Welcome back, at this point I am starting to mix movie with book - all just for the plot.

Very sorry for the linguistics-dump, though. I am generally assuming that in the third age Sindarin has become the main tongue everywhere, but the Rivendell-elves speak sort of a "posh" version, being of Vanyar/Noldor descend, while the Greenwood Elves and Lórien Elves both speak very different dialects, though of course again there are differences between their high society and the general public.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Archer - I

Ariel's heart races with anticipation as they ride deeper into the shadows of Mirkwood. Tall, dark trees tower overhead, their leaves casting intricate patterns of shadow and light on the forest floor. This forest is unlike anything she has ever seen, different from the trees around Imaldris, different from Lórien, and certainly different from Westeros. Its ancient trees seem to be whispering secrets that echo through time, promising and somewhat haunting. She wonders whether it has always been like that, or whether it was different when it was still the Greenwood.

"It was always different," Glorfindel answers her unspoken question, "but never like ... that."

He seems a little concerned, and she wonders whether she should get concerned, too. Her escorts have become solemn as well, their expressions are unreadable, there is no singing anymore. Instead, the air is filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant, mysterious noises.
They stay on the old road for the longest time, an easy ride for the horses, and yet the terrain gets trickier to cross as they ride on. It takes them a couple of days to reach the heart of the forest, days during which the air grows a little colder and the shadows a bit darker - or maybe that's her mind playing tricks. She doesn't know anymore.

The lady is surprised, she would have expected an arrival party by now, much like the Marchwardens, but she supposes the king is different - he will make them come, he wants to set the scene. So does her grandmother, but she does it differently. Mind you, Lórien is also a lot smaller. Still, Ariel is certain the Greenwood Elves have long known they have arrived and take any little advantage they can find.

"And Ariel, remember -" her companion suddenly starts.
"Yes, yes, I know. The mother," she sighs.

Glorfindel has filled her in on the way on everything he knows about the king and his family, his father King Oropher, and his late wife, Queen Wingwen. She was also called Plinnheryn, apparently, a formidable archer. She led a small amount of Woodland Elves in the battle of Fornost, a reinforcement, where she was then slain in battle. Glorfindel had looked haunted, no wonder, after all, he had been there. It was a battle Ariel hadn't quite understood at that time, too far away in Lórien - she is fairly certain that was exactly what her parents had wanted. War is not a place for a child, her father would have said. Maybe he is right.

The queen and king of Mirkwood have a son, a couple of years her senior from what she knows, but not too much. Not enough to having fought in Fornost, surely, she thinks.
Ariel straightens in her saddle, trying to appear composed despite the nerves gnawing at her.

At last, they emerge into a clearing which is cut off by what looks like a wall made out of trees. No, not a wall, more like a gate. Ariel knows these are living in trees, like in Lórien, but hearing about it and seeing it is something very different. Where Lothlórien is silvery-white and ethereal, this is all dark wood and amber and brass, as far as she can see. Now the guards start to appear, several different kinds. There are some which look more like the rangers she knows, a bit like the Marchwardens, she supposes these are the elves that do the normal patrols. Then there are guards in golden armour, seemingly battle ready, though there is no battle to fight.
A statement, she can see it. This is a Kingsguard, this is just a wealthy man bragging.

An ellon who she supposes is their leader steps forward and bows deeply in front of the party, then they politely ask all Rivendell Elves to get off their horses. Well, at least she supposes that's what he says, his accent is rather broad. Certainly different from the Sindarin she has grown up with, but also very different from the Lórien Sindarin she has gotten used to. It's interesting, since both folks are a mixture between Sindarin and Silvan elves, throw also in a couple of Noldor.

"The way is not fit for a horse, my lady, my lord," they explain to Glorfindel and her.

It doesn't bother her, really, she has expected it, though she is relieved as they promise to take care fo her steed.

"The King and the Prince are already waiting, if you were to follow me? Your luggage will be sent to your quaters," the ellon explains (probably), then leads them towards the entrance.

They step through, into softer shadows, like honey on freshly baked bread, though there is still something a bit ominous in the air. Thankfully their hosts didn't made them leave their weapons at the door, as some houses apparently do - though in this case Ariel would have protested. No, this is a strange new place with strange new people, she is not going in unarmed.

Her luggage on the other hand doesn't bother her much, there is hardly anything interesting in it. Aa they walk along she thinks that if she is honest, she would have liked to get changed before meeting the King of the Woodland Realm, to dress to impress, but apparently that is not meant to be. Well, exactly for that reason Glorfindel and herself have flipped their cloaks this morning so that now the gold of the inside is shining softly in the lights of the silver lanterns. They look decadent ans expensive and certainly both like more than simple envoys.

Massive doors swing open with a creak and reveal a long, grand hall, carved or maybe even built from living wood. A man is lounging on a throne on the other side of the room. Her Elven eyes can spot his elegance from afar - he is like a huge muscular cat. The King, who else, with a crown of leaves on his head. His coat is flashy in a style that reminds her of home and tells her that he tries to imitate the sophistication of Imladris. His facial expression makes her question whether he simply doesn't want to project his feelings or whether he is cold. She assumes the second.

His son, almost a true younger copy, who is standing next to him, seems to be the exact opposite. Legolas is looking at her with a curious yet friendly expression, while his father only does his best to seem regal and commanding.
Ariel keeps walking forward, her steps echoing in the vast space. When she reaches the men with Glorfindel still on her heels, she stops. For a moment, she simply seizes him up, measures him, from the tips of his ears down to his shiny boots. He seems a bit surprised, and it only strikes her than that maybe she is not what he has expected? But what has he expected?

She bows slightly, breaking eye contact for the first time, but whatever, she promised Ada to be polite. She knows her golden, unbound hair must be catching the light of the lanterns and for a moment she thinks how effective a full-on deep curtsy in a flashy gown would have been. He would have been wrapped around her little finger in record time.

"Mae govannen aran nín, im Ariel Elerondiel na Imladris. It is an honor to be here," she introduces herself. Then she points to her companions. "These are my people, under command of Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower."

For the first time, the king seems just a tad excited - when he looks at the other elf - and then he nods at him, that court acknowledgement of one male to another who doesn't want to seem too close but is actually rather impressed. Ariel sighs internally. Great, that means she will have to work double as hard here to get at least a decent amount of respect, if he is so taken with Glorfindel.

Then Thranduil's gaze turns back towards her.

"So, you are Ariel Celebormîrig," he remarks. Well, at least she can understand him, though he also speaks with an obvious accent. She still doesn't get the meaning, though, and it takes everything in her not to frown, because she has truly no clue what the king could mean. She has never heard that name in reference to herself, and she's not sure it's meant as a compliment. Still, he doesn't need to know that. She has the feeling Glorfindel is almost snorting next to her as well. "I must say, you are not what I expected."

The King's eyes fix onto her weapons, openly displayed, the boots and the tunic.

"Most people find I am not," she answers offhandedly. She wants an ally, but she certainly won't couwer in front of him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the prince has started to smirk. The King shrugs.

"Welcome to my halls. I trust your journey was uneventful?"

Ariel nods, trying to maintain her composure under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Indeed, thank the Valar. We made good time on the road."

"I am pleased to hear that. We take great pride in our home and the Old Forest Road." Thranduil cleares his throat. "For now, Legolas, show our guests to their quarters."

He dismisses them with a wave of his hand and without hesitation, Legolas steps forward, his demeanor warm and welcoming. It gives her an option to look him over as well. Unsurprisingly, he is well dressed, though something in his posture tells her he'd rather wear something else than the formal clothes. Somehow he reminds her of Tommen when he had been squeezed into a fashionable but uncomfortable doublet.

"This way, please follow me."

She notices his drawl, just a teeny tiny bit funny. With a last look over her shoulder, she follows the elf. No wonder, the king is watching them with a curious expression on hsi face. It tells her she needs to watch her back here - she just hopes she hasn't become sloppy over the last millenia. Well, they will find out soon enough. As they walk through the halls, Ariel still can't help but marvel at the beauty around her. The interior of the hall is decorated with intricate carvings and tapestries depicting scenes of Elvish history and nature. Maybe these elves aren't as uncultured as others say, she wonders, or at least their king wants to give the impression.

"I hope you find Mirkwood to your liking. It can be quite different from Rivendell, or so I have heard" the prince remarks off-handedly.
"I am sure I will," she answers politely.

They stop in front of a carved door.

"Lord Glorfindel, I was informed these were your quarters during your last stay, so I had them arranged for you. I hope that will find your approval."

Glorfindel smiles.
"I am very grateful, my Prince," he agrees, "it is indeed lovely to return to that familiar place."
"Oh, it is not trouble at all. Now, if you would follow me?"

He leads Ariel to a room nearby with large windows overlooking the forest. The soft light filtering through the leaves is creating a serene atmosphere, much more welcoming than she has expected.

"Here are your quarters. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask."

Ariel looks around, appreciating the elegant simplicity of the room.

"Thank you, my Prince. I am sure I will be quite comfortable here."

After all, she has stayed at Winterfell at the grubby North or slept on the ground on patrol more nights than not, so this wooden room with the broad bed is quite the luxury.
As Legolas leaves, she takes a moment to breathe deeply, trying to compose herself. That went well, actually, she thinks. She puts the cloak on a hook, takes off bow, quiver and sword and walks to the window to look out at the forest, feeling a sense of awe and excitement. Mirkwood is mysterious and vast, and truly, her father has been right - she can't wait to uncover its secrets.
Just a couple of minutes later, there is a polite knock on the door. When she opens it, a dark-haired elleth is standing in front of her, simply but carefully dressed and obviously slightly panicking. She curtsies.

"Lady Ariel, I am Lindeth, your attendant. The King sends me, I am meant to be at your disposal."

Ariel almost laughs, because someone truly didn't get the memo that she is anything but the usual lady. No wonder the King was surprised as she walked in, fully armed. The strange thing though is that apparently he has been talking to Lord Celeborn, one of her biggest supporters, and she wonders why he hasn't mentioned anything of it to him. This is certainly an issue to be observed. Well, anyway, she hasn't had a maid in very very veeeeeery long - not at all, really, since her mother took care of her when she was little and later Arwen loved to do her hair. Or Elladan, though of course he will never admit to that. It will be nice, for a change, she thinks. She motions at the girl to come inside.

"I would like to take a bath, get changed, and take care of my hair."
"Of course, híril nín," the girl answers, in the same strange accent she has heard others talk in already. Hers is even more pronounced than the prince's.

She pulls away a curtain, revealing a tub. After a press onto a small latch, suddenly water starts to flow into it from a shole in the roof.

"We collect rain water," Lindeth explains. She motions towards oils and soaps. "I have provided you with a selection, but let me know if you prefer something else."

She stopps the water before it can overfill the tub.

"Would you like me to help with your armour?"

It is very polite, but from her eyes Ariel can see that she has most likely never touched an armour, even a light one such as hers, before. She is a lady's maid, not a squire. So, Ariel waves her away and the girl disappears as swiftly as she has come, leaving her to her musings. As soon as she is gone, Ariel slips off her bracers and shoulder guards, buckle after buckle. They are all made of leather coloured a deep burgundy with fine golden inlays. She loves the design, it's one of her vanities, even though most tell her to switch to greens and browns. Dark red is close enough, she finds. The black fingerless gloves come next, everything a pile on the floor - it's all sweaty and just a little bit gross after weeks of travel. Two layers of tunic, one pair of trousers and her small clothes later she can finally step into that tub.
The water is surprisingly warm and soon unsurprisingly dirty. She pulls the plug and figures out how to fill it again with fresh clean water before she dips her hair in it. Afterwards, it smells like roses and something foresty she doesn't know and after brushing and brushing and brushing, it finally becomes soft to the touch again.

The clean clothes feel great on her skin, though she is quite happy about the slightly thicker material. For once, her dress is not red, but layered cloth in pale green, brown and cream. Gold leaves and vines are stiched all over the sleeves and the side of the bodice. It is a dress meant to honour her hosts, and yet to make sure she is not overlooked. It rather screams out her status, but she hopes without causing offence. Ariel keeps her hair fully open again, only adorned by a small golden circlet on her brow. It clashes a bit with her silver Evenstar, but by now, she doesn't mind anymore.
She meets Glorfindel at his door, by now also changed and much refreshed. He tugs her arm into the cook of his elbow and pulls her along.

"Be nice to the poor girl," he scolds her, "she was expecting someone totally different. Let her adjust to you."
"Which girl?"
He gives her a look.
"The maid I could her hustling by in a panic."
It reminds her very much of Arwen's "be nice"- speeches and she sighs.
"Alright, I will be nice."

The dinner is extraordinary, especially the wine, but she is careful with how much she drinks. She doesn't want to embarass herself, after all. The other elves seem weary of all the Rivendell people, but mostly of Glorfindel and herself, and she can't yet say whether it is a good or a bad thing. For now, it's an observation.

Over time, she meets one courtier after another and finds them all very polite and courteous, but distant. All except one, who seems to be everywhere she turns.
Legolas.
Given his status it makes sense he is not intimidated, but his openness is truly strange.
The prince of Mirkwood had introduced himself to her with an exuberant enthusiasm that Ariel found both somewhat charming and perplexing. He apparently has a penchant for appearing out of nowhere, startling her with his silent footsteps and mischievous grin.
She wonders whether he doesn't have any friends, or whether he has been told to keep her company. Well, she supposes his company is better than no company, since the Silvan Elves remain distant, just like the Galadhrim had been. She already braces herself for a couple of pretty lonely years as her own people leave, and before they go she hugs Glorfindel for far longer than she will ever admit. He just holds her, tightly, and she wonders whether he is maybe just a little bit worried as well.

"Take care, and be nice."
"You mentioned that, a couple of times."
"I feel I have to mention that over and over again," he remarks dryly.
She huffs.
"Be safe. And tell the others to be safe. Including Erestor."
"I am sure he will be touched and appreciate that."
"I am sure he won't care and be much rather touched by you," she whispers.
Glorfindel blushes and she is sure he would have swatted at her if they didn't have an audience.
"Oh, give him some credit," he scolds her lightly, "he likes you more than you think."

When they finally turn to go and she remains standing there, a pang of homesickness suddenly hits her. She thinks that maybe she will miss the familiar faces of Rivendell, the comforting presence of her family more than expected. And yet, she also knows that this is part of her journey, part of discovering who she truly is - in this life.
For now, she starts with getting familiar with the place, not an easy task due to the sheer size. Ariel often wanders through the great halls of Thranduil's palace, her eyes taking in the intricate carvings of trees and the subtle glow of enchanted lanterns that almost seem to float in between. Her first impression has been correct, the Woodland Realm is vastly different from Rivendell and Lothlórien. It is darker, more mysterious, and filled with an energy that is both enchanting and a little bit frightening.

She has been asked about her sword and bow, of course, but nobody has invited her to practice so far. For now that's okay, she is happy to play the little damsel, but it's not the way she wants to spend her days - idle walking and chatting.
There are guards, much like the Marchwardens, they seem like appropriate company for training - joining them would also give her the opportunity to sneak around a little. After all, she is here because the King requested it, but also to make some inquiries for her father.

Ariel sits down on a stone bench in what must be something like a palace garden, lost in thought, when she is alerted by a soft rustling behind her. She turns, half-expecting to see a bird or a squirrel, but instead, Legolas emerges from the foliage, a wide smile on his face.

"Lady Ariel!" he calls, bounding over to her with the grace of a cat. "I was hoping to find you here."

She raises an eyebrow, suppressing a sigh. "Lord Legolas, my pleasure. Do you always have to appear so suddenly though?"

He laughs, a light, musical sound. "It's a habit, I'm afraid. I forget that not everyone moves as quietly as the trees."

The young ellon winks at her and casually sits down next to her, total disregard of formality. He reminds her a little bit of Haldir, though where Haldir is all snarky and sharp, Legolas is cheerful and light. The reports have been correct, he is a couple of years older than her, maybe as old as her brothers. The hair is silvery, like the one of the Galadhrim, and utterly straight, different from the soft waves that tumble over her shoulders. If he didn't have these deep ocean-blue eyes, one could take him as a Targaryen, though she cannot remember ever having heard of a Targaryen who smiles that much. Her father - well, Tywin Lannister - would consider that suspicious, she thinks.

"What brings you here today?"
"I thought you might be bored - and that you might like to join the training of the guards. I do, usually, and I know you've brought your weapons."

Well, that was easy - and yet, she hesitates for a moment, because she doesn't want to start a rumour or anything. Then she thinks that maybe it will be fine, she is a lady and an accomplished fighter, after all.

"Very well. I will get changed - where shall I meet you?"

He describes to her a place a little bit outside of the walls, easy to find if you know where you look. A large group of elves is already practicing when she arrives, all of different ages and different levels of skills.

"It's not the whole guard," Legolas suddenly remarks next to her and she almost jumps again, "just a couple, the ones who are here for training. New recruits. The like."

Unsurprisingly, the group is mostly male and mostly dark-haired. Ariel has to admit, at a first glance, one wouldn't really see a difference to the Imladris Elves, only in the clothes. They are less armoury, more leafy, if it makes any sense.
As they approach, a tall, certainly Silvan elleth stopps her practicing and jogs over. She has fiery red hair and slightly unsettling, sharp, vigilant eyes that hold a deep sadness. She bows to the couple.

"Hîr nín Legolas, híril nín, a pleasure."
"This is Tauriel," Legolas introduces her with much fondness, "she is one of the newest and most promising members."
The woman - almost still a girl - blushes under the praise.
"You are too kind."
She looks over at Ariel, at her boots and tunic.
"Have you come to practice?"
"Indeed, that was the plan."

The redhead looks at her a bit strangely, but then nods. Legolas turns towards her.
"What would you like to start with?"
"Sword fighting?" she offers, because she wants to impress them, and from what she has heard, she ahs a better chance with a sword than with a bow.
The prince nods and drops his quiver and bow in an almost casual gesture.
"Of course."
He walks over to a pile and picks up two practice swords, and trows one towards her, she barely has time to catch it. Ariel raises an eyebrow.
"Are you that scared of me, my Prince?"
He grins.
"I have heard rumours - I think I should be."

She gives him a small smile and drops her own weapons as well. The practice sword is heavier than her own, but well balanced. Yep, that could work.
Tauriel gives the signal and she moves, but so does the prince. He comes at her with full force, with the same exhuberance he always displays, and for a moment, she is taken aback. He is like nobody she has ever fought before.

Arwen is careful and quick but lacks force, she is still the easiest target.
Her brothers, also trained by Glorfindel, maybe come closest to her own style, but they are both show-offs and can be beaten.
She has trained with Lord Celeborn once and knows he is lots stonger than her, though she knows she can outrun him. However, if he were ever to fight dirty - meaning including forest magic - she would be screwed.
Elrond is probably the most precise Elven knight she has ever met, like a hunting knife, never wasting any energy. He tires her out before he goes at her and she has not yet found a way to get around that. She has the feeling Legolas might try to do that was well with his quickly following hits. She also thinks he might just manage to do that if she doesn't get through his defenses soon.
He is less forceful than Haldir, though, and she has the feeling that other than her friend, he doesn't intend to fight dirty, for now. The Marchwarden has no such qualms, at least not against her, he will use tripping and elbows and shoulder bumps whenever it suits him. Actually, he is the one who told her all these neat little tricks that might keep her alive but get her a scolding from Glorfindel.
Well, Glorfindel doesn't need to fight dirty to beat her, she has no illusions. He is icy, calculated, powerful and strategic, she still has no chance of beating him, only distracting him. However, he has taught her a lot, and now that she concentrates she can see Legolas uses speed and force to make up for a lack in technique.

He isn't truly inventive or vicious, he is just quick - which might work well on another opponent, but not on her. (Also, he strongly prefers his bow-side, which is a problem for him.) Once she has that figured it out, it takes her five clever moves to get behind his defence. She actually could have made it in three if she had bluntly punched him in the chin and slapped against his nose, but she is a guest, after all.
His sword clatters to the ground and he blinks. Then he slowly starts to grin.

"Impressive! Now I am truly happy we didn't use sharp blades."

Ariel tilts her head in acknowlegement, he should be.

He gets his revenge as soon as they move to bows though, because he truly seems to be unbeatable there. While she manages not to embarass herself (these are not Lórien bows, after all), the bow seems to be glued to his hand, a part of his body. From the looks the other guards give him, she assumes that he is unusually good for a Woodland Elf as well, though.

"I have a deal for your," he tells her afterwards, "you teach me swordfighting, I teach you archery. And maybe close combat with daggers."
She raises an eyebrow.
"What makes you think I am not good at that."
"You carry neither dagger nor knife. You would if you saw it as an advantage."

Well, she can't argue with this one now, can she?

~ o ~

So, it seems Legolas and her become sort of a team, which seems to greatly please the King and make him indulge in her less than lady-like endeavours. She also finds Tauriel seems to be somewhat part of the extended family, since she has been raised at court since her parents were killed by orcs. Still, Thranduil very much makes her status clear.
Ariel has the feeling the redhead doesn't like her much, which might have to do with her priviledges or her contact to Legolas, she isn't sure. Nevertheless, she is always polite.

The Prince likes to drag her into the forest for archery practice, because he claims she can't get a feel for it if she isn't moving. While she is very much used to shooting in running, doing it in these trees is completely different than in the mountainy regions around Imladris or between the high golden mallorn trees. Mirkwood seems to be alive in a different way, with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Legolas always moves effortlessly, as if he were part of the forest itself, while Ariel finds herself stumbling over roots and against low-hanging branches more often than not. It confuses her, why makes her this nature behave so stupidly?

"Tell me, Ariel," Legolas begins one day, glancing back at her, "what do you think of our home?"

She huffs. "I just almost fell on my face." Then she composes herself. "It's... different," she replies carefully. "Beautiful, but different from what I'm used to. And I feel a bit out of it."
"I can see that."
"Charming."
"No offence, I think it's normal. You are very..." he searches for a word, "poised. Yes, poised. And the forest is not. So I think it makes sense you have a hard time following the voices in it. Mirkwood is wild and untamed, but it has a beauty all its own. You just have to look a little closer."

~ o ~

She tries to, truly, she tries to, and it's almost embarassing how long it takes her to notice what she has been missing. In retrospect, she can't even say how that has happened, but probably because the training is so exhausting, leaving her muscles and especially her arms sore and her so tired that she falls into her bed and sleeps all through the night until Lindeth wakes her in the morning. She is grumpy more day than she is not, which greatly scared the girl in the beginning, but Ariel thinks the girl by now knows she doesn't bite - much.
At least, the girl hasn't run so far.
Instead, she has learnt how to take care of an armour, upon her own request. Ariel has the suspicion it's not very altruistic, judging by the way Lindeth is looking at one of the palace guards. Good for her, she thinks.

Legolas receives lessons, just like she did before, so she joins him, though she finds her quenya is a lot better than his. Actually, she finds all of her knowledge of all languages a lot more precise than his which kind of reinforced her prejudices. However, it also gives her a great opportunity to find a nickname for Legolas - and its far easier than she ever expected. She only has to translate his name into quenya and voilá, she has him flinch - easy.
So, Laicolassë it is, whenever she is annoyed. Needless to say, it happens rather frequently.

Anyway - one night she can't sleep, despite the exhaustion of the day, so she finally wanders through the halls and up a couple of stairs, round and round and round. The canopy is still closed above her, so climbing it is, up up up, until she can finally poke her head through the leaves. They are turning a orangy red, touched by autumn, and she gets comfortable while she slowly watches the sun rise and gleam on the foliage. It looks like fire, an endless sea of fire, but it's not a green fire anymore. It's not wildfire. It's true and red and it's dawn and it's right. She breathes out.

Wingwen literally means "foam girl", Plinnheryn is a construct made out of "arrow" and "lady".
I am also convinced Ariel is Celeborn's absolute favourite grandchild because she resembles his Galadriel and his daughter the most, but she is (of course) far too blind to see any of it.
Thranduil calls her Celebormîrig, for him it's a bit of a dig. It losely translated means "Celeborn's little gemstone", out of Celeborn + mîr (jewel) + -eg (diminutive ending, morphed).

Laicolassë is literally "Greenleaf", just the quenya translation of Legolas.