Ariel gets to know Legolas and Tauriel a bit better - some old patterns still stick, though, because she is a snob.
Catastrophe hits and she has to deal with new trauma.

Archer - II

It takes her about thirty years to truly warm up to Legolas - time a human doesn't have, but no big deal for elves.

She finds he doesn't have it easy with his dad - who reminds her more of Tywin Lannister than she is comfortable with, most days. He is self-absorbed, vain, and takes pleasure in wealth and shiny things. He is rich, likes to flaunt his wealth, and is not particularly bothered about his subjects' opinions as long as they go along with his plans. The opinion of sheep, Ariel cannot help but think. He is also very very handsome, but that is more of an afterthought.
Thranduil doesn't really hold council, though he does include Legolas in his considerations, a bit like the Lannisters did - it's all family business, though this family is more a two-people thing.
Before, it has never struck her as odd, but after having seen Rivendell politics with advisers such as Glorfindel and Erestor, she finds there is very little ... opinion going around here. Nobody asks after hers anyway, so she understands that she is meant to shut up. Boring. So boring. Of course, she watches, and she watches well.
She knows which courtiers battle for Thranduil's favour, which want to position their daughters in his favour. Who is aiming to undermine her (no chance, sorry) and who wants her help. The funfact is, Legolas is either not interested in any of the girls, or he wants to mess with his father, because he never reacts to any of the opportunities that present themselves.

He is different. He is truly friendly, kind, almost sweet. Maybe he is even decent.
At first, she isn't sure she wants to spend more time with this overly exuberant prince than truly necessary, but she comes to appreciate his light hearted nature. Ariel often wonders where it comes from, after all, his father is not exactly the kind of man to encourage laughter and lightness. Maybe this is his sort of rebellion, she thinks, because it's far too constant to be an act, right?
Still, sometimes something flashes into his eyes, like pain or a memory, and she wonders.
She wonders what he would have been like if his mother was still around, or if he weren't the heir to Mirkwood. If Mirkwood weren't so dark, some days, while the spiders get braver and braver.

Ariel reports to Lord Elrond, of course, in letters that seem utterly innocent but carry meaning that he might or might not understand. She doesn't particularly care. From time to time there are messages from Arwen, kind missives sent together with official ones, stories from Lórien, always with a couple of lines from Haldir. He wants her to come back, he tells her over and over again, and it makes her gladder than she will admit to hear that.

While she trains with different warriors, Legolas is her main partner, mostly because he is the best archer in the whole of Mirkwood - or so they claim. Judging by the stuff he can do, she doesn't think it's exaggerated, though his bow itself is by far not as good as the one of the galadhrim. Anyway, he has made it his mission to make a good shot out of her and yes, it's working. Or at least she is improving, big time, because he is a really good teacher, probably better than she is in teaching him sword fighting.

She can currently still beat him rather easily, but she has the feeling that might change in the years to come. Ariel is also aware she has the much better sword, but she won't tell him that - he knows anyway. After all, Raurocále is a beautiful deadly weapon, sharp like Elven swords tend to be, with a golden-silver hilt. Green vines seem to wrap around it, improving the grip if the hands get sweaty. There is one single ruby sunken into the pommel - and a lion carved on the other side. The sword is her own Brightroar, something the Lannisters never got - but she does. Just her. It's made for being wielded mostly one-handed because she still relies on speed instead of force, which confuses Legolas, who uses both hands, most of the time, greatly. He is a good sport about it, though.

Over time she realises that beneath Legolas's bubbly exterior is a somewhat kindred spirit, a privileged kid who understands the burdens of expectation and the longing for freedom. She still finds him odd, but she also finds herself looking forward to their training.

At the same time, there is a problem called Tauriel - because Tauriel used to be Legolas' partner and now she is getting annoyed. If she is honest, Ariel cannot really fault her for that. There is something between her and Legolas, though she isn't quite sure what it is. It sometimes seems romantic but sometimes she also thinks it's not. Again, this Elvish love makes these things very very difficult. What is clear though is that Tauriel is vaguely jealous of her, even though she always stays polite and respectful. Nevertheless, the tension gets on Ariel's nerves, and this is getting truly inconvenient. She is supposed to stay here for a while, she cannot have a simple Silvan elleth breathe down her neck all the time.

So, one afternoon after training, she drags Tauriel into the forest. The other elleth looks clearly bewildered and also a little bit intimidated, which might have to do with the fact that Ariel still has her sharp sword on her hip. Good. They stop when they are out of earshot.

"I don't want Legolas, so relax," she tells Tauriel bluntly, "though obviously, you can't have him either."

The other elleth gapes, then closes her mouth and nods.

"Understood, híril nín," she answers politely, "I would never dare." Ariel just raises an eyebrow, and she blushes. "No!"
"Alright, then. What's your problem? Speak freely."

Suddenly, Tauriel's boots seem to be very interesting. When she looks up again, she seems insecure.

"It all seems easy to you. The way you manage the world. The men."

Well, that one was unexpected. Ariel shakes her head.

"It's not. It's all practice, in fact. Diligent, year-long practice. The worlds are run by men, unfortunately, and we need to see how to fit in and how to use it."
"You watch them. All of the time," Tauriel remarks.
"That I do. To a certain extent, knowledge is power."
"And the rest?"
She shrugs. It's something she has learnt long ago.
"Power is power."
"If you say so, híril nín."

Ariel nods courtly and they return to the others, quietly, as if nothing has happened. They never speak of this encounter again.

As it turns out, Tauriel is pretty cool once she gets to know her - which comes as a shock, because Ariel didn't know she could actually like another female being (other than Arwen, somewhat, but that's her sister). Mind you, her last friend ended up in a well. Though, if Taena were to count ... whatever. The Woodland elleth is curious and brave and witty, and when she is around, Legolas' exuberance is shared between two people, which makes it a bit less exhausting for her.
She also has the feeling Tauriel makes the prince feel safe since he seems calmer, less bubbly, less of a show-off. More natural.

Now that she is finally allowed to go on patrol with the other guards - after a long discussion with King Thranduil about his responsibility for another Lord's daughter and all of this nonsense - Ariel feels she is getting more and more familiar with her surroundings. The other guards also have finally started to talk to her, which is nice for a change, especially since she now understands the accent quite well. In fact, she feels herself sometimes slip into the same drawl, shame on her, though the Silvan Elves seem to rather appreciate it. She is not sure whether her ada will, though.

There is contact with humans, mostly people from Dale, for trade and also a little just for the sake of it - the Woodland Elves are friendly towards these people, and while they might not particularly see them as equals, at least they do not dismiss them. Ariel finds the Dalish people quite alright to be around - it's a pretty, blooming city, lively but not too big yet. It gives her a reason to practice the Common Tongue, though a lot of the merchants speak at least a couple of words of Sindarin. Of course, she draws attention to herself wherever she goes, because she is golden and wears her golden cloak whenever she strolls about the city. Legolas with his shiny silvery golden hair next to her also doesn't particularly help for blending in.
They would be a beautiful pair, she sometimes thinks, like a younger version of Celeborn and Galadriel. But he never makes a move, and neither does she.

But there aren't just the visits to Dale, the elves mostly track through the forest. The sounds are familiar now, she suddenly notices, not like Imaldris or Lórien, but familiar. She wonders whether this is what Jaime felt like at Crakehall, a visitor and yet not a visitor, part of another court and yet still part of his true family. Thranduil certainly is not the fatherly type, other than men like Jon Arryn, she supposes, who basically raised Robert and Stark. She flinches.

"Everything alright?" Tauriel asks from where she has been walking next to her.
"Just a stray thought," she answers.
"May I ask about what?"
"About parents, in general," she answers truthfully.

Thankfully, they are alone today, just the two ladies and Legolas. Apparently, it has been decided that they can take care of themselves and not die.
Legolas laughs, for once it sounds surprisingly bitter.

"I doubt the three of us are experts in that regard, no offence."
"Well, we can start a lacking-mothers-group, I guess," Tauriel remarks, just as bitterly.

They are not wrong, but damn, does it hurt. She misses her nana more than she will admit most days, the sweet smile and the hugs. Her hum is a bit of a confirmation and a warning.

"Your ada, is he also..." Legolas starts nevertheless.
"You mean did he become bitter and mean since my mother sailed?" Ariel asks dryly. She shakes her head. "He didn't. He's just... sad. But I have seen it happen before."

She leaves out that it was in another life, same same, she guesses.

"Did it get better?"
"Nope. Just worse, sorry." She shrugs. "Though the children... well let's say nobody in this family was truly on the same page. It's not recommendable."
"I guess so. Alas, I don't think my father likes me much either," Legolas admits.
Ariel snorts. "Neither does mine like me, I think."
"Wait, what?"
She shrugs. "He's weary of me, something about too much ambition and darkness and the like. He is also besotted with Arwen, who is unfortunately unhatable." Like a protest, she flops down on the floor. "But I am truly bad with understanding Elvish affection and love, so there's that."
Tauriel sits down next to her. "Is that a peredhel issue?"
"I don't know. Maybe? Or maybe it's a me-issue."
"But you are still using your father name," Tauriel points out.
"And you can be a bit of a -" Legolas is searching for the right term.
"Bitch?" she offers.

When he looks confused, she notices she has used the common tongue of he starts to grin.

"Probably exactly that."
"Jup, that term is likely fitting. At least people have told me," she admits wryly, thinking of Margaery Tyrell, "and with regard to the name - well, I didn't say I hate my family. And my mother name is... a little personal, I guess. Also, as Glorfindel tells me, it's bad for screaming. Besides, Legolas uses his father name as well, as far as I am aware."
"True, for much the same reason as you do."
Ariel perks up. "What's the deal with your mother name then, Legolas?"

Tauriel chuckles, which sounds promising.

"I tell you mine, you tell me yours."
"Alright. It's Viryórë, though my nana used to call me Órenya."
Tauriel just stares, which makes her remember that she doesn't speak quenya, most likely.
"Now you."

Legolas actually blushes.

"Gwilwilthion but shortened to Gwil."
Ariel blinks. And blinks again. "Yeah. I get it," she only comments. "Tauriel?"
"That's also my father name. My mother name is Melras."
"I mean, it makes sense, with your hair and all that," Ariel argues, "but - isn't that a male name?"
She shrugs. "Now you know why I don't usually use it. Anyway - I have heard you've got a fancy second name."
"You mean Minuial? Yep, that kind of came when someone started calling my sister Arwen Undómiel. I think it suits me, though."
"Is that why you like wearing red?" Legolas asks.
"Well, more of a ... matching occurrence, I would say."
"Does anyone shorten your name? Your siblings? Friends?"
"Nope."
"Well, Tauriel and I need to come up with something then," Legolas argues.

She huffs. "Laicolassë, don't you dare!"

Needless to say, they won't care. For now, though, they sit in silence for quite a while, and damn it, apparently, she has gained two sort-of-friends more. Finally, she actually takes the time to look around.

"It's lovely. Thank you for bringing me here."
"This is one of my favourite places, actually" Legolas said, his voice softening. "I come here when I need to think or just be alone."
Tauriel laughs. "Do you want us to leave?"
"Nah, you're here anyway. You might as well stay now."

Legolas turns to Ariel, his expression more serious.
"I know I can be... a bit much sometimes. But I genuinely want you to feel welcome here. Mirkwood can be strange and daunting, but it's also a place of great beauty and wonder."

Ariel meets his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes.
"I appreciate that, Legolas. It's just... I didn't expect to find someone so... lively in a place like this."

Tauriel grins and he chuckles, a warm sound that makes her smile, too.
"I suppose I am a bit of an oddity. But that's what makes life interesting, don't you think?"
"Yes, I suppose it does."

Maybe he is what Tauriel and her need, that butterfly lightness, though she also finds he uses it as a shield, just like Tyrion used his sarcasm and Jaime his cockiness. He doesn't want people to look too closely, and yet she can't help but notice his shades of personality over time, whether she wants it or not. The call him Greenleaf in Dale, but he is so much more, so much more colourful, like the butterfly he is named after.
Tauriel becomes a familiar, too, even though there are still moments when she addresses her as híril nín, my lady. Maybe that's how it will always be, that little bit of oddness - after all, she does that with Legolas as well. The male never addresses her by a title, but he is a prince, she supposes, so that's fine. She never calls him "prince" either, though. They are Legolas and Ariel and Tauriel, or Laicolassë and Celebormîred and Tauriel! if they are angry, or Gwil and Círui and Mel if they feel particularly affectionate.

The first time they use the nickname she freezes, because Círui means "made new", like she is. At the same time, the similarity to Cersei is striking and her heart lurches- but it can only be accidental, she tells herself. They cannot know, they want to mess with her, by shortening Viryórë to Virya and then translating Virya to Sindarin, since both elves don't particularly like quenya.
This messy name-thing, it's so typically Elvish, she supposes, it's what happens when you are thousands of years old with too little to do.

But actually, there is enough to do.
Their patrols get darker as more and more spiders creep in, disgusting big creatures that are hard to kill but an incredibly good practice at the same time. When Legolas considers her skilled advanced enough with a bow, Tauriel starts to train her with knives for close combat. She hates being so close to an enemy but has to admit the style comes with some advantages. Unfortunately, Tauriel on the other hand is a totally lost cause with swords. No chance.

If Jaime could just see her now, she sometimes wonders, what would he say? When he would see her in trousers and tunic, most days a forest green now, and her light armour. She has tied her hair together before, but now she slowly adapts the Woodland style with their half-braided and half-down designs, some quite similar like the ones she wore for everyday occurrences in King' Landing. Only for formal dinners she always keeps her hair open, a broad golden courtain over her shoulders.

If the other elves notice, they never say, but they look at her differently, she thinks. Sometimes they share stories with her, though most days they don't, simply live parallel but connected lives.

~ 0 ~

Then there are the dwarves, of course, who have made themselves a home in the mountain of Erebor and Ariel doesn't like them because...well, reasons. Thranduil doesn't like them either, in fact, most of the elves distrust them. It suits her just right, that means their contact is minimal, though she has to admit they do make pretty jewellery. Dale thrives because of the trade and well, maybe they can all go on existing like that - when that Dwarven King makes a mistake. At least, Ariel thinks he does. He starts a conflict with Thranduil, over a couple of gemstones.

That would be bad enough, but they are not ordinary stones. They are silvery and bright, and they belonged to Legolas' nana and had been given to the dwarves to be altered into something wearable. Now, they aren't returned, they claim the king has not paid what they had been due. Ariel thinks that is a huge load of crap, because Thranduil is almost a Lannister, and Lannisters always pay their debts.

Legolas doesn't say, but it affects him as well - after all, there had not been much of his mother left to begin with. No grave, no place to grieve at. She understands - she often doesn't know how to grieve for her nana either.

~ 0 ~

It is early morning when they hear the rushing, like a storm coming. The alarm sounds and Ariel is up in a second, sword in hand even though she is not even wearing boots. Voices are getting louder outside, and she quickly rectifies the boot-issue before she joins them, a gaggle of elves who are already falling into orderly lines. People say Mirkwood elves are wild - and they are - but they are also highly trained, perfectly synchronised.

Legolas is coming towards her, eyes wide. He still looks dishevelled, his tunic only halfway buttoned. She wonders for a moment what he had been up to, whether he had been alone in bed, why he looks so out of it.

"What is that?" he asks, for once confused.

She wants to say she doesn't know either, but then the sound returns, together with a deep growling.

No, she wants to say, no, not again. Please no!

Instead, her body has a mind of its own, because there is only one word she screams.

"DRAGON!"

~ 0 ~

She wonders what she has done that she has to live through that horror again, or whether the Gods want to punish her by sending such a beast to threaten her new friends, people she cares about now. Out of the corner of the eye, she can see the king and Tauriel who have both heard her scream (like the whole army) blanching but still, they remain determined.

"It's the treasure," the king says, "the dwarves called him. With their treasure."

Well, at least no mad queen, what a joy, she thinks. Her happiness doesn't last long, because Thranduil sends his men towards Dale and the mountain, Tauriel included. He tries to keep her and Legolas back, but both won't have any of this.

"What am I supposed to tell your father if you get eaten by a dragon?" he barks at Ariel.
"That what comes around goes around," she answers "he will understand."

So, they go, but in the end, they don't truly see battle, at least not at first. Dale is already burning, and it takes everything in Ariel - who feels so Cersei in that moment - not to break down at the sight. The memories hammer in her heart, but this is another world, she tries to tell herself. It's not her fault. Thranduil won't risk his men though, so they won't go to war against that dragon who seems to be intend on destroying the dwarves.

But - the city. She can't have another city burn like that.
Why not? You don't own them anything.
Another, older voice in her asks, an older, much more pragmatic person than the young sort-of 17-year-old elven girl.
You had no trouble with that before! Tywin wouldn't move a finger. Even Lord Elrond would be cautious. Legolas seems careful, only Tauriel shows any kind of idealism. So, why?

Maybe it's the part of her that's still a little bit human and therefore feels pulled towards these other humans, or maybe it's her bad conscience - something makes her go down and try to help, together with a small group of Mirkwood elves. The air is thick with smoke and it's so hard to breathe, but they push on, trying to get people out of the city.

They are busy, but not busy enough to not hear him return, the dragon that is called Smaug. Fleeing is out of the question, and still they try, trying to duck into any stone building that might not as easily burn. Well, what can she say, she is too slow. Dragon fire licks up her right arm before she can push around a corner and now, she screams again, in agony, because she has never felt pain like that. Last time, at least she was dead soon after. But this pain, it doesn't stop, it just keeps burning and burning and burning. Someone drags her out of the ruins, out of the smoke, into the woods. Healers come, healers do their best, and still, it is burning, ugly and open and making her sword and bow arm almost useless.

For the first time, she understands Jaime, truly, what losing his hand must have been like. A warrior without his hand - what is she now? Reduced to an ornament again, a pretty token.

When she returns to Rivendell, it's not with glory and pride, it's with shame, even though she knows that actually, it wasn't her fault. It still feels as if it was.

~ 0 ~

Mind you, Ariel has been away for almost 300 years, about two years for a human, so of course she has changed, but her injuries have taken the biggest toll on her. Her father tries to heal her as best as he can, but the burns have settled in her skin and bones and while he manages to fix it - mostly - a faint web of silvery scars remains, just as a slight weakness in her wrist and elbow, sometimes even in her shoulder. She is still alright, but she was extraordinary before, and her body will never be able to go to that heights again. It simply can't.

She cries about it, of course, but then the most surprising thing happens: After a week back at Imladris there is a knock at the door. When she opens, after some consideration, it's Glorfindel, who looks at her sharply.

"You're late for training."
"It's no use," she argues, "my hand and arm are useless."

He looks as if he would like nothing more than box her ears.

"Well, with your oh so useless hand you are still better than half of the Elven rangers and most of the human ones. Besides, you have two hands. Let's see what we can do with that. Now come and stop simpering."

It feels like starting from 0 again, though truly it's not, because especially the knife and dagger fighting as made her good at twisting in both directions.

"You need another sword," Glorfindel finally tells her bluntly one day, "you have grown, you are quite tall now. You might not have the same muscle strength you once had, but you won't develop it by carrying a sword that is too light. And you need one that you can bring down with two hands, if need be."

She looks at him, incredulous.

"And where am I supposed to get that from?"

Her mentor smiles.

"There is a smithy here, isn't there?"

~ 0 ~

Her new sword is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen, though she must admit she takes some inspiration from the shards of Narsil that keep laying around in Imladris like an exhibit in a collection.
It is elegant, not exactly meant for a lady but not exactly broad either, maybe a bit like Hadhafang. However, while Hadhafang is clearly made for fighting from horseback, hers is for someone who fights on foot.
The metal gleams whenever the light touches it, like her hair, but for once, she feels there is no need for pure Lannister symbolism anymore. No. She has come too far, she thinks, she won't be reduced to a family name anymore.

When she finally receives the sword, the blade is engraved with motives - next to a lion there is a double crown next to double swords, a star, a waterfall, a flower, a mallorn leaf, and three arrows. It's her story, her new life, and she loves it.
The hilt ressembles her former sword, though without the inlay, it's much more practical, though no less intricate.

"What's its name?" Elrond wants to know, pointing towards the sword.

She looks at the blade, at her scarred right hand. Thinks of Jaime, thinks of her mistakes. For a moment, thinks of Lord Stark, of all people. Thinks of the chance she has gotten. Then she looks at her father again.

"Gwêdhchebin".

~ 0 ~

Still, it takes her years, years to get to the level she wants to be at. Glorfindel insists she trains her right side as well, because according to him, having a bad side is better than no side at all - which is probably true. By the time the dwarves have been driven out of Moria, the white tree of Gondor as died and Ithilien has been abandoned, she finally manages to beat her brothers again - with mostly her left hand, this time. It feels good, so so good, though the success is slightly dimmed by the fact that it took her about 100 years to get here.

"I don't know what you are whining about," Glorfindel only comments, "this is nothing in comparison to what everything else took you. In fact, I am certain you only learnt that quickly since you strengthened both your arms for archery and have always had a rather versatile style. Otherwise, that's not possible."

He ruffles her hair and messes with the half-updo she still sometimes wears, though she has returned to her broader Rivendell braids for most trainings. Actually, she also has re-introduced another trend, the pinned braids at the nape of her neck which keep her hair so wonderfully out of her face when she is fighting and dodging blows. She wonders what Arwen would say about that, but her sister has yet to return from Lórien. Oh, she has offered, as soon as she heard about the injury- but Ariel was the other twin once, the one who didn't recognize the mirror image anymore once they were injured, and she doesn't want that.

So, it's her and Glorfindel and Elladan and Elrohir, Erestor and Ada, mostly, and yes, that finally makes her the Lady of Rivendell. She takes over most of the household (to Lindir's delight) when she is not out on patrols, she greets strangers, she knows about everything that happens.

Like when a grey stranger arrives, from what she can guess not for the first time, to see her father. He appears to be a wanderer, a little bit frail, with a staff, but she isn't stupid. That's no mere peasant. She's right, of course.
Soon she is introduced to Gandalf the Grey, a wizard - because apparently, they exist here. Just like the witch she once met, he is pretty scary, in his own way. He never threatens her, but she assumes he knows things, much more than she is comfortable with. Her father likes him a lot though, which makes her think that either he is mad, wants to torture her, or this Gandalf might be a valuabel ally. Over time, she settles on the third. At least he always is polite.

Time passes, and she thinks she is waiting for something, though she doesn't know for what.