flattered, really." Undeniably, a small edge of sadness crept in to her voice, laced wholly with a strangely new feeling of gratitude that she couldn't quite explain.

"I would, however, be eternally grateful for your friendship?" she continued tentatively, reaching forth with an olive branch she was almost afraid to extend.

"Aye," Eomer confirmed with ease, smiling lightly. "That I can do."

Relieved, Isobel felt the weight of awkwardness lift from her shoulders, though the edginess remained.

"Eomer?" she asked, testing the weight of the newfound friendship on her tongue. "What will it be like in the villages? More specifically, how well will they receive someone like me?"

"Ah," the marshall replied as they finally reached the conversation topic he'd sought her out for in the first place. "The villagers are a reserved bunch. They can be obliging when they so choose. But they have been burned in the past and thus largely remain suspicious of outsiders."

"But this why I got you this," he continued, handing the her a worn piece of parchment.

Isobel's brow creased in confusion as she took it, noting the royal seal and foreign words.

"It's an official summons from King Theoden, bearing his seal and commanding every able bodied man travel to Dunharrow immediately. I thought you might need some greater weight behind your words."

"Thank-you," she murmured, her face shining full of sincerity when she met his softened gaze.

Understanding her apprehension, the marshal placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder as he said, "Please be careful. I will meet you on the plains of Dunharrow, friend."

With an assurity she didn't have before, Isobel tucked the parchment in her tunic before turning to face the ledge, preparing to leap from the surface. But just as quickly a pair of strong hands wrenched her back from the brink, spinning her quickly so that a warm mouth could latch onto hers. Immediately she was blanketed by a earthy masculine scent, as fresh as pine needles and as soothing as a warm bed on a snowy eve. Affection fluttered in the pit of her stomach, like she'd swallowed a vast number of hyperactive butterflies, igniting her nerve endings with delicious tingles akin to lightening. Without hesitation she melded herself to Legolas' body, her hands automatically finding their familiar place upon the firm planes of his chest.

He kissed her with abandon, ignoring the shocked stares of those around that should have embarrassed him as he poured every ounce of his wounded soul into the young woman about to leave him behind. Truthfully Legolas didn't give a damn who saw their affectionate display, nor could he have cared less for the opinions that would have seen them both labelled as lewd. All he knew was that he could not have forgiven himself if his pride had prevented him seeing her off.

And when he finally drew back after a long, tender moment those bright blue eyes she knew so well were ablaze with conviction. Muscular arms encapsulated her waist, effectively caging her lithe frame to his.

"Le i veleth e-guil nîn. Rin na nin," (You are the love of my life. Come back to me.)he breathed, his voice awash with the sincerity of his words.

With a gasp she accepted them, dipping her head in remorse when she registered the slightest tinge of hurt still lingering in his eyes. Just as suddenly an overwhelming amount of blame thundered noisily between her ears and for a moment she thought she might retch with the heaviness of her own guilt.

"Dìheno nin," (forgive me) she whispered back as a fresh batch of regret burned in the corner of her eyes.

Immediately the elf prince's face softened.

"-o iór." (of course) he murmured far more graciously than Isobel believed she deserved, before leaning in to kiss her once more. "Though I do not think you would ever choose differently."

He watched with sadness in his own heart as the young woman's mouth stretched sorrowfully. The expression looked unnatural on her, juxtaposing so catastrophically with the beauty of her features and the gentleness of her heart that Legolas too, was momentarily stunned by a grief he could not yet begin to fathom.

A warm hand laid upon Isobel's shoulder wrenched the pair from their distraction, tearing them from them both from their melancholy. Blue eyes, both light and dark, turned to face the warm brown ones of the ranger who had witnessed the entire exchange.

"N- warui, Dúlinnig," (be careful, little nightingale) Aragorn began, utilising the affectionate nickname he reserved for her alone. "Mín govannon- ad-" (we will meet again soon.)

With chagrin Legolas released his death grip on the love of his life to enable their companion to press a small kiss to Isobel's temple.

Casting a final glance between the pair that was far more resigned than anything else, it was with a quick step that she leapt off the ledge before their very eyes; arms were spread-eagled, her lithe body swiftly morphing into the form of a peregrine falcon. With a powerful flap of feathered wings she was off, speeding faster than an arrow into the fading dusk, trying but failing, to outdistance the penitence that seemed to follow her everywhere.

oOOOo

It felt good to be flying again. The cool wind blew past her just like the landscape as she flew fast, high and free. She'd always loved flying. Not just the headiness of the speed and height, but she loved that it afforded her an escape from her own reality. When she was airborne she felt unburdened in a way that she rarely was these days, like she could have assumed the life of literally anyone else and none would be the wiser. A merchant, a farmer's wife, a mother or a scholar, in those moments she could be simultaneously everyone and no one; a stranger who was no more strange than the next person. The anonymity was wonderfully freeing.

Isobel had been flying in a vague northerly direction underneath the soft light of the stars. Though she was unaware of the specific location of each village of the region it did not faze her. That was the advantage of being a falcon. Her sharp yellow eyes, enhanced with the vision of a bird of prey, would easily identify clusters of lights far in the distance even through the darkened night sky.

Emerging from a particularly dense cloud, Isobel smelled the smoke before she saw it. Ahead, shielded by the mountains, a thick plume of pungent black rose in the sky ominously.

Not good, the young woman thought, speeding ahead with a powerful flap of her wings.

Screams pierced the air as her sharp gaze took in flames and fleeing refugees. But the haze of the smoke thickened the closer she got, making it hard for her to discern the source of the chaos. Whatever it was, panic was rife through the air, as thick as trying to wade through a pit of sludge. Fortuitously, just then a strong wind cleared the plume to reveal burning shacks and a pair of gruesomely disfigured orcs mounted on enormous wargs. She watched as the leader of the group held a flaming torch, laughing maniacally as he ignited yet another timber structure for no more reason than perverse pleasure.

Incensed, Isobel tucked her wings against her body and descended in a fierce dive, headed for the intruders. Transforming and rolling quickly as she hit the ground, she landed crouched before the offenders, a hard, steely look glinting in her eyes. Quickly she rose to her feet, to flicking her wrists abruptly towards the earth, making swords appear seemingly from nowhere in either hand. When she'd left Edoras she'd not intended on using her powers for fear of off-putting the villagers. But reason had fled to make way for ire and suddenly she was not just a messenger but a deliverer.

If the orcs were surprised at the sudden appearance of the young woman, their demeanour did not reflect it. Instead, they turned their mounts to face her with a relished glint in their malevolent eyes.

"Dinner time, boys!" the leader taunted to the cackles of his companion, so shrill it made Isobel cringe.

Calculatingly the first warg approached the young warrior in a crouch, drool hanging in long streamers repulsively from it's canines as it appraised the new threat.

Regret momentarily flickered through her mind and she was swallowing hard against the fear that briefly flickered in her irises. Between the smoke burning her eyes and airways and the darkened night, this was not going to be an easy feat. But the young woman remained steadfast, widening her stance to strengthen her position and raising her swords at the ready. Whether the consequence of her vile past or an inherent product of her character, she was made for this, she reminded herself; made for the defence of others at expense of her own safety. Her resolve was strong. She was strong. And nothing could make her flee now.

Dodging to the side as the first foul beast charged her, Isobel quickly raised her swords to block the concurrent attack that came from it's rider. Spinning, she positioned herself between the two offenders as they circled around, her feet balanced and her stance strong. She could feel the heat of the flames behind her as fire hungrily consumed it's prey, cracking with the threat it pertained. But she had not a moment to postulate such a thing before the first warg charged her again, unleashing a snarl as it bared it's bone-crunching teeth in her direction. Rolling to the side, Isobel deftly took a swipe at the snapping maw of the second where it attempted to ensnare her shoulder. But she was quicker and with a satisfactory yelp the blade hit the mark and the young woman found her feet to face her opponents once more.

Enraged now, the group charged her together in a frenzy of gnashing teeth and clanging scimitars that seemed as imminently fatal as it was terrifying. Without a moment's hesitation Isobel turned and sprinted towards the nearest building. Leaping high, her foot barely made contact with the timber frame between the lighted boards, allowing her to flip backwards just in time over the heads of her attackers. With a heavy thud she landed on the rump of a repugnant mount, immediately lurching forward to plunge her sword through the torso of it's rider, before tossing him to the side like the discarded waste he was.

The warg, registering her weight now, began bucking wildly in a desperate attempt to throw the young woman off. In it's panic the dimwitted beast, no longer aware of the flames engulfing the structure before them, shattered through the alighted building with a splintering of wood, Isobel still clinging for dear life to the matted fuzz on it's flank.

The heat was unbearable as it licked the ceiling above and smoke engulfed them like a thick blanket, stinging their eyes and burning their lungs when they tried to draw breath. Shocked by the outrageous turn of events, Isobel momentarily lost her grip on the wiry fur as the beast gave a particularly panicked jolt. With a shrill yelp she crashed hard into the wall of the structure, crying out again as she registered a searing pain on her flank that stole what little was left of the oxygen from her lungs.

Injured and suffocating, she fell painfully to her hands and knees, dully registering in her mind what momentarily felt like the end of the line.

But the fight was not over. Nor was she dead yet, despite the scorching through her lungs that felt as if she'd inhaled a series of dying embers directly from a campfire. Pain was a good thing, she reminded herself shakily, trying desperately to still what was the rampant sprint of a traumatised heart, as flighty as a wildebeest being hunted by a predator.

But it was no use. The time dragged, rapidly tugging along with it the last morsels of her consciousness. Somewhere in the recesses of survival she found one final shred of strength, enough to raise an unsteady hand at a nearby wall and gasp "bombarda," through the hoarse remnants of her voice.

The fiery wall burst outward, splintered wood flying everywhere. The sudden influx of fresh, cool air was a breath of life to Isobel's starved lungs, allowing her to stumble out into the night and collapse on the cool of the grass. The warg was not so lucky. The sudden loss of stability, coupled with the savagely fire-ravaged roof, meant that the structure was no longer able to support itself. With an ear-splitting crash the home caved in on itself, engulfing the trapped warg in bright orange flames.

Panting with exertion and agony, she was unsteady when she forced herself to her feet, feeling decidedly less composed as she steeled herself to face the remaining warg and it's rider.

Without warning the warg charged, snarling with renewed hatred for the woman who killed it's mate. As they bore down on her position fear spiked hard and true through the centre of her chest though she goaded herself to stay cool as indecision plagued her movements. At the last possible second a sword dropped from her grasp allowing her to cast a bright purple spell at her attackers, causing the pair to flip overhead and land with a sickening crash nearby. Swivelling on her heels she was just quick enough to witness the moment the fallen beast struggled to it's feet, hefting it's enormous frame to reveal the crushed and lifeless body of it's rider.

Again the beast charged, this time with less finesse and more unheeding rage that saw it lash out without thought or control. Adrenalin surged through Isobel and she raced towards the attacker, raising her swords in readiness as she leapt towards the beast. With one blade she deftly deflected the snapping jaws, while the other simultaneously plunged deep into it's neck. Blood spewed forth like a squashed blueberry, splattering all over her hands and tunic in the moments before she landed heavily on her feet nearby. Given her injury the move was far less graceful than she'd envisioned and would no doubt have earned herself a rebuke from the elves who had trained her. Agony forced her to her knees but she made herself rise nonetheless, trying but failing to suppress the urge to retch when the pain escalated tenfold. She knew her fighting stance was far less sure this time round when she raised her weapons in readiness. But her nerves were frayed and an unsteady warble was about all the counter defence she could muster anymore.

Fortunately there was no longer a need for the beast lay tangled in a heap of twisted limbs and matted fur, now entirely devoid of life.

Exhausted, the young woman's weapons slumped by her sides, unable to be lifted by limbs now too encumbered to even try. Arching her spine, she tried to survey the damage to her back. But the angle was awkward and the pain was severe, so she was gasping and trembling forward, near-collapsing from the injury that seemed far worse than she dared admit. Unconsciously her hands found her knees, sweat beading on her skin while she took a series of sobering, but no more renewing breaths, hoping they would fill her with strength where her body threatened to fail beneath her. But alas, it was not to be. And soon her patience was quickly replaced by an untenable need to find solitude.

The air was silent now, save for the spitting of the fires that still raged nearby; as deathly disquieting as the shocked and bloodless faces that soon surrounded her. A quick flick of her wrist was all that Isobel could manage while they gaped openly at her like she was either a gift from the gods or an agent of Sauron himself, ensuring she felt both distinctly repulsed and repulsive all at the same time. Immediately a powerful wave of icy wind burst forth from the witch's palm, sapping the heat from the flames as effectively as if they'd been doused by buckets of water. Soon all that remained of the town was a series of charred remnants and it's frightened residents.

Speechlessness clung to them all as they stood around her, trying to absorb the inexplicable actions of the young woman who had just saved them from a cruel fate. None seemed to quite know what to do. Nor did any seem to bear courage enough to address the woman still clutching her knees like a last life line.

Entirely shattered with pain, fatigue and a desperate need for an escape Isobel thrust the king's letter at the nearest villager without so much as a spoken word.

"Dunharrow?" he asked, disbelief still firmly written on his face as he read and re-read the contents as if trying to determine some trickery.

"Yes," Isobel said firmly before snatching the letter from his grasp and tucking it in to her tunic once more.

Fresh out of resilience, she offered nothing further before transforming and flying off into the cool night air in search of the solace that chafed beneath her skin like an insatiable itch.