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Chapter Text

It's green fire, in the end, green fire and tumbling rocks and pain, and yes, maybe not only a little bit of regret. Maybe it's a hella lot of it, but people tend to regret things once the roof is raining down on them, she supposes. She can die with Jaime, true, but that has a lot less shine now that it is actually happening. Her thoughts flicker to her children, her perfect golden babies: Sweet Tommen, who had to grow up far too quickly, and her beautiful Myrcella who was far smarter than she ever realized. In the end, she made the same mistakes her father did, prioritised the heir and neglected the younger boy and the girl and the world wasn't better for it - on the opposite. Cersei is proud, but even she isn't that blind, she can see Joffrey had become a monster. She knows what he did to the Stark girl, the humiliation and pain. Forcing her to look up at her dead father. She shudders, and it doesn't only have to do with the dust and the roaring around her. Jaime and her, they had created a menace, and she can't even fault whoever it was - probably Lady Tyrell - for not letting the same happen to her precious Margaery.

Sure, she will always love her first-born son, but -. But Ned Stark's face floats into her mind unbidden, cold eyes, unpleasant, only dark and deep as he surrenders to take the black. The short look of shock as Joffrey calls for his head. Then it's all over. No, Cersei detested that man, this idea of honour, just laughable. And yet. His children live, at least partly, while all of hers are dead. So maybe he did something right, that prick. Why she wastes her last precious seconds thinking about him she doesn't know though, so she turns back towards Jaime next to her. She holds on to him as long as she can, until her lungs give out, and she feels nothing anymore.

♤ 《》♤

When she wakes up, there is a grey mist around her, a fog of some sorts, and certainly no Jaime. There is no pain, though there should be, and she looks around and down - well, damn it, because apparently, she doesn't exist anymore. But she can feel that she does, and she can feel she is not alone. There is another presence with her, huge and imposing and pretty pretty scary. Is this the Gods? Are they here to judge her? Maybe she should have prayed more, Cersei ponders. Well, too late now.

Suddenly, a voice fills her head, imperious and kind, young and old, eternity and just a second at the same time. They tell her about her faults, her mistakes, one by one, until she wants to rip her hair out and weep. They talk her into shreds, bare her soul, until there is nothing left. When they have finally finished, there is a pause. She just waits, because what else can she do? Cersei feels every tiny part that is left of her is already bleeding, invisible drops on an imvisible floor. When the other presence doesn't say anything further, she finally feels pressed to add something.

"I - I am sorry."

There is no sound, and still she thinks they can hear her. It feels horribly inadequate, and she certainly isn't sorry for everything she did, but at least she is for a couple of things. She supposes in such a situation, an apology can't hurt.

"You are covered in fire and blood," the voice comments and Cersei grimaces (without a face) because that's just so Targaryen, "and there is somewhere you need to go."

Well, she's dead, isn't she? So it's not as if she can pick a travel destination, right?

"Where?" she still asks, because we'll, she's Cersei Lannister after all.

"Another world. Another life. To play a role in another game."

"That sounds -"

"We didn't ask for you opinion," the voice cuts her off, for the first time a bit haughtily, "its necessary. Just ... try not to ruin it this time."

Cersei has no idea what this is about and it would be great if someone, anyone, could inform her what is going on, but everything is already disappearing in a swirl of colours. There is red and gold and she thinks maybe grey and white, and then green and lots of blue and silver.

Cersei Lannister, child of Westeros and daughter of Joanna and Tywin Lannister, sister of Jaime and Tyrion, mother of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, disappears.

♤《》♤

Chapter Text

She doesn't know what she expected, probably not much - but certainly not being re-born in another world. Yes, she is certain that is what has happened because she still has all of her memories, which is rather inconvenient if you are also caught in a toddler body and can't really speak. Add to the fact that she is apparently not even human anymore -

But let's start from the beginning.

Whoever decided to have a go at her personal history apparently had her sent to and to be re-born in a land called Middle Earth, even more precisely, in a place called Rivendell.

She doesn't know that at first, of course, because in the beginning her bodily functions and urges and wishes take over and there isn't much she can do or see anyway, unless thesebpeople who are supposedly her parents now pick her up and carry her around. Then she can see strange houses, a daintier and loftier than anything she has ever seen, almost built into the rocks and cliffs and trees and nature all around her. It is a mountain region, like the Eyrie she supposes, and yet, the wide flowing gowns everyone is wearing ressembles more the dress of Dorne, or the Free Cities.

 It takes her embarrassingly long to figure out that she's not human, but that she has become what they call Eldar, and that the language they are speaking all around her crib isn't Westron or any other human language but something apparently called Sindarin. Well, that explains why she can't seem to communicate, because apparently that messes with her brain. These things are strange - while she can think like an adult, she has to learn Sindarin like a child, one word at a time, even though she is clearly quicker than others, judging by her parents' pleased expressions. They spend time with her, far more than she would have expected, but later, she learns that Eldar children are so precious to parents that they would never give up their care to a wet nurse. Her mother  - her new mother, she should say - is beautiful, more beautiful than Joanna Lannister ever was. She ressembles what she has heard of the old Targaryen queens, with straight, silvery hair and high cheekbones in a face so fine and etheral it seems to be drawn or cut from marble, but the girl (thankfully she is still a girl) doesn't want to think about these dragon people now. Not after what happened... but Celebrían - nana - seems to be everything a mother should be and everything the dragon bitch was not: She is smiling most of the time, twinkling eyes with no trace of purple, and she is smothering her children with love.

Children - as in plural - because there are siblings. While she was the oldest once (even thoughnobody cared), now she is the youngest of four. Her older brothers are twins, Elladan and Elrohir, both named after their father, Lord Elrond, the Lord of Imladris- a place which they usually call Rivendell. At least she's a lord's child, she ponders, it could have been worse, since that certainly guarantees her an appropriate amount of luxury and care. But it will also throw her into intrigues and truthfully, she had enough of that for a lifetime. He wonders whether there are already thoughts about betrothals for her right now, in Westeros there would have been, but she knows too little about that world, and at least nobody ever says anything.

Besides, she has an older twin herself, and it's a sister, Arwen. Cersei herself has become Ariel, the supposedly matching piece to Arwen, just as Elladan matches Elrohir. Since she is used to family names she can't fault her parents for their lack of creativity, but thinks that Cersei would have gone a lot better with Celebrían than Ariel. Maybe there is a grandmother with a corresponding name?

In any case, she warms up to Ariel and finds it is her father name, the most formal of all the names she will ever have as an Eldar girl. Both hers and her sister's name literally mean "noble girl", something she can get behind, but she also feels her name is prettier because "riel" can also mean princess. She has been a queen, once, so being called princess pays her at least some of her due.

The girls share a crib and later a nursery, and it seems somewhat familiar, because it's something she did with Jaime once. But none of her new siblings are Jaime and she misses him terribly. He was her other half, another puzzle piece, while Arwen is just her total opposite.

Where Ariel is blond and golden, Arwen is ebony and dark. They are morning and evening, day and night, sun and moon. Ariel rages and Arwen cries - fire and water. There is nothing they have in common, she thinks, even when she can hardly stand up yet.

Ariel is the only blonde in the family, as far as she can tell. An odd one out, which is more uncomfortable than she had expected, even though the rest of her family seems to find her golden colouring perfectly reasonable. Either there are some relations she doesn't know of, or her new father must be very very certain in his wives affections.

Somehow, when Ariel watches the Lord and Lady of Imladris together, she truly believes that these two love each other. Then she darkly wonders whether Lord Elrond would turn and be like Tywin if anything were to happen to his precious wife. From what she knows by now, after a couple of years (because time apparently passes somewhat differently if you have an Elven body), he is a totally different kind of lord. He seems beloved, but she doesn't kid herself in thinking he is harmless. No, no harmless man would have a child like her. It's that easy.

♤《》♤

Sometimes, Lord Elrond - ada - gives her strange looks, and even though she is only little and can hardly piece together a proper sentence yet (stupid brain!), she feels he has figured her out, somehow. Ariel has heard from others that he is skilled in healing and on the topic of prophecies, so yes, maybe he knows something - but what of it? He doesn't seem like the kind of man to kick up a fuss, more like the brooding sort.

Otherwise, he's kind and fair and the total opposite to Tywin: He bestows love liberally on all of his children, though it is utterly and horribly obvious who his favourite is - and it's certainly not Ariel. No, it's Arwen, with her big grey eyes and the timid smile, the soft laughter, and the high sensitivity. She easily cries, and she easily laughs, and everyone and anyone in this mountain village (at least she still thinks that's what Rivendell is) runs and caters to her. It's truly exhausting - especially since she is once again the unwanted second. Everyone tells her how wonderful she is, how beautiful her golden hair falls, and they move on to little Lady Perfect.

Ariel fumes and mostly ignores her sister, she tries to pass her time otherwise, mostly by listening and observing - like a cat. Arwen notices, of course, and is (adorably!) sad about it - the only problem is that it isn't even faked. The girl would really like to be her friend, and while it should give Ariel even more satisfaction, the big sad grey eyes only make her feel bad, and she hates that. Actually, she probably hates Arwen quite a bit. Not the way she hated Tyrion though, more like she hated sweet Elia Martell who just swooped in and snatched up Rhaegar. Ariel already knows that girl will snatch up any man she wants when she is older without even trying, and then probably look as horribly confused as Lyanna Stark supposedly was at Harrenhal. Horrible, these people, she should push her down a well or something before it gets a problem.

However, while this feels very tempting, she also knows she has been sent here to do better, and therefore pushing sisters in wells is probably not a smart course of action. So, she doesn't, and only pinches her when the parents aren't looking. Arwen never snitches, stupid chit.

And yet, there is her mother. Ariel knew what she missed out on when Cersei lost her mother due to the horrible imp, but Celebrían showes it to her over and over again. She manages to make her feel like her favourite person, and if that's not the best thing ever, Ariel doesn't know what is. Over all the years, there aren't many other Elven children in Rivendell - Imladris - and these figure out pretty quickly that Ariel is no fun to play with. But that's alright, she tells herself, she can be on her own. Even though that leaves her far too much time for dark thoughts, thoughts about her former life. But what can she do? She doesn't even know what she is supposed to do here.

The strange equilibrium of growing up in a fully functional family that is only disturbed by her own resentment (yes, she knows she is a little monster) is only interrupted when Ariel is what one might consider a six-year-old child, finally able to do interesting things, like running around to ask people questions and not take no for an answer. She has been declared a little hellion very quickly, but surprisingly, her older brothers are her biggest supporters now. While Ariel is weary of them at first, the, grow on her after hundred years or so. She soon figures out that they won't tell on her to their father when she is sneaking out of the nursery behind the baxk of her father's always overworked assistant and they start to form a little rag-tag party - without Arwen, who is far too good and perfect to participate in things like that. 

There is no sea, no cliffs, but there are waterfalls, and that's where they jump down, and for a moment she feels Jaime is with her again. But no. Sometimes she wonders whether he is somewhere stuck in this world as well. She doesn't think so, because she can't feel any pull of any kind. Eldar are a lot more sensitive to these kind of things, she has learnt, so if her were somewhere she would surely know.

While most things are better (she has to admit), some things are also very much the same: Her brothers gets swords and ponies and she gets needles and she is so hellishly annoyed about that unfairness that she throws the most epic tantrum Imladris has probably ever seen. People are appalled, her father is annoyed, but her mother is only amused and reminds Elrond that "Ariel reminds her more and more of her own mother and they better watch out." Ariel wonders what that means, because Elrond shudders for a moment - it reminds her of Tywin when he talks about Olenna Tyrell. Anyway, he caves in and she gets the riding and fighting lessons, if only in a reduced amount. But that's alright, she can make do, especially since she's got two brothers who for some reason love practicing with her. (And a sister who for some reason is an awfully good rider, but that doesn't count.) Elladan and Elrohir probably love Arwen more, like most people do, but Ariel is the fun-one, and they actually like her. It's strange to be liked. It's even stranger when she finds she likes these two as well. She would like to ride out on the trips her father takes the boys, but they say she's too young and it's too dangerous. Ariel doesn't understand, they simply could defend themselves, but she has learnt hunting is not a thing here. In fact, eating meat seems out of the question and there must be something in her biology connected to it, because the pure idea of it repells her.

♤《》♤

Then, one day when Ariel returns from a walk in the woods, a new horse is standing in the courtyard, in front of their house which quite central of Imladris. She frowns - who is that rider? They don't expect visitors,  she always knows these things. She has her little ears everywhere, a spy, and a good tief when if comes to strawberry tarts.

When the men step out of the house, she almost stumbles over the edge of her dress because the man next to her father is so much Jaime it's painful. He's tall, golden, and beautiful, with golden flowers (ugh, Tyrell, poor fashion choice) stiched onto his jerkin. A warrior, like THE warrior in person. But it's not Jaime. She can see it, and yet he looks at her curiously while she gapes like an idiot. Her father calls her closer, and she follows and curtsies in front of this man, who smiles down at her.

"Ariel, this is Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," her father tells her.

Glorfindel - of course she knows the name. The golden haired one, like Jaime, a warrior, like Jaime, who lost his hand in battle, like - she blinks, then smiles.

"I have heard so much of you, my Lord."

"Mostly exaggerrated, I am sure," he answers humbly, "but I am very pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Lady Ariel, for I have heard a lot about you as well."

She isn't sure if he has heard good or bad things, but his slight smile tells her that he might find it at least amusing. He looks at her father.

"They were all right, she truly ressembles the Lady, like Laurelin's light has been caught in her hair."

By now, Ariel is fairly certain she knows who he is talking about - her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel, a woman she has never met but heard much about. People often say she ressembles her, mostly because of the long blond hair, she supposes, though her grandmother allegedly has a tinge of silver in her locks which Ariel... well, she has not. Her hair is purely deep gold, and while it is certainly special, for Elvish perfection, the sheen of a star is missing. But she can't change her hair and she wouldn't do it even if she could, because truthfully, she thinks she looks fantastic. Yes, she is only a child, but she has the arrogance of an adult. Of course she also knows what Laurelin is, she knows all the stories by now, even though she sometimes still confuses them - but while she would have been insulted to be compared to a tree in her old life, she knows Lord Glorfindel means it as a huge compliment. She smiles back.

"I may say, your hair seems to be the same."

In fact, the whole colouring of thr man ressembles her and Ariel has questions. A lot of questions. But the ellon just smiles, almost boyish. 

"And if I may say, I believe we have even more in common, if you squint a little."

Ariel blinks, it probably looks owlish. She can't imagine what she could have in common with a man like him. He seems unfazed and Ariel understands she is dismissed. He finds her a couple of days later though, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously. He only laughs.

"Don't worry, I don't want you any harm. Or take away your toy."

Oh yes, true, she is still holding her practice sword. Ariel lifts her chin.

"It's nor a toy!"

He looks at her indulgently.

"It is. But that is alright. It won't always be, just as you won't always be an elfling. Though your forms are sloppy."

Ariel grimaces, because they are - yet. But it's also due to these dresses. Dresses are simply not made for sword fighting. Her brothers wear shirts and trousers, and even her father puts on hunting garb when they are riding out. And then there is she, with these dresses... the thing is just, they are beautiful, and Ariel can't imagine wearing anything else anyway. True, she wore Jaime's clothes once. But that was so long ago... and she is a lady. Or will be. 

"But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about. Am I right to think that just like me you lived a life before? Only that you came from somewhere else?"

She nods and he smiles and it's so kind and genuine. He is centuries old and yet seems so young, everything at once. Ariel wonders whether she will ever be the same.

"A great deed then, my lady."

Ariel huffs, because great deed?!? Who are they kidding, she blew up a city, she stayed in the South and denied her help while this ellon stayed behind and sacrificed his life for his people. No. She still knows how she got there, children, Jaime and everything, and yet there is nothing great about this. Time apparently gives some perspective.

"Certainly not. Punishment, more likely."

The statement sounds strange in her children-voice. He looks at her calmly.

"Do you feel like it is a punishment?"

Truthfully, she doesn't know. She doesn't know what that is. Everything she knew is lost, her name, her life. And yet. She has a family. She is loved, in some way. She si living in a beautiful place.

"I have no idea."

"Well, Lady Ariel, maybe it is simply what you make of it," Lord Glorfindel tells her after a while, "and it seems the Valar have plans for the both of us then."

Chapter Text

Glorfindel keeps her confidence and never mentions her former life to anyone, as far as she is aware. She isn't quite sure what she is to him, probably someone he considers both a duty to protect, but maybe even somewhat of a joy to be around, in the same way the Eldar love music and song and nature. He mostly takes over her training and he is a lot more pushy than her trainer before, lets her run more, move more. He knocks her down and builds her up and she finally feels like she is doing something with all that energy she has cursing in her body.

It's a lot for someone as tiny as her, so much they have to pin up her hair, so it doesn't get in her way, but still not as much energy as her fast-running thoughts. They say she is wise beyond her years, but well, she is supposes to be 4, so that's nor that hard! From the way most others are moving, she would have thought being Elvish makes you calm and composed, but apparently there are differences, even here. She seems to belong to the more... antsy kind. Or the furious kind. She wonders whether it is a leftover of her life as Cersei, something she never got rid of. 

Her father still looks at her excercises with some kind of disdain, she thinks, and it irks her, because she truly tries to do well, and she thinks she isn't half bad either, not anymore, at least for the fact that she has stubby legs. Some days she trains together with her brothers, who seem to be around 5, and while they mostly knock her onto her butt, at least they have a harder time catching her now.

One evening, when she is around 600 or 700 years old or so, she is sitting on a little bridge, far more casual than usual, with her head on her knees. It's quiet, but she can hear faint singing, and there are light shadows down in the valley, the silhouettes of the Rivendell Elves. She knows some of them, just from the way they are moving and their gait, because she comes here often, to observe and to learn. Knowledge is power.

The girl smirks when she spots Lindir hurrying along, probably on the way to join the soft singing.
Then there is Erestor, a grave, serious ellon who doesn't seem to like her very much but is utterly truthful towards her father - a bit like her Uncle Kevan to Tywin. She pretends not to know, but him and Glorfindel are ... something. She doesn't know what the Elvish stand on love of this kind is, she hasn't heard anything against it, but neither is she aware of any such bonding. Elvish love is strange anyway, very familiar and platonic. With these two, it is a matter of connected fëas, she supposes, though it seems to be a bit more complicated than that. They dance around each other but never seem to get closer. Still, since Glorfindel won't talk about her, she won't talk about him. She also won't ask about other things, like that Balrog, because she is aware reliving through the fight would probably pain him, and there is nothing to gain through that. For the first time, in fact, she feels she has no reason to hurt anyone (aside from pinching Arwen, but even that gets less frequent). For a moment, she wonders about her sister's whereabouts because in fact, she has no idea what Arwen does all day long. Probably what she used to do, singing, playing the harp, embroidery. All the lady stuff she is so tired of. Of course, she still practices needlework (nobody should tell her she is sloppy in anything), but swordplay is more fun. She doesn't really have friends herself, she thinks, but no enemies either. It is an odd feeling she cannot place.

Ariel isn't too proud to admit she worships the ground her mother walks on, maybe a little to make up for what she never had with Lady Joanna, but mostly just because Celebrían is the most lovable being she has ever met - which does not mean she is a pushover, absolutely the opposite. She is what holds the family together like a silvery Elven rope. Everyone say Elrond's house is the calmest on this side of the sea, but Ariel thinks it's actually Celebrían who makes it so. 

But it's not only the people she notices, sometimes she feels as if the whole world is talking to her, the trees and the air and the water. Right now, it's soft and calm.

Suddenly, there is movement behind her, and when she looks up, her father is standing on the bridge.

"What is it, Ada?"

Her voice is still so high, so childish.

"May I join you?"

She nods and he sits down next to her with his legs hanging over the ledge, an odd look on the majestic elf. His small circlet is gleaming in the starlight, even more pronounced on the long, glossy hair. Ariel is struck once again how beautiful he is, in a strange, almost haughty and yet warm way. He is imperious, but he seems gracious. Not to her, explicitly, but just in general. Now though, he looks at her with a small smile.

"What are you doing here?"
"Watching," she responds, "the people, and the world."

He humms.
"That's good. To be watchful."
"But I thought our foes have been destroyed?" she challenges him.
"I did tell you about the wars, didn't I?"

He did. Now that he considers her old enough, he teaches her, and her siblings, of course, though the boys are more interested in running wild. Arwen listens, but she is a romantic at heart. Ariel thinks only she has a true mind for politics. She can also see Elrond is somewhat cautious with her, especially when they talk about power and darkness. Oh yes, Ariel knows her fair share about darkness, but she can see her father does, too. She can see it, the haunted look, especially when he speaks about Morgoth and Sauron, the fight of the last alliance, the death of his friends. The stories make Ariel shudder because they sound too much like what she has just experienced (even though she wasn't even there, a coward, a voice tells her). Sometimes she wonders whether all worlds are the same somehow, Fall of Númenor, Doom of Valyria - orva, cordof.

"Yes," she answers.

He looks at her sternly.

"I don't think I have to tell you darkness can be found almost everywhere, corruption can be found even among the best of us. It only needs a spark to start a war, it only needs one person."

One mad king. One stupid prince. One ursurper. One ruthless schemer. One jealous queen. No, in the end there were so many more than just one. But it feels like it all started with Eddard Stark, when Joffrey demanded his head.

"I don't know about the one person, but I think you are right about the corruption," she answers.

Elrond frowns a little.

"Humans are weaker than us, more easily turned, more easily enticed by power."

There is always a certain bitterness when he talks about humans. Ariel has never met them, not even the ones from the Northern kingdom, but they somewhat sound like a mixture between wildlings and Northmen so she really doesn't think she wants to. But then, on the other hand, it would be fun to go out and actually do something with her new abilities. Training is good enough, but it somehow seems a bit pointless if you have no one to use it on. Since Eldar are basically immortal, there is no chance she will get power about Rivendell at any point in her life - she would have to ursurp her father, and two brothers, and then would probably have her grandmother at her throat if all reports are right. 

So, in general Ariel finds she can relate to these humans, to the ones who took the rings and got a little crazy, because truly, take a ring and get power - a no-brainer, great! But loosing one's soul in the process and turn into an ugly black ghost? Nope, thank you. Ariel is pragmatic, she has learnt that much, this time she wants to survive. Survive longer. There is still that thought in her mind, that she was sent back with a purpose, but most days she likes to push that away. She could ask her ada, but - 

Don't even go there.

Suddenly, his voice fills her mind, a subtle show of power that makes her flinch. Ariel doesn't know what he has seen, if anything at all, but it's uncomfortable. He doesn't mention it, but she is certain he knows.

"They might be weak, but that doesn't mean we are immune to it either. So, keep watch, gwinig nín," he only tells her, "my heart tells me we shall need it."
"I am not little," she complains, trying to deflect.
"Well, for me you are, in any way," he argues, "you are a child, my dear."
"Why do you only want me to watch? Why don't you want me to fight?" she finally asks.
"I want you to know peace. I want a life without bloodshed and war for you."
"Without glory?"
"Without pain. There is nothing glorious in taking a life, nothing at all."
"And yet men are praised for their battles."

Suddenly, he grins a little wryly.

"I never said we are perfect, ruinig nín, though I admit there is some leniency when it comes to dark forces. And there is certainly merit in defending your people."

They keep sitting in silence, until he finally pulls her into his side. It's so unexpected that she stiffens at first, but then leans against him, because somewhere in her there is still a scared little girl who just wants to be held in the face of the big wide world.

"I think I can't be so perfectly peaceful as Arwen is," she finally murmurs almost petuliantly.

She feels him chuckle.

"I know ruinig nín."

Ariel has to smile at the nickname, because it's somewhat suitable. Red blaze, like the clothing she keeps wearing, both in her dresses and the training clothing. After literally putting up with it for years, the pretty dresses have started to annoy her after all and she has switched to more practical clothing. It's more like a riding habit, a long tunic with a high collar over breeches paired with high boots. While dressy and still lady-like, it's much more comfortable. The colour is unusual for an elleth, she knows, rather provocative with just a bit of silver and golden embroidery at the edges. It doesn't matter, she is used to being noticed. It's mostly due to her Vanyar looks, very High Elven, while most of the other elves carry the rather typical Noldor appearance. In a way, she might be just as beautiful as Arwen, but Arwen is the more lovable one for the others in Imaldris, while everything about Ariel screams 'unattainable'. So, she intends to make herself rather uncomparable to Arwen who sticks to more muted, soft, and dusky colours.

"Why do you love her so much more than me? Arwen."

He blinks and for a moment the mighty elf seems surprised. Then he looks down at her in thought.

"I don't love her more, ruinig nín. I love her differently. She is like twilight, and starlight. Stars were the first thing the Eldar saw at Cuívenen. You are like the dawn, strange but just as beautiful, crueller and sharper. Both are necessary. Both are hope" He huffs a bit ruefully. "I am simply more practiced in showing love to one than the other."

"You just called me cruel. And strange."

"Are you not? There is something dark in your heart and I am certain you are well aware of that, my daughter. You can hate with a might that can bring down kingdoms -" he looks at her knowingly, "but that means you can love in a way that can make them."
Even when she stiffens further, he doesn't let go of her. 
"Your past is written, but the new path is not yet drawn and there are choices, not just for you, for all of us."

She supposes he is right, even though she also doesn't want to hear it.

The years pass, rather happily, with lessons and finally some light armour on the shoulders and chest - a far cry from proper armour, but enough to get used to the weight and to have her teacher hit her harder. There is also literal growing, if slowly, like the most ancient tree, or a mountain that is slowly built up by sand brought by the wind. Her thoughts of Westeros never go away, but maybe it hurts a little bit less, for each decade that passes.

The four siblings learn Quenya in addition to Sindarin, and Adûnaic, the language of the humans of the West.
There are more Elvish languages, Telerin and Noldorin, but Ariel only has patience (read: is only hassled into learning) two. Her father prefers Quenya, she learns, because it's the one that reminds him of Valinor, but Sindarin has become the vernacular and is much wider spoken anyway. Most of the humans speak it, too, so Adûnaic feels quite redundant, and Ariel doesn't meet any of them for the longest time anyway. She knows they exist, of course, but seem quite separate in their Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. If an envoy ever comes to Rivendell, she doesn't know about it. 

In the meantime, something suddenly happens: When a King of Arnor dies, his three sons start to fight about the kingdom, so much it is separated into three parts. While the elves seem surprised (apparently they had more faith in humans than they had admitted), Ariel can only shrug. Of course they do. Of course they fight, what's the deal? Arwen is aghast about her dry comments, but Arwen is still a pretty dreamer with air in her head.

Ariel on the other hand starts to scheme, because now, there is an opening. That weakness, it screams for being exploited. Maybe she could marry one of them and become queen? That would have been the idea in Westeros. But there, a betrothal would have already been arranged long ago, and here, her parents do not care one bit. Besides, she still looks like a child (not as if that disturbed Targaryens before. Well, or herself, duh, but truthfully, she is still almost an infant and that takes it quite a bit too far, even for her taste).

Something else in her also rebels at that thought, she thinks that maybe it has to do with how Eldar are made.They say their fëa has to call out to a mate, that they will know once they find their other piece. That usually there is only one. It is not hard to believe, that there are puzzle pieces like that, after what she felt for her brother. What surprises her is the lack of sexuality without emotional connection, and even more so, the lack of desire for it. Maybe that's why there are so little Elvish children, she ponders. She hopes she won't get any more siblings though, just so nothing can happen to her nana.

It's all very tricky and all very inconvenient and all so sad that she can't just put up with a human guy and rule until his death. Or that she can't love Glorfindel and become Lady of the House of the Golden Flower - even if only nominally. But truly, she can't. It is strange, because she would have thought she'd love or at least desire him for all he ressembles Jaime, but she doesn't. But there are still other Elven folks outside of Rivendell, she knows, and the King of Greenwood has a son, so that might be an option...
Though, eternity is quite long stuck with the wrong person, she guesses. And there is still that pescy fëa-issue she apparently can't get around...

"You are scheming," her father comments, one other dusky evening.
"It doesn't matter," she answers defensively.
"But what have you observed? What is it that you have found?"

She looks up, surprised he asks for her opinion.

"The humans have weakened herself. They still do. They split power and waste resources fighting pretty wars for places like the Weathertop. It creates open space for other players."
"Players?"

She huffs.

"It's all a game. And they don't know they stepped in it."

Over the next years, more and more players evolve, until in 1000, finally the wizards make their move. It is a change, she understands, though only much later when she will meet them for the first time. Then, only a few years later, the Great Greenwood becomes Mirkwood - for obvious reasons. Messengers are sent and they bring bad news, of dark shadows and danger. Ariel longs to go there, see the great woods for herself and find out what is happening. Her brothers agree, but her parents still keep them close. They are all too young, they say, even though they are at least allowed to join (rather safe) patrols in and around their valley and area now. Never overnight, of course, and never in winter when the snows get deep.
The missions make her grow a little bit closer with her brothers, there is still a huge gulf towards Arwen, who rather sticks to her friend Gildor than to her anyway. Fine, it doesn't matter. She supposes her parents have given up trying to change it, since they let them mainly lead separate lives.

They hear about orcs that infest the mountains, danger to men and elves alike. There are more hunts, groups sent out to the wort regions in a try to curb the danger before it spreads. It works, at first, until it doesn't anymore. 
Each time he rides out, Ariel is afraid Glorfindel might not return, but he always does. In her opinion, given the situation, him and Erestor truly should do something about their situationship - but the idiots don't. 
Not even when the shadow lengthens from the North, from Angmar, in a strange and horrible echo of the Long Night and the pressure on the already split humans increases and increases. Leaders are killed, others suceed, and for once Ariel is glad about the Númernorean's long lives since it reduces the danger of fights of succession.

Or so she thought. 

She literally spits out her drink as she hears the news from Gondor about trouble brewing and a man they call Castamir. Then she laughs until she cries, and Arwen looks at her as if she was mad. Maybe she is.

"Do you know anything about it?" Elrond asks her.

Under normal circumstances, she would find the question odd, ebecause how should a child do so, but he ahas he gift of foresight, so it is reasonable to suspect she might as well.
She doesn't, but still she knows things.

"And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know. In a coat of plates or a coat of rags, a lion still has his claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, sharper even than yours. And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord called Castamir. But now the rains weep o'er his grave, with no one there to hear."

Her father gives her a long hard look - and she's right. He becomes Castamir the Ursurper, a cruel ruler, and is ultimately slain. 

Ariel has never been South, so she only notices in passing that Gondor gets a new capital, Minas Arnor - what she does notice though is when suddenly, there is war, right there in front of her doorstep. An alliance against Angmar, Rivendell, Lindon and humans.

It happens when she appears about eight years old and has seemed so unthinkable, despite the skirmishes, that it comes somewhat as a shock. Ariel had gotten use to - peace. Yes, that feeling had been peace, she realizes, and now it's gone.

Chapter Text

Indeed life changes, everyone becomes more watchful and the world, while still beautiful,  becomes darker. There is no more ranging for her other than short day trips, which puts her in the other elves' way more often than not. Arwen has to train now, too, at least to know enough to protect herself. She hates violence too much to be truly good at it, but in time she will be a decent protector, Ariel has to grudgingly admit. Besides, while she doesn't like her sister, she doesn't want her dead either, so she supposes the training is alright.

The power of the humans meanwhile dwindles more and more until they finally have to go into hiding after the battle of Fornost. Over the years, Ariel has found that despite her pretended nonchalance, she has always listened up when people talked about humans, that she cared about their destiny. Maybe it's because she's nominally half-human as well, she ponders. Or maybe simply because she knows what being human is like. 

So, it seems there is no Northern Kingdom anymore, only a scattered amount of scared Númenorians without a leader, truly more Wildlings now than any kind of unified people. It should be degrading, pathetic, a joke. And yet, through visitors who come to Imladris, she finds they keep their traditions alive, their lore and stories, remember their heirs, even though they have nothing to rule. Heirs of nothing, she thinks. They are for the most part hard people and become even harder as the years go by, used to attacks and struggle, but also truthful and loyal. Númenoreans in their soul, beggars in their clothes.

She never befriends them, not like her brothers, who always chase after the rangers for stories and news, but doesn't oppose them either.

"Órenya," her mother starts one evening as they stroll through the vale, "I believe you should visit Lórien with your sister."
Ariel looks at her, surprised.
"Why now?"

She doesn't like the feeling that she is being sent away, but maybe she should have expected it. She is almost a lady now, or at least what Westerosi would have considered to be old enough to join another household. And the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are family, after all. But still.

"Your father and I were talking about it, and it feels like the right time."

Ah, yes, Eldar and their feelings.

"We have entered a time of peace again," her mother continues,  "we need to be watchful, and yet, it is a good time to wander. You have become old enough for such a trip, too. Don't worry, órenya, you can come back any time you want."

Her mother kisses the top of her head.

"I'll be here. Or maybe I'll even visit you. You will love it there, I know. You strife to see more."

She is right. And Lothlórien sounds exciting.

"But do we have to go together?"

Her mother only looks amused by the whining. 

"Yes. Arwen will come, too. One day you will understand. But for now - she is your sister, and while she is rather prolific with a sword now, you have become swift like eagle wings. I need you to protect her, can you do that for me?"

Well, if she asks like that - of course, Ariel will say yes, more for her sake than for Arwen's though.
They leave with a little party a couple of months later, and for once she changes out of red clothing and into greens and browns, mostly for security. (Of course she packs a red cloak, duh, she will make a fashion statement in Lórien as well). Arwen is now wearing the same green and brown travel gear, and suddenly they look more alike, their hair colour the only grave distinction. It's a long trip, it reminds her painfully of the time they went North from King's Landing to Winterfell before all of that mess in Westeros began. But this time, she is not squeezed into a tight, suffocating wheelhouse. This time, she rides herself, looks around, notices every tree, and hind, and squirrel. This time there is more. But there is also a painful lack of Tommen and Myrcella and Jaime and even Joffrey, though she truly doesn't miss his sneering if she is honest. Maybe it's the fact that she is bodily younger than he was back then and therefore feels still more like a child and less than a mother here, but she can understand all of her smothering affection a lot less now. It doesn't seem to make sense.

Arwen is usually riding next to her, and the silence slowly morphs from cold to comfortable. Not much to say, but also nothing to complain.

When they reach the borders of Lórien, they are not only welcomed by golden trees but also by the powerful hum of magic, more present than anything Ariel has ever heard. It's bright and everywhere and the leaves are shining and beautiful and impressive. For all Imladris has become her home, grudgingly she has to admit that this makes her heart sing. A couple of elves appear, it seems out of nowhere, swift like shadows. The Marchwardens, she assumes.

They are friendly enough, but Ariel can imagine they will attack and neutralize any attacker before they even know what is happening. Other than most of Rivendell elves who prefer swords, these all carry only or at least additional bows and arrows and somehow she doesn't think they are used to missing their aims. It's intriguing. The Wardens escort their little party to Caras Galadhon, and while they look rather haughty in the beginning, they get more and more chatty the closer they get. It probably has to do with a feeling of security, even though Arwen and her remain mostly excluded from the conversation. It doesn't bother Ariel much, instead, she uses the time to observe. Most Galadhrim seem to be silver-haired like her mother, Sindar elves, probably, and she dryly thinks that Rhaegar wouldn't feel so special here. There is an obvious twang in their pronunciation,  almost like an accent, but it's not too distracting.

She is positively surprised about the city, it reminds her more of Imladris than she has expected. There is a little fountain, and walls and even houses, though she has the feeling most elves live outside somewhere. A lot of the architecture is connected to trees which have been changed into homes as well, high and big and beautiful. She can see Arwen is just as enchanted, her eyes are shining and she smiles this secret happy smile her sister has gotten to know well. 

The grandparents are gracious and scary at the same time - but while Lord Celeborn looks all the leader with his silvery hair, a man of pure authority, earnest and rather stern, it is his wife who almost makes her flinch. But Ariel has been prepared, and she has stared down Lord Tywin and icy Ned Stark and many many others, so she holds these incredible blue eyes in an eternally beautiful face. The Lady Galadriel seems ageless and perfect, nothing is out of place. The white of her dress reinforces the shine that seems to surround her and sets off the shining waves of her hair that tumble down in an unbroken stream. It's a bit curly like Ariel's, and while it is a little more silvery, it too has an obvious golden shine. Then the lady smiles and it is as glowing as her hair.

"Welcome to Lothlórien. We hope you will love our woods as much as we do."

Yes, Ariel loves them, and the almost otherworldly beauty of the golden trees. But she also doesn't quite know what or who to be here - in Rivendell, she is the beautiful dangerous oddity that nobody crosses but hardly anyone is truly afraid of either. Sometimes she forgets she still looks about 12 or 13. Even so - Joffrey was about 14 when that stupid boy started a war, Robb Stark only a bit older when he actually won battles. But alas, the elves don't seem to think that will happen any time soon. So in Imladris, she is left in peace. What will it be here? How will she fit in? Is this another King's Landing? With a churning in her stomach, she remembers young Sansa Stark, only just a girl then and thrown in her, Cersei's, claws, ready to be devoured. A girl who lived through more than any child should.

But this is not King's Landing. 

Her grandmother meets her a couple of nights later, well, rather at dawn, because that's the time Ariel truly enjoys. She has  climbed up into the highest flett to look out over the golden trees, sparkling in the first thoughts of light, when a presence behind her alerts her. The Golden Lady smiles, it's indulgent.

"You like the dawn?"

Ariel nods.

"I do."
"Most Eldar rather mourn the loss of the stars. They say the sun is for humans."

Well, that explains stuff, Ariel thinks. She shrugs.

"I'm a half-elf. And the stars are still here, aren't they?" she points up at where Earendil is still visible. "So I think it makes sense I like the dawn. Arwen prefers the dusk."

Galadriel chuckles.

"Of course. What do you like about the dawn?"

The question, curious and yet kind takes her aback.

"It's -" she stops. No, she won't say. 
In the end, it doesn't matter, because Galadriel is mighty and Ariel is apparently an open book to her.

"Because it means the night is over, and you have had enough night to last a million lifetimes?" she asks, "and because a part of you is human. Differently human from Arwen."

Ariel nods, because, yes. Maybe her night wasn't a night like the ones in the North, but a different one, but still night all the same.

"Dawn means new beginnings."

"Indeed. You have been sent, my girl, and I don't know why, not yet. But it is clear there will be a path for you."
"I don't see it. I don't know what I am doing here."
"You will, in time."

She looks at the younger elleth gravely.

"I can feel you have lived through half a lifetime and yet now you are so much older than you ever were. That you could never be a child and still don't know how to be one. There is still a hole in your chest, full of grief for souls that are missing. And there is guilt, and ambition, so much ambition. You are proud and fierce and you will burn this world if you don't take care."
"Get out of my head!" Ariel hisses, panicking.

Galadriel only smirks a little.

"I don't need to. It is in the way you hold yourself, the way you look at your surroundings." Then her smile turns a bit wry. "You also remind me a lot of myself when I was younger."

She steps towards her and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I wanted to be free and to have space and power. I clashed with my brothers and I left. You also are a confrontational one, it seems."
"That too, probably."

Ariel knows she's bratty, but what is that lady getting at? Everyone can see she's different - and difficult. But she doesn't seem to mind and they only watch as the sun slowly sends the first true rays over the woods.

"I still sometimes think it is strange living in the trees," her grandmother comments, "we didn't always, you know? But the richness of this place is in the trees themselves, and there wasn't much space anyway. And still, that isn't the whole reason. There were the fletts, at first, just as outposts, like for us right now. But with the creeping darkness, it became more secure to live up here."

"I like it."

"I am glad."

Ariel finds she actually likes Lórien quite a bit, especially when her grandparents take one long look at her and have her train with the young Galadhrim. Just like the Marchwardens who escorted them most won't really talk to her, and she soon realizes it's not because they don't like her but because they want to be polite. She is a lady in their eyes and while she revels in the status, it makes her miss out on the easy companionship the others seem to share.

There is one ellon, though, who doesn't seem to care about her lineage. He seems to be a little older than her, maybe more like 15 or so and the middle one of three brothers, though they all look quite the same in age. His name is Haldir, he is rather common, not of high birth, and he is a pain in Ariel's butt.

The thing is, she has always practised with a sword, and while she is pretty good with that now, Glorfindel and her have just started with a bow a couple of decades ago. This means she is quite good, obviously, with an Imladris bow, but truly no match for these Woodelves. They use different weapons, longer bows made from stronger wood which takes much more effort to bend. These bows also make the arrows soar a lot farther, but as for now, Ariel can't even pull the string back far enough to use it decently. Even with her Imladris one, she is still much slower - it always takes her a moment to adjust is almost second nature to the other youths. while the others have practised with it all of their lives. They don't seem to think, they just shoot shoot shoot.

Haldir knows it and teases her relentlessly, especially after she knocks him over once during training. At first, she wants to complain. How dare he disrespect her like that? But it is so different from how everybody else treats her that she simply hits back harder.

Over the years, they become each other's preferred sparring partners, companions in training with swords and bows. While Haldir remains the better shot, Ariel can usually best him in single combat. Usually. Like right now, when he slowly gets off the ground and picks up his sword again. He groans, even though the mossy ground has covered most of his fall - he's just such a drama queen sometimes. Ariel leans against a tree, catching her breath.

"You know, Haldir, you are getting predictable."

Haldir only smiles while he leans on his sword in a gesture that would have Glorfindel whack her over the head.

It's a weapon, not a crutch!
she can hear his voice in her mind.

 "Predictable, am I?!" the ellon counters, "and yet, if I remember correctly, it was you who ended up on the ground during our last spar."
"That was a tactical retreat! I was merely testing your reflexes."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Is that what you call falling now? Interesting tactic, my lady."

She steps a little closer.

"It takes skill to make a fall look convincing. Perhaps next time I should let you in on the secret."
"I'd rather you keep your secrets. It makes our matches far more entertaining."

Ariel tilts her head curiously.

"And what about you? Any secrets you'd care to share?"

Suddenly he shifts and leans closer. 

"If I told you my secrets, Ariel, they would no longer be secrets. And where's the fun in that?"

She likes the way he says her name and she is confused by the way it makes her feel. There is something familiar about it, and something warm. She pokes his chest with a finger.

"I'll hold you to that. One day, I'll uncover all your secrets."
"I look forward to seeing you try. But until then, perhaps you should work on not falling during our spars."
"Don't be a sore loser," she tells him dryly.

In fact, she would be quite interested in his secrets, she thinks. He is loyal, and she can see he is a leader but he doesn't know that yet about himself. Even though he can be very witty, he isn't loud, his confidence doesn't need many words and damn if that isn't attractive. He won't let her run all over him, not even now with about 2100 years of age and all the splendid beauty of a young maiden. She is aware he has always been handsome - but even so, now he seems to truly grow into his body. While she has always searched for similarities between Jaime and Glorfindel, she can't really see them in Haldir. Maybe that is one thing that endears him to her, that he seems so - singular. 

Most of all, he confuses her. There is something between the two, even though it is always laced with competition. She also sometimes considers whether this is Elvish attraction and what would it mean, but then dismisses the thought, because it makes her brain hurt. Nominally, he is older than her and also older than Cersei ever was, though regarding development, he's not. She is  - she doesn't know. She is a girl and a woman at the same time, she thinks. And besides, she is the daughter of the Lord of Imaldris and he is not even a Marchwarden yet. Even if she wanted any kind of romantic relationship, that would not be possible, even in this different world.

Questions like these keep her up, often bring her to the highest flett to watch the night until it turns into dawn. Sometimes Arwen joins her and sometimes they talk - well, Arwen does. She reports about her own studies, while she can't deal with bows for the life of her, she gets skilled with herbs. If she were just a little bit more ruthless, she would be good at poisons as well, Ariel thinks, but for now, she sticks to antidotes. Nevertheless, Ariel's regard for her grows. Sometimes, when her sister gets tired, she passes out with her head in the blonde's lap and it's strange to be the object of such affection. She knows she can be charming, or rather, could be, that much is still left of Cersei, but she hasn't tried that kind of manipulation in so long it seems like an odd idea. She has become Ariel so firmly, a furious, ambitious, but at least truthfully unruly chit. But somehow, Arwen seems to trust in this strange person she seems to be now.

Haldir seems to like it, too, and she finds that more and more people do, once she "tries to be nice" as Arwen puts it. It comes easy to her sister but it's something she has to practice. 

She doesn't know how long she would have stayed if nothing had happened, probably until she had come of age, but a messenger rips her out of her routine. He brings dark news that makes her drop to her knees, then she's shaking and for a moment she can only cling to Arwen who is holding onto her in turn: Their mother, on the way to visit them, has been caught by orcs, and by the time the Rivendell Elves were able to free her she had been deeply injured. There is no question, the two girls return as quickly as possible with a small but highly trained escort.

"Promise you'll take care," she asks of Haldir before she leaves.

He's just reckless enough to get himself killed while she is away.

"Bring me back such a pretty red cloak as you have," he answers.

She knows it's his demand for her to take care, and to come back to Lórien. Still, if she ever does, she will bring him such a cloak anyway.
It's a hard trip and they push their horses to the limit where they can actually use them. Out here the destruction is much more visible and for the first time, Ariel understands what her parents wanted to shelter them from. It only strikes her now how much they truly want to keep their children safe. 

Imladris seems sad somehow, darkened and paled, maybe it's a reflection of its leader who also seems tired and desperate. In the meantime, he has been able to heal Celebrían, but Ariel knows there are more traces, traces they cannot see and that he can't erase. Still, their mother smiles when she sees the girls and for a moment it's as beautiful and bright as it has always been.

But she will leave to go into the West, Ariel knows somehow even before she says it. She can't stay here, where everything is a reminder, she needs to escape the constant pain that lingers. It's like losing Joanna all over again, only this time, there is no imp to blame. This time it's orcs, and she can see the same fury in her brothers, while Arwen just seems sad.

It is decided they will all travel to the Grey Havens together where the ships to Valinor leave, a last journey for the family. An odd thing, sad and still cheerful at the same time. Ariel would have never thought her life would come to this, but she will go with her nana for as long as she can. 
One night, when the end of their travels comes nearer and nearer, Celebrían takes her to the side. She is crying and Ariel doesn't know why, but her heart tells her that she needs to make her stop crying right now!

"What can I do?" she asks.
"Keep watch over your sister," her mother tells her, "she will need you most of all. You belong together, despite the opposites, undómiel and minuial."

Ariel nods, she can take care, even if she doesn't understand Arwen. If it helps her mother, she will.

"I will miss you, órenya," she tells her, "I will miss you and your sister forevermore."

Ariel frowns.

"But we can meet again. In the West, where you will be."

Part of her mind might still be human, but Ariel has realized that much about being Elvish. Truly, she doesn't see any necessity for choosing a mortal life. Been there, done that.
Celebrían only smiles and pulls her into a hug.

"I am so proud of you, and everything you have become."

Ariel's lip starts to wobble and she kind of hates it but she also needed to hear that.

"You never gave me a name, though."

It's a statement, but it sounds a bit accusing. Celebrían laughs.

"Of course I did! I gave it to you..." she pretends to think for a moment, "about 2200 years ago, just when you were born."

"You never said."
"You weren't ready."

Ariel looks up at her mother.

"What is it?"

She kisses the top of her head, just like her grandmother, even though she is only a little bit taller than Ariel anymore.

"Viryórë."

Chapter Text

When she steps back into Rivendell, for a moment, she feels like a stranger. Her mother is gone, gone, gone, gone.
She feels small, and alone until she looks to her right side and finds that, in fact, she is not. Arwen is looking down into the valley with just as much anticipation and questions, and Ariel pulls her into her side while the brothers literally stand behind them, they protect their backs. For a moment, all just survey their realm, huddled together, very much like when they were watching Celebrían's ship leave.
Their father has already walked down, and she wonders what he will be like now, whether he will become cruel like Tywin, cold and unfeeling. Then she will have to protect Arwen from him because she promised. 

She finds she has not, her father does not suddenly turn into some kind of monster, only the lines around his eyes get deeper and his smiles sadder. He is concerned, about his home and probably even the world - at least he looks as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. 
Maybe she should talk to him, but they still don't really have that close kind of connection, so it is Glorfindel she goes to, even though she can see the loss of his lady has taken a toll on him as well.

They spar and she is vicious and angry and just so much better than she was before - about one and a head taller as well, and stronger, even though she still has to rely on speed to have even the least of a chance against Glorfindel. However, she finds she truly can keep up with her brothers now. Both like practicing with her because she is a challenge and because she is just as determined as them - train to hunt, to kill the orcs that hurt their mother.  After her growth spurt and practice, they are evenly matched with swords, but she is even a little bit better with a bow, thanks to her Lórien education. She keeps building up her strength, because one day, she wants to be able to shoot a Lórien bow, even though she feels they are a bit inconveniently long for traveling. 
She annoys Arwen into joining them, because otherwise, that girl would drown in her grief - fury is better, at least it makes you DO something. 

She vaguely hears something about developments further South, close to Lórien, because there is a battle, but it doesn't truly concern the Elves. Instead, it is about the establishment of a new kingdom, of horse lords. It doesn't sound like trouble, not like the Dothraki. Lord Elrond feels the same, she thinks, at least that's what her observations tell her. The Rivendell people don't do anything, really, they stay North, support the Dúnedain, but that's about it.

One night though, when she is sitting on her favourite bridge, something unexpected rips her out of her reverie. 
At first, only one person appears and she sighs quietly - Erestor, not exactly who she wanted to see. He is walking along the path into the valley, his steps light, a lot lighter than she would have expected. He always seems so serious, somewhat old, even though his face still looks young. Suddenly, trees rustle and another figure breaks out of the trees to the side. Ariel would recognize this way of walking, of almost leaping, anywhere, and her jaw drops when the figure snatches Erestor around the waist and pulls him back into his body. They must be talking, but she can't hear it, still she thinks she can hear dark laughter ebfore the two of them disappear around a corner.
Well, seems like Glorfindel finally got his act together, she thinks. Maybe that's why the councilman looks less sullen these days. 

A couple hours later, her father sits down next to her.

"Haven't we been here before?" she snarks, she simply can't help it. 
"I believe we have. A long time ago."
Her father looks at her gravely.
"You have grown, and you have changed, not only on the outside. I like to believe much for the better. And I loath to ask it of you -," he stops for a moment, "because it is a dangerous path. Still, I am sure you will accept, which maybe worries me even more."
Ariel frowns. "What is it?"
"Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, has asked for an envoy to come to his palace in the Northern part of the woods. More precisely, he has asked for one of my daughters."
Her father stops and Ariel crosses her arms in front of her chest.
"He wants a match for his son, doesn't he?"
"He might, I am not sure."
"Ada, don't toy with me! Of course, he does!"
"You are nowhere near of age!"

For a moment, Ariel is taken aback. Cersei was considered of age when she was sixteen, which is almost what she is now, physically. Besides, most people only care about flowering anyway. 
Ada isn't Tywin. 
She has to remind herself once again.

"Nana's injury and the developments have spooked him, am I right?" she asks.
"Maybe," he answers thoughtfully, "there is certainly something there, but his own wife was killed a while ago, and he didn't ask then. So... perhaps there is something more personal at work. Perhaps the King thinks some connection would do the Prince some good."
"Then why not send my brothers?"
"I never said these were his only reasons. You and Arwen are the most eligible ellith on this side of the sea, and you know it. The two of you are everything he could wish for for his son, both in your own way. He truly might have some hope that a connection could form."
Ariel huffs.
"Since you called me - that means you want me to go? Despite your reservations? Why not perfect Arwen?"

Don't be bratty. I know you are just complaining for the sake of it.

Even in her mind, he sounds exasperated, but at least a small smile is playing around his lips. It makes her just a tiny bit proud, to be the one to drag him out of his gloom, at least for a moment.

"Darkness is rising - we cannot afford to cause conflict with our allies. Since I know, for a fact, that you want to see the world - consider that your official invitation to do so. I have talked to Lady Galadriel, but also to Glorfindel, and everyone tells me the same: You are highly trained, you can hold your own. You will be safer out there than Arwen. Besides -" he swallows -"besides, you are grieving, but you are also furious. Arwen is sad, I am afraid in her sadness she might give her heart when it isn't yet to give. You guard yours more tightly, I am not so worried about you."

It strikes her that he only calls her guarded, not heartless.

"You aren't scared I will use the opportunity for scheming?"

He sighs.

"I am sure you will use it for scheming. Actually, ruinig nín, Thranduil's court isn't Rivendell - you might need it. Mirkwood elves are..."
"Silvan, mostly. Sindar, if they are more highly ranked."
"Exactly. You have lived long enough among Sindar Elves to know how closely connected they are to nature, but Silvan Elves are even more so. They are wilder and -"
"- less civilized," Ariel interrupts, earning a dirty look from her father.
"We don't talk about our brethren like that, Ariel!"
"Doesn't make it less true, though," she mutters.

From her father's look and the time it takes him to answer, she can see he isn't quite free of prejudices either. It makes her smirk a little.

"I wouldn't say that to their face, my daughter. But I would pack your bow - they surely can teach you a thing or two about that," he tells her, "consider it a training voyage. And please, try to keep any of our current political ties intact."
"I can be diplomatic!" 
"I have never seen you be diplomatic. I have seen you be rude, fussy, entitled and arrogant. Cruel, manipulative and proud. Protective and generous and caring and loyal. You long for the dawn but you have learned to live in the shadows and still you shine like spun gold. You need only look at yourself to understand the king."
"Most days I don't even understand myself," she suddenly admits.

She has no idea where that came from, but as she says it, she knows it's right. Her father only raises an eyebrow. 

"You will. Your mother called you Viryóre for a reason."
"The name also is very open to interpretation," Ariel remarks.
"That it is. But I trust you will draw the right conclusions."

A heartbeat of silence passes.

"I have a friend now," Ariel blurts out and could hit herself afterward.

What is she doing, baring herself like that? Why now, and to Elrond, of all people? But he just smiles at her, truly genuinely this time.

"I am happy to hear that. Though I think your siblings would be slightly insulted you do not count them among your friends - they want to be that for you, too."

She thinks about Arwen, her easy affection, the way she almost gravitates towards her. About Elladan, the one who is maybe the most like their mother of all of the four of them, even though that gentleness is overran by resentment right now. Still, Ariel knows he tries to protect her, in a slightly clumsy way, but he tries. Elrohir is more the flighty type, but he has never not included her in any mischief, even if Elladan considered her to be too young.
Yes, maybe they are also her friends, even though she didn't realize it.
Ariel nods.

"They are, I guess." A thought strikes her. "What about Arwen? Will she stay here?"

He shakes his head.
"No, I don't think so. I think she is haunted by too many memories in Imladris, so for now, she is going to return to Lothlórien when you leave. Just for a while, time for her heart to heal. But now tell me about that friend of yours."

Ariel does, maybe one of the first truly candid conversations she has ever had with her father, and while it is not easy, it's not as hard as she has expected either. Maybe it's because she is older now, or because time away has, in fact, changed her, but she feels like they understand each other better, at least a bit. It's odd, especially since she sometimes still feels hard, roaring shards of Cersei in herself which might not exactly contrast, then at least do not totally seem to fit anymore. Well, they never have, since she was born here, she knows that.

~ 0 ~

Before they leave, Lord Elrond calls both his daughters into his study, nothing unusual, and yet, the two girls are slightly confused. It seems excessively formal for goodbyes, especially when he motions for them to join him outside on the terrasse. Here, they can overlook Imladris in the starlight, and Ariel notices it must be around midnight, perfectly between dusk and dawn. Their father turns to face them.

"My daughters, you are both to leave me, and you are going to pass through dangerous lands. I wish for you to be safe, to take care."

Arwen looked at him quizzically.
"What have you seen?"
"Too much and still too little. But enough to know dark times lay ahead."

'Gold will be their shrouds,' the thought hits Ariel unbidden, and suddenly she is back in that forest with the witch and a prophecy, a prophecy that turned out to be so right and so painful.
No, nothing good could come from prophecies.

"Don't tell me," she asks of her father.

He hums.
"I won't, not for now. One day, you will need to know. Both of you."

He pulls something from the depth of his robe, when Ariel looks more closely, she can see it is two necklaces, almost identical in design. The pendants are vaguely triangular, like a little cage of what she supposes is mithril, though in one case it shimmers silver and in the other one gold - of course, she thinks. Light is almost dripping out from the inside, or maybe it is pulsing in it like a little heart, a dusky and a dawny one. Their father hands each of the two girls one of the necklaces. far softer and friendlier than expected. Suddenly, she feels Arwen's hand on her arm. She looks at her sister and notices she is holding out her necklace towards her.

"I want you to have it, for now. Until you return."

Ariel smiles, despite herself, and nods. She can do that, it's sappy but no big deal. 
It's a little bit like the necklace she gave to Myrcella once - but better not go there. As their ada fastens the chains behind their necks, the blond woman notices how odd the golden colour looks on Arwen. They have become so immersed into their status and role that the exchange truly stands out, a visible sign of a connection. She supposes the Evenstar must look quite the same on herself, but maybe that's the way it is supposed to be.

~ 0 ~

She doesn't leave Rivendell alone, Glorfindel agrees to accompany her, a worthy companion for a lady. They both know he's much more, he's also her trainer and mentor, and yes, another friend, she supposes. This is getting out of hand, Ariel thinks, she is losing her heart far too much, getting dependent on too many people - but maybe these things just tend to happen in centuries of life. It still rattles her, how peaceful this world often feels, despite the horrors that lurk around every corner. 
Their swords are always in reach, just as her bow which is fixed to her back together with her quiver filled with a good amount feathered arrows. 
Glorfindel only carries a dagger, he doesn't particularly like bows, but she knows he could stab any enemy before they were even able to blink. Her own smaller dagger is hidden in her high boots, a comforting weight, just in case.

They make good way on their horses, Elvish steeds of fine breeding, though while she likes hers, it isn't one she has a particular connection to.
Her companion has told her much about his hoofed companion, about the steeds he rode back in Gondolin, and she hopes he will find such a horse again - and that Arwen and Elrohir will. For her and Elladan it's less important, she supposes. 

They have traveled for about a week and have yet to come across a single orc or troll, but still, it is better to be watchful. There are always guards, but for now, the two of them are sitting next to their own little fire, out of earshot of the other elves who are singing close to a lowly whispering stream. Over the last couple of days, Glorfindel has seemed a little bit out of it, lost in thought, and she decides it is the perfect time for her attack.

"So, you and Erestor? How long has that been going on?"

Glorfindel almost spits out the water he has been drinking, satisfactorily aghast, and she smirks. Ariel is fairly certain he is blushing, but then seems to steel himself.

"That depends what you mean. We have been friends for millenia."

She gives him a bit of a dirty look, because she wants the tea, now.

"How long have you been attracted to him?"
"I have known he is beautiful since I have first met him. Just like I have known that about you."
"That is not what you mean, and you know it!"

It occurs to her then that maybe he actually does not know - or he is messing with her, it's hard to say. Probably he is also a little confused because he didn't expect to have to talk with her - still his Lord's youngest daughter -  about that.

"But you love him," she presses.

He tilts his head.

"I love him, yes. He has been my friend since before you were born."

Now she is getting frustrated, this isn't going anywhere. Ariel takes a deep breath, her thoughts spilling out in a torrent.

"The way Elves love - I don't understand it.  don’t know how to embrace it. I don’t even understand what I feel. Even though I should, right? It's different and I just - I remember the way it was and it echoes in me and drowns out anything else."

Glorfindel's eyes softens, though he still seems a bit weary.

"I cannot speak for humans. But Elvish love is timeless, and what you can feel for a friend can be very close to what you feel for a romantic partner. It's a deep connection, I think it's deeper than what Men can feel.  Still, for us love isn't the same as..." he stops, "it's not the same as what you would probably call passion. In fact, the mental connection is what we search for, primarily. We love with our whole beings, most love across lifetimes and most only once. The connection becomes part of who you are. Physical attraction is often part of that love, but it is not the whole of it. Elvish love encompasses mind, body, and spirit. It is a complete union, a deep understanding and acceptance of one another. Passion is a flame, but it must be nourished and tempered by mutual respect and understanding to endure. Physical ... yearning - what Men might call desire - is more like an afterthought. And usually connected to marriage only, and then to a wish for children."

"That's kind of sad," Ariel blurts out, which makes both of them first look at each other in silence, then laugh out loud.
"You are so strange, my peredhel," he tells her, looking almost boyish.
She shrugs.
"Tell me something I don't know. But -" she pauses dramatically, " that means you and Erestor don't ..."

She makes a vague gesture with her hand as she realizes she can't even express what she means. Elvish languages don't even have a term for 'fuck around', it seems, and certainly nobody told her in the Common tongue. Well, Glorfindel seems to understand anyway. Ariel also thinks that probably no elleth in the last couple of thousand years ever blurted out something like that, or even thought about something like that.

"That, my lady, is none of your business," he tells her decisively.
"No answer is also an answer. Besides, me, personally, I would like to think these kinds of ideas and rules are more ... generalized terms. I am sure there are grey zones, aren't there?"

His silence tells her there probably very much are, at least for him, and he feels at least a little bit guilty about it. She sighs and her hands clench in her lap as thoughts of Jaime, her brother and once lover, surge forward, clouding her mind with guilt and confusion. She wonders whether he was that one special case for her, such a special once-in-a-lifetime connection.

"In my former life, love was mostly... political, strategic, seldomly enduring. Never pure. It was a weapon, sweet poison, killing you slowly. It made you weak, and should be avoided - the only unavoidable love was the one of a mother towards her children. Love - it's for children."

Glorfindel studies her, his gaze compassionate yet piercing.

"Do you truly believe that?"
"I never had reaason to doubt it. There was someone. I ... for most of my life, I thought he was a part of me, my other half. But I have come to doubt that. Things were all consuming but destructive. It was everything good in my life and everything wrong. There was so much hate in it, betrayal, and manipulation."
"It sounds like you missed out on a lot then. I am sorry. Though, admittedly, here in this world, love doesn't always equal the option to marry either. Or happiness and happy endings. It's not easy, by any means."
"How do you bear the thought he might betray you? If you give so much of yourself?"
"I believe he won't. I trust he won't."
"That's what they all say. But love makes you weak. I am - well, I am much younger in this life, but in my former life, I must have been around the age you are now, as a human. I did love and I did desire and it made my life very complicated but also somewhat very easy. Because in the end, it's so, so easy - the more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy, and to keep them safe. You love them, even if you know it's wrong, even if they are monsters."
"I am not sure that is true."
"Believe me, it is. It's all good until someone takes a head. Stabs a back. Burns them. Or until you let the roof fall on top of them."

It is as if a damn is broken, as if a finely crafted wall has been pierced and water that has been held back comes rushing out, ready to drown her. Now he will never look at her the same, she thinks, almost haughtily, now I am at least back to where I have always been. Alone, and fighting. To her surprise though, Glorfindel just looks curious. 

"That... sounds oddly specific."
"It is, believe me. I've been a liar, a lover, a thief, and a cheater. I've killed and I've ruled and all in the name of love."

She thinks he will leave now, but instead, he gets up to walk around the fire and sit down next to her.

"I see you and Erestor, and the other elves, and it makes me realize how lost I am. I don’t know how to love like that. I don’t know if I ever can. And it infuriates me. I’ve built walls so high that even I can’t see over them."

Ariel’s voice cracks, her frustration and desperation evident. Memories of Jaime's betrayal and their doomed love flash through her mind, deepening her sense of despair. Glorfindel's eyes holds a gentle understanding, but there is still a bit of a challenge in them.

"From what I have heard that is not quite true. What about that young Marchwarden of yours?"
"That -" Ariel swallows. She wants to claim it didn't mean anything, but the words don't come out - because it did.

Her mentor nudges her shoulder.

"My point. And might I say, I do believe you can stand me quite well, too. Just as you do love your family, if a bit reluctantly. You worshiped your mother before you even knew what you were doing, everyone could see that. This is a new world, with new ways. Give yourself time, Ariel. You have already changed so much. Allow yourself to feel, to understand. Let the river run. You are not alone in this journey."
"Why are you so nice?"
"Because you are mine. In a way you will only ever understand when you find yours."
"Mine?"
"Yes. I don't know who they will be, that future is still hidden. But you will know when you meet them."

She scoffs.
"You just know?"
"I just know. I sometimes just know things. Just like  -" he shakes his head as a memory resurfaces, "I know that when you meet them, what you do then will change the way of the world.
"No pressure. Should I maybe mention I don't have the best track record with people? Or raising children?"

Glorfindel looks at her curiously.

"You had children?"

She nods.

"Four. Lyonel. Joffrey. Myrcella. And Tommen."

Only now she notices she has started crying, sobbing out the last of the names. She hasn't spoken about them in so long, doesn't even think about them most days, even though their shadows are always with her, like clouds in her mornings. Glorfindel just pulls her closer and lets her cry, a river of tears for her children, her children whom she could so easily love, even Joffrey.

"I lost them. All three of them. It was my torture and my punishment."

He keeps holding on to her while her shoulders are shaking and she soaks his beautiful golden cloak in ugly tears and he probably glares at the other elves - at least nobody else approaches. After a time, her sobs become quieter, she is feeling tired out and heavy, but also somewhat lighter. She looks up, meeting his eyes.

"What do I do now?" she asks quietly.
"I can't speak as a parent, but I see your pain," he slowly answers, "I feel, the only thing you can do is acknowledge it and keep it floating on. You don't have to forget, but at some point, you need to forgive yourself. You got sent here for a reason. Which means this world is ready for you to try again. And try better. You are stronger and wiser than you realize. And you have many here who care for you, who will help you find your path, Viryóre."
"Is everyone now always going to pull the name-card?" she grumbles, though there isn't any heat behind her words.

Glorfindel chuckles.

"You can bet on it. We love our names and their meaning, and we put the utmost trust in our mothers and their perception. It is also a very pretty name, Viryóre Amaurëa, daughter of Imladris."
"You usually still call me Ariel, though."
"Well, you are proud enough, I don't need to call you "Cautious Changing Heart, Dawn of her Kin and Lady of Rivendell. That's quite a mouthful."

Ariel thinks that "Cersei of the House Lannister, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Wardeness of the West and Shield of Lannisport" is even more of a mouthful. She doesn't know what to make of that thought.
Then her partner pulls on her long braid, a precaution to keep it from getting too tangled. While some (like him) might want to risk the danger of knots in their tresses, she doesn't want that, thank you, no.

"Besides, I imagine one new name is enough, and believe it or not, it is easier to scream Ariel in training than Viryóre. And I don't really see you appreciate it if I call you 'virya' in front of all of Imladris."

Despite everything, she has to snort because she truly wouldn't.

"So, you have always been Glorfindel, right?" she asks, even though she already knows.
He nods.
"Yes, it's my mother name, though back then, in Gondolin, I was called Laurefindil." He huffs. "It feels like a long time ago. It makes me feel old."
"I suppose it was a long time ago. And you are old," she points out.
"That it was. And I am."

He waits for a heartbeat.

"You were called something else, weren't you?"

Ariel snorts.

"I was called many things. But -" she bites her lip for a moment, "I didn't have many names. I only changed it once, when I got married, and even then I usually still used my former name, for several reasons, but mostly since I felt more attachment to my father's than to my husband's house."

She regards him for a moment.

"They call your house the House of the Golden Flower, mine was the House of the Lion, the House of the West. My family was just as golden as yours, all in their appearance, there was no mistaking us for anyone else."
She swallows when she notices the irony with regard to her children.
"Let me guess, the colours were red and gold?"
Ariel nods.
"How do you know?"
Glorfindel grins.
"Just a stray thought. About a girl who keeps insisting on wearing red, the most useless colour there is."

He gently plucks on her deep burgundy cloak, lined in shimmering gold. It has been a gift by him, somewhat of a parting token, and it's reversible for a more dramatic effect. She pulls on his cloak in return, it's a deep mossy green, though also lined with gold.

"From what people say you were the flashiest Elven knight of all, golden armor and golden cloak as you fought in Gondolin. So, I do think you shouldn't joke too much."
"Truly, I shouldn't. But you are fun to rile up."
"In my old world, there was a knight," she suddenly remembers, "he was called the Knight of the Flowers. He was one of the best fighters there were, educated in many different weapons, a great swordsman, and an expert jouster. He was incredibly beloved, especially by the women," she scoffs, "because he was so chivalrous and handsome. And yet, he didn't care one bit for any, I suppose." She shakes her head. "He wore an armor with vines on it, but his coat of arms, his family's coat, was a golden flower on a green background. Even your names resemble each other!"

Glorfindel laughs quietly.

"He sounds like someone I would have liked to know. What was his name?"
"Loras. Ser Loras Tyrell. He was the third son of a great family." She makes a face as she remembers the other family members . "He was - he also was a bit like my own brother. His name was -"

Her voice breaks once again, but she feels a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"One day you will tell me."

Chapter Text

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 had 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 escort has 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, too far away in Lórien at that time - 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 on her, 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 they 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 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 of him, 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 and 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 left, she takes a moment to breathe deeply, trying to compose herself. That went well, actually, she thinks. She put the cloak on a hook, takes off bow, quiver and sword and walks to the window and looks 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 already. Hers and Tauriel's are 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 armor?"

It is very polite, but from her eyes Ariel can see that she has most likely never touched an armor, 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 feels 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 hustiling 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 rpetty lonely years as her own people leave, and before they go she hugs Glorfindel 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 mroe 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 ebhind 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 diifferent 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 armory, more leavy, 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 tworws one towards her, she barely ahs 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 precice 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 egt 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 tought ehr a lot, and now that she concentrates she can see Leolas 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 ahs that figured out, it takes her five cleaver moves to get behind his defence. She actually could have made it in three if she had bluntly picked 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," he tells her afterwards, "you teach me sowrdfighting, 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 dagegr 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 ahs been raised at court since ehr aprents 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 ehr priviledges or ehr 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 ahs 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 armor, on her own request. Ariel has the suspcion 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 ehr, 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, and endless sea of fire, but it's not a green fire anymore. It's true and red and it's dawn and it's right. She breathes out.  

Chapter Text

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 Westeros.Then 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 a butterfly.
Tauriel becomes 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 extraordinary 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, 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, this - it's just not her 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 his 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 alley. 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.

Chapter Text

Orcs are still raiding, dangerous and viscious, just as all the other dark things that are creeping about, and Ariel goes ranging again, sometimes with her brothers, sometimes with Glorfindel. Sometimes with the Dúnadain, actually, at first mostly because Elladan and Elrohir like them and drag her along, later because she finds they are good company, most days anyway. Hard men and women but less complicated than elves, more straightforward. A lot of them speak Sindarin, at least a bit, so their language is always a bit of a mix between the common tongue and Elvish words. It's fun, and it's relaxing, and the fine society would hate it. Maybe she has a late teenage rebellion phase because she loves it, even though she cringes sometimes.

While she has been away, a tradition has been started that the heirs of Númenor (yes, Elendil's line still exists, even in the North) are at least partly raised in Imladris, for security and education. Her father takes that job very seriously, though she also understands that he is weary of humans. He thinks they are weak, even the brave ones. She cannot blame him, after all, he has seen Isildur fail. And if Isildur has failed, what chance has anyone else?
Ariel thinks that since the rings are all either with the elves, the Nazgul or the dwarves, one shouldn't worry too much, but still, her ada does. He always seems to, these days, but maybe he is not that wrong. Everything is getting darker, and that wizard Gandalf is visiting more often, and when he does, he seems worried. He has always seemed old, but now he seems old and tired. Maybe that's why he likes Rivendell, she thinks, because he feels he can relax at least a little bit here. Though, she has also heard him talk of Lórien, so he seems to get around to her grandparents' place as well. She wonders whether he could bring a message to Arwen, but she never asks.

Of course, Ariel is curious about what he is talking about with her ada behind closed doors, it always seems very important and very secret. Glorfindel and Erestor sometimes join them, but for once, her friend won't tell her anything. This makes the whole thing even more interesting  and no question, the young lady wants to join their discussions, but Elrond won't let her, at first.

"Why?" She impetiously blocks the exit of their solar so he can't leave.
"It's not your place."
"Why? There is no reason! You don't need to protect me anymore! I have been your messenger in Mirkwood, I am a ranger. I SEE the spreading darkness. I have always been loyal, for almost 3000 years, you have no reason to doubt me, why is this still not enough?"

She is hissing, almost screaming, and probably that's not helping, but she is just so furious. Because that's it, right? Why is she still not enough, after all that change? There is still darkness in her, she knows that, and probably there will always be. But she doesn't want to harm her family, and the assumption that she would is insulting.

Elrond rubs the bridge of his nose.

"This is a rise of a darkness like one you have never seen. I want you to be safe. I want you to stay safe!"

He steps towards her and cups her cheeks.

"You are my daughter and I love you and I still try to protect you. Ariel, I sent you out just to have you come back burnt with your sword arm harmed and everything you have worked so hard for set back. Do you think I take that lightly? That was on my orders, and my orders harmed you!"

For a moment, Elrond looks crestfallen, but she shakes her head.

"I wanted to go. That's it. And there can be nothing darker than what I have lived through, believe me."

"You have -"

She lifts her hand.

"No no. I very much know what I am talking about. I had four children. And I had four children die on me. I had my brother shoot my father over a -" she struggles, there is no word for that in Sindarin, "- woman. I was a king's plaything until I killed that king for my son. I ruled a kingdom and got challenged by a mad girl with dragons. I had my world being threatened by an army of undead. So, I believe I know enough about darkness and death to get a place at your table."

Her father swallow. Then he nods tightly.

"Very well then. You can join us. But you have to deal with Erestor."

She sighs, but that will be her smallest problem.

~ 0 ~

There is a young man, she hears, who has stayed in Rivendell for a time when he was younger, called Arathorn. He is Isildur's heir, but to be honest, he looks more like a hedge knight. Actually, he looks quite a bit like a Westerosi Northerner, now that she thinks about it, dark hair and grey eyes, though his face isn't that long. He is actually quite pretty, and the girls seem to think that, too, at least that's what Elladan and Elrohir tell her. They are his friends and they often roam around together, hunting and killing, but generally having a good time. Their area is mostly the Misty Mountains, while Ariel and Glorfindel tend to ride towards the West into the direction of the Fort of the Bruinen. Once, just once, Gandalf asks her to accompany him for a bit while he travels even further, to a place they call the Shire, where other small people, the Halflings, live. Ariel wonders whether it is a test - it probably is, and she doesn't know whether she passes or fails.

Anyway, she never sees these hobbits, and she isn't unhappy about that, but apparently, they are nothing like dwarves. Ariel cannot imagine that.
Her father still loathes to have her go out alone, but even he can't deny that she is somewhat of age now and almost at the level she was before - now with two sword hands, though, though her dragon-hand is still a little bit stiffer and weaker. It probably always will be.

Something else develops, though, probably born out of the necessity of connection when she is finally going roving alone. It starts when she lying on her bedroll staring up at the stars, wondering what Arwen is doing- it's funny how she has come to care for her twin. Maybe it's absence that makes her fonder, the lack of comparison, or maybe it's simply time. Suddenly, a wave of warmth hits her. She sits up, because she is shocked, where did that come from? It feels soft and kind, like a hug, but it's not the way her father or grandparents speak in her mind. It feels night-soft and twinkling and so familiar and yet not, which means there is only one person that it can belong to. But there is also something tentative in it, like a question.
Ariel concentrates, sends back as much warmth as she can - because she is pretty certain that's Arwen, who wants to know how she is doing. Well, maybe she will hit someone else with a wave of feelings in the process, but who cares.
There is no reaction, so she tries again the next evening, and then again, until she can feel a response: twinkling happiness. Her sister, her twin, has understood.
It's not a good or clear way of communication, but it's better than nothing.

Over the next years, it slowly gets clearer. Still no words, but signals. Happiness, suprises, pain, melancholy. Longing and missing. Her connection to Arwen is the clearest, though she notices she can find her other friends as well if she concentrates hard. They all feel different though, and sometimes she wonders what she feels like to them.

~ o ~

She has been out on patrol for a couple of weeks, on horseback this time, and returns a Wednesday afternoon, when she notices something is different, even before she reaches the houses. There is a tension. She can feel it everywhere around her, even though it is sunny and the bees are buzzing. Ariel stops and looks towards the valley, her valley, her home. The many balconies gleam in the light and the gentle hum of the waterfall provides a tender background, mixing with the distant melodies of Elven songs. Every time she returns she is struck again with this place's beauty and the fierce desire to protect it. Her trips aren't just fury and revenge for her mother anymore, they aren't just a strife for glory - no, by now they have mainly become a job that needs to be fulfilled. She doesn't know when that has changed, maybe it already changed while she was guarding Lórien and later Mirkwood. Maybe she just didn't want to see it. Maybe she was holding on to Cersei so tightly she was closing her eyes to the truth. She isn't Cersei anymore. The thought comes with a bit of sadness, but at the same time, it makes her smile, though she doesn't know why. Maybe she will find out some day.

She rides down the winding path and stops in front of the stables to drop of her horse. Lith is a good one, the first one she has actually become truly and hoenstly fond of, probably because the mare is often her only companion. She is dark, as the name supposes, which makes her blend into the forest quite well, with big pretty eyes and a silky coat. Ariel checks her for injuries before she feeds her, then leads her towards the pasture.

A bath, that would be great now, the young elleth thinks. But maybe she should announce her return first - she wants to know whether her brothers are around. They should be, their horses are here. As she reaches their home - at the same time the main building - she can hear voices, most notably her father. She enters, but before she can walk towards his study, the door already opens. Her father steps out, accompanied by a woman she doesn't recognise. Certainly Dúnedain, judging by the clothing and looks, rather young, with slightly unruly hair. That isn't particularly surprising, they have had even more dishevelled visitors from time to time, but what makes Ariel start is the small child, no more than two years old, in her arms.

The little party stops just as well, the woman's eyes widening slightly as she takes her in. Well, no wonder, she must be quite a sight. Dark clothing still partly cacked in mud and blood, a black leather corset reinforced with mithril together with black shoulder and arm guards with golden inlays. After years of wearing it, her red set of shoulder and arm guards had finally been worn through, so she had switched to something else, something a little bit more protective to give her ada at least a tiny bit of peace while she was away alone. She sometimes thinks she looks horribly similar to that Danaerys bitch, but she likes to think Elven clothing is more delicate, more elegant. Besides, that's what the gold stitching is for, for the distinction, isn't it?
Her hair is still messy from ducking under trees, there are  probably a couple of twigs in them, despite the two long, complicated braids. There is no doubt who she is though, and not only because of the quiver on her back, the sword on her hip and the bow in her hand. The green eyes and golden hair are just a dead giveaway.

"Ariel," Elrond calls as she approaches, "there is someone I would like you to meet."

His daughter inclines her head as he gestures to the woman beside him.

"This is Lady Gilraen, of the Dúnedain, and her son, Estel. They will be staying with us for some time."

The way he says it makes quite clear why they will be staying, just like the fact that her brothers are nowhere to be seen. Probably they are already out on a hunt, tracking down what or whoever killed the boy's father. Gilraen, her face lined with fatigue but her eyes bright with determination, manages a weary smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Ariel smiles warmly, at least she hopes so, her gaze shifting to the child in Gilraen's arms. The boy keeps hiding his face in his mother's shoulder, clearly distressed.

Gilraen chuckles softly, but it's sad. "He is shy around new people."

Elrond places a reassuring hand on Gilraen's shoulder.

"You will find peace and safety here, Lady Gilraen. Rest now, I will have Lindir show you to your quaters."

The assistant in question appears from somewhere, like a ghost, ready to take the two of them along, but before Gilraen can turn, Estel looks up. His eye meet Ariel's with a mix of wonder and shyness. For a moment, her heart stumbles.

So YOU are who I have been waiting for, she thinks.

~ 0 ~

She meets Gilraen again at dinner, apparently they are to become part of the houshold, at least for now. Well, as long as the woman doesn't turn out to be a bickering imbecile, she doesn't much mind. They go for a walk afterwards, during which Ariel desperatedly searches for something nice to say. Needlessly to say, nice doesn't come easy to her.

"Estel is a very pretty name," she finally settles on.
"It is, isn't it?" Gilaren asks, "though you could call it - let's say it's his mother name. He is only to be told of his real heritage and name once he turns 20 years old. For security."

The gears in Ariel's head turn as she regards the boy next to her again. Dark hair, grey eyes, a little bit sulky. Quiet. Jup, he looks like a miniature of that friend of her brothers'. Which means -

Another king. Without a kingom. A King in the North.

For a moment, she almost freezes. She nods numbly while Gilraen sets Estel down, allowing him to explore. The little boy toddles around, his curiosity getting the better of his shyness. Ariel watches him with a fond smile, before she even realizes she is smiling. He seems so excited, despite all he must have seen.

"You are all so very kind," Gilraen suddenly says, her voice tinged with emotion. "It means a great deal to us to be welcomed so warmly."

The elleth can see unshed tears in the widows's eyes, signs of sorrow for a husband who was truly loved. Ariel nevertheless snorts, then she could have hit herself.

"I am certainly not what people would call kind, my lady. But I promise you, these boarders are protected and Imladris will be a home for you and your son."

"Thank you. I just want him - need him - to be safe!"

There is something in her voice, something beside the desperate wish of a mother, heavy with prophecy, and Ariel has to swallow. But she nods.

"Of course. He will be."

I will make sure of that.

~ 0 ~

Estel is like a puppy once he loses the initial shyness, a quiet, moody puppy, but still a puppy. She can see he is excited about the world, especially about pretty things. He likes his wooden toys, especially the ones Glorfindel made for him, a horse and a tree and a wolf and a lion. He also likes stories, a lot, actually, and for some reason he likes Ariel.

He toddles after her and in the beginning, it is overwhelming - sure, she has done that before, the dealing with kids, but not for very very long. And children means love and love means pain, and no, she doesn't want that. But - there is something about him that makes her roll her eyes and take his hand and walk around Imladris whenever she is around. He seems so excited when she comes back from ranging and surely she doesn't deserve that, but he grants her that benefit of the doubt nevertheless.

No, she isn't kind, or nice, but maybe she can be for him.

Gilraen seems happy she doesn't always need to handle the boy on her own, and Ariel realizes how young she is, just like her when she had Joffrey. She is just as alone and confused and sad, though for other reasons - she misses her husband dearly, though Ariel suspects it's even worse than she let's on.

"So, Estel," Glorfindel finally starts after one training, "he's yours, then."

She can't deny it. There is something different about him - it is a feeling beyond motherly, or sisterly, or anything else, really. It just is.

"Now you know how I feel about you," her mentor tells her gently, "though of course I doubt he will give you as much pain."

He pulls her into a half-hug and she lets him.

~ 0 ~

"You are wrong, I think," Gilraen tells her once, "about no being kind. You are always kind to Estel. And to me."

Ariel smiles tightly, it is strange to hear that.

"Many would disagree and tell you I am never nice."

Gilraen smiles faintly. "I said "kind", my lady, I did not say "nice"."

Maybe she is a little bit right, Ariel wonders. She smiles.

"Just Ariel is enough. No title. Estel doesn’t use it either."

"And I keep telling him he is supposed to," Gilraen tutts.

Ariel laughs, and still she wonders why it doesn't bother her with this boy, even though she'd bitten off any head in Westeros.

~ 0 ~

She starts training him when he turns five, because the world is a dangerous place and he must protect himself. At first, it's just games, all to build up strength and to make him nimble and quick on his feet. She takes him on little strolls or walks through the forest, though always with someone else to guard the front or the rear. Surprisingly, Gilraen is a good shot and often joins them, though she seems weary of violence. Ariel understands, there is too much darkness, and they both try to protect Estel from it as best as possible, both in their own way. It's maybe the first time she understands Elrond. Or rather, she remembers what she was like, as a mother. The memory doesn't only come with good feelings attached. In fact, most are not. She is not ready to admit all she might ot might have nor messed up, but she certainly will say that things could have gone a lot better. Let's leave it at that.

Maybe that's why she waves her experiences into stories, why she tells Estel about Westeros. Maybe she wants to tell him what others did wrong, so he can do it better. Maybe - and that pains her the most - she simply does not want him to become like Joffrey. Of course, there are things she doesn't talk about yet. He doesn't have to hear about neverending nights just now, there is still time. True, the orcs seem just as bad, but he doesn't know that. He can't remember when they came to their little settlement, he only knows peaceful Rivendell and the gentle parts of the forest. 

So, in the evenings when fire dances in the hearth and casts flickering shadows on the walls, she tells funny stories and sweet stories, adventure stories and hopeful stories about everyone and everything, often with the help of the wooden figurines he horts like a dragon. She loves to hear him laugh and giggle, to see his eyes light up in rapt attention when he sits in front of her, bundled up in a blanket. He gasps about the Silver Prince, the best jouster of all. He cheers about the Knight of the Laughing Tree and puzzles with her who it could have been. (She still doesn't know.) Estel however is - like almost everyone back then - convinced it must have been Lionpaw, the cocky young knight who had been sent home early. 

Of course she tells him about Jaime - Lionpaw - and the lady he loved but couldn't marry, Queen Emeralda. She also tells stories about Lionpaw's sister, Goldy, but she never mentions her and the queen were the same person. Somehow she thinks the fact that they were related wouldn't gain her story points in favour, given the drama Túrin and Nienor started once they found out they were related. It's funny, actually, Targaryens married and fucked each other because they were related, her and Jaime simply didn't care, and Túrin and Nienor killed themselves for exactly the same reason. The world is odd, it seems, and all depends on the perspective. Or doesn't it?

Well, the way she tells the story Lionpaw and Emeralda are much more like Beren and Lúthien, including the chopped off hand. Estel wants to be just like the two knights, and somehow Ariel doesn't have the heart to tell him how much unwise love can hurt. He will find out soon enough by himself - they all do. 

Their rituals build and their rituals stick - training together, walks in the forest. Him coming down the path to greet her when she had been out in the woods on longer trips. Her stories in the evening. But still, the stories get more serious as the years go on, just like his training. He is talented, beyond what is to be expected, which makes her job relatively easy, but also sometimes makes her forget he is still a child, prone to moods and sulking and tantrums. However, when she gives him a Cersei-look, he usually shuts his mouth very very quickly, to Glorfindel's amusement.

"I wish it would have worked so well with you," he always comments, but she doesn't think he is too serious.

By now she has finally come to understand that he loves her - or rather, how he loves her - and there isn't anyone else she'd rather cross swords with. 

~ 0 ~

Estel is almost ten when she tells him about Winterfell for the first time, when her stories finally start to include the Starks. She didn't want to, she never wanted to think of these people again, so she will say it's all Estel's fault since he caught her off guard. In fact, he comes bounding towards her as she sits on her favourite bridge and flops down next to her.

"Shouldn't you be with your nana?" she asks, "and in bed?"

Estel shrugs, but grins slightly, which tells her he probably should.

"I am with you. So it's fine!"

She rolls her eyes, because that's just such a cheap excuse and he is becoming such a little shit. Maybe she shouldn't indulge him so much - but then, he is never cruel. He is good, so inherently horribly decently good that it is hard for her to say no. Sometimes she is afraid what the world will do with that much goodness, how he is supposed to ever retain it.

"Tell me a story, Ariel," Estel pleads, his voice filled with eager curiosity.

She shighs. "But just one. And then off you go to bed."

"Promise!"

Ariel smiles gently at the boy, her heart swelling with affection.

"Very well, Estel," she says. "Tonight, I will tell you about -

"a land far far to the west, beyond the seas, beyond the edges of the world and the realms of time," Estel finishes her sentence.

They always do it like that.

"Exactly. And in this land -"

"there were seven kingdoms."

"Yes. Seven kingdoms. And I am going to tell you about the biggest of all, the North. It was called the North because, well, it was in the North." The boy giggles at that. "It was a cold kingdom, and wild, and rough, with hard men and women. The kingdom had been independent for very very long and still was ruled by the oldest family in the Land of Lands."

"Like Eru's first children?"

"Yes, like the Eldar," she answers, though she grins a bit at the thought of Eddard Stark being compared to an elf. Sansa Stark maybe, though that was grace to her Tully heritage. "Though they were not like the Eldar at all. They were more like the Dúnadain, in fact. They said they had wolfsblood running through their veins which made them like that, and they always kept together in their pack, their family. They lived in a grand castle made from grey stone, Winter Hall. Their lord and their lady, they had four children, three boys and a girl. And they all went to the tourney at Harrenhal."

"So one of them was the mystery knight?" Estel asks, and she can only shrug.
"I don't think so."
"What was their names?"
"They called them the Wild Wolf, the Quiet Wolf, the Wolf Maiden, and the Pup."
"So many wolves!"

Ariel snorts. Indeed. Too many.

"What happened to them? Did they have adventures?"

Now she snorts again.

"Indeed, they did. But I am afraid they didn't turn out too well."

He looks at her strangely. "But if they are your stories, why don't you just make them end better?"

Truly, she could, and she sometimes changes things to match their world or to make herself look better, if she is honest. However, there is also something that holds her back from switching up too much, like a compulsion that warns her to tell the truth, to honour the dead with their stories.

"Because the ink is already dry, Estel nín," she tells him. He hums. "Your stories are strange. But I like them. Go on!"
"Well - there was a great war, and I will tell you all the stories about that war when you are a bit older, but what I can tell you for now is that two of the four survived. The Quiet Wolf and the Pup both came back, though the Pup then went to the wall."
"What's the wall?"
"The wall was a wall, Estel," she told him, "a huge huge stone wall that cut through the forest and the open plains and kept the wildlings out. And was supposed to keep darker things out as well."
"Why don't we have a wall? There are many dark things here."
"The darkness is different here," she tells him, "it comes from all direction. Back there, it came from only one."

For a moment, she thinks of Angband in the North and whether her comment isn't maybe very very wrong. 

"And the Quiet Wolf?"
"He stayed at Winter Hall and he became Lord of the North. He got married and had five children. Actually, no. Six children."
"But he wasn't a king?"
"No, certainly not!"
"What did he look like?"

Estel is always like that, he wants details, even though he then complains about how much her stories ressemble historical retellings. So, she indulges him.

"Normally, the family members had dark hair and long faces and grey eyes."
"Like me?"
"Yes, grey eyes and dark hair like yours. Though your eyes are less icy. You are bright and shining and hope. The Quiet Wolf was a man of unyielding honour, loyalty and duty. He loved his land and his family. But that was also his weakness."
"Why?"
"Because, if you love something, they can take it away. They can hurt you with it. And his honour and duty and loyalty made him blind to what was going on around him."
"So he was dumb?"

Ariel grins for a moment, but then sobers again.

"No, not dumb. Blind."
"Was he good though?"

She hestitates, remembering the complexities of Ned Stark's life. Then she slowly nods.

"I guess you could say so, yes. He always tried to do the right thing, no matter the cost."

Even if it meant endangering your children and yourself. Oh, and your son killed him for it. No big deal.

Estel's eyes sparkled with admiration. "He sounds like a true hero. Did he have any adventures? You said he did, right?"

He got beheaded by a king. Does that count?

She decides to focus on the aspects that would inspire Estel.

"Yes, many. He fought in great battles and he had a great sword, almost as tall as a man, called Icebane."
"I want to be like him. Honourable and brave."

Ariel reaches out, gently brushing a lock of hair from his face.  
"No, Estel, you will be better."

He will have to be better because this boy, this is not just a steward or a warden. This is a king in the making. Ariel knows it how only prophecy can make you know things. Maybe it also has to do with the cryptic hints Gilly keeps dropping about her son - who knows. In any case, Middle Earth can't afford excessive pride or a know-it-all attitude in a king.

"I will?"
"Yes, my boy, you will. One day, you will." Ariel leans down and kissed his forehead. "Now, it is time for you to rest. Tomorrow brings a new day, and with it, new adventures. And training!"

With a long suffering sigh, the boy scrambles to his feet, impatiently waiting for her to get up, too. Why she has to drop a nine-year-old off at his home is a mystery to Ariel, but she has decided she won't question certain things in her life any longer. Gilraen - Gilly - is leaning in her door and smirks as the two approach.

"I was wondering when you'd come."

She turns towards Ariel.

"Thank you, though, truly."
"No worries."

She says her goodbyes and with a final glance at the couple she turns away. As she wonders down the path again through the soft Imaldris air, the echoes of Winterfell slowly fade into the shadows of Rivendell.

Chapter Text

The slowly setting sun casts a gentle glow over the valley of Rivendell, its beauty seemingly untouched by the troubles of the outside world. The Last Homely House stands still, unchanged, like a beacon or an island. If not for Estel and Glorfindel, it would sometimes be a bit boring, orcs notwithstanding - or at least she had thought so, until a couple of days ago when suddenly the visitors arrived. The wizard came first, not Gandalf though, but Saruman, the leader of their order. Her father had met him before, but Ariel had never had any contact with him in all her life and once he had greeted her - very respectfully, mind you - she decided she didn't much want to ever again. There is something odd about him, something she doesn’t like. It feels hard and yet seemingly dark, despite the white staff and robes. Ariel has nothing of her father’s foresight, and yet it is so clear to her - how nobody else sees it is a mystery to her.

But the man is only secondary - especially when just a day later, someone tall sneaked up on her and without any question wrapped her in his arms. She startled, obviously, and nearly knocked the attacker over, when she heard the low chuckle and saw silver hair out of the corner of her eyes. Well, what can she say - she still knocked him over for that stunt. Haldir didn't much mind though, he probably had expected it anyway.
To say she was delighted was probably an understatement, she was up in the clouds. He had come as a part of the Lórien party, Lady Galadriel's entourage. Well, Ariel was convinced her grandmother had picked him as a personal favour to her - aside from his talents as a guard. The lady herself is as shiny and beautiful and scary as she remembered, but somehow Ariel has the feeling she is pleased with what she sees in her granddaughter now. Maybe it is stupid, but it makes Ariel a little bit proud.

Now, Haldir and her are laying on her favourite little bridge, looking up into the reddening sky, busy sharing stories and anecdotes about the years that have passed. So much has happened and yet for elves, it doesn’t seem like much at all, it is truly very strange. Now though, time seems to stand still, and while she knows that this is certainly an illusion, for a moment, they are stuck in a little bubble.

Suddenly, Ariel huffs. "Why did Arwen not come?"
Haldir chuckles. "Because she wants you to come to Lórien."
Ariel smiles. "Nice try. But I am still needed here. For about 10 years. 10 years and he will be old enough."
"You truly think -?"
"I don't know. But the Valar know I will teach him everything I can. Then he needs to figure out the rest by himself."
"I never thought you'd get attached to a human child."
"Neither did I, I swear. But he's a good child. A bit too sweet, maybe, but the world will take care of that."
"And I thought you weren't good with feelings."
"I am still horrible with feelings."
"From what I have heard - you aren't half bad. You seem to get along with your family, for the most part. You obviously adore that boy. Glorfindel said -"
"You talked about me with Glorfindel?"
"It might have come up in conversation."

She sits up to face him.
"How do I come up in casual conversation?"
Haldir sits up, too, though much slower.
"Well, maybe I simply asked him, since I was afraid you wouldn't tell me if something was wrong."
"Nothing is wrong! You just wanted to flirt with him!"
"By the Valar, no. It is obvious he is very much taken. Besides, you Rivendell-Elves are far, far too exhausting for my taste." Ariel pushes his shoulder, and he laughs. "Though I will say, I am slightly envious of that Mirkwood Prince of yours."
"Legolas? Please."
"Well, you are supposed to marry him, are you not?"

Ariel groans and flops on her back again.
"I suppose I am - or at least that was the vague hope. I am pretty certain King Thranduil hopes for closer ties to Rivendell, support, and maybe even a more secure standing against my grandparents. But you know what, I am done being a pawn in these games, and Legolas wants to marry me just as little. So, don't you worry mellon nín, you will always be my special first love."

She grins up at him and he falls on his back as well.
"Bitch."

It's one of the few words she has taught her friends in Westron, something she does whenever she can't find any Sindarin terms to transport the same sentiment.

"You love me. Admit it," she singsongs, and he takes her hand and interlaces their fingers.

The lay in silence, her deep blue dress like a cloud across her legs. A good observer would have noticed the fine but rather boot-like shoes peeking out under the hem, a testament to how much she has had to walk about to organise everything for the council. She just hopes they will let her take part in it without any trouble.
Then she sighs as her ears suddenly notice the pattern of hectic little steps - Lindir.

"My Lady!" he calls out making both sit up, "a company has crossed our boarders."
Her eyebrows shoot up in alarm.
"Orcs?"
"No, híriel nín, dwarves!"
She frowns.
"How? And has my father been informed?"
"Your father is out hunting with a party, híriel nín. And the dwarves - as I said, it is a whole company. They seem to be led by Mithrandir."
Ariel sighs. "That man is trouble. Alright, the Lady Galadriel will deal with him later."

Her grandmother truly has a special way with people, maybe that is why her father had insisted on joining the hunting party - to get out of his mother-in-law’s clutches for a bit. The elleth stands up and resolutely pats down her dress.

"Let's greet these dwarves then."

She probably looks as excited as she sounds - which is not very much.

"Lindir, I'll get ready, come and collect me once they cross into the entrance part. I won’t chase after them, I want them to come to us."
"Of course, my lady."

As Lindir scrambles away, Haldir raises an eyebrow. 

"Melleth nín, you are going to make a show, entrance and dress and everything included, are you not?"
Ariel smiles.
"Of course I will. Dwarves like pretty shiny things, so pretty shiny things they will get to see."

They hurry back, only for her to change into one of her red dresses with elaborate golden stitching on the front and the sleeves. Now, Ariel stands on one of the terraces, her sharp eyes scanning the path that winds through the valley. Her long hair, unbound, catches the breeze and shimmers like golden silk. 

"They should be arriving soon," Haldir says stepping up beside her. His calm demeanour belies the interest in his eyes. "Gandalf seldomly brings company without good reason."

Ariel nods, her thoughts drifting. Gandalf's visits are always marked by excitement and intrigue, and the wizard's penchant for unusual companions have become almost legendary. Usually though it's humans or the odd lone wandering elf.
The sun is kissing the mountains as a small procession appears on the path. Leading them is indeed Gandalf, his tall figure unmistakable even from a distance. The short, stout figures and gruff demeanour contrast sharply with the elegance of the elves and the peacefulness around them, they seem made out of stone, even from afar. All stop in a courtyard below and Ariel lets them wait for a few moments just to make them uncomfortable - after all, they are the intruders on her perfectly pleasant evening.
Her technique obviously works, and they start to form a lose protective circle, horribly uncoordinated though. They should take a piece of advice from Lórien or even Woodland coordination and discipline, Ariel thinks. Despite the chaos i is however still clear who the leader is, a comparably tall male with a thick fur over his shoulders and a dark beard, admittedly authoritative despite his short stature - he seems familiar, but she knows they have never met before. 

"Well then," with an eyeroll, she turns towards the stairs, now flanked by two more than stoic guards. They seem just as little excited as she is.

Her descend catches everyone's eyes as her dress licks at the stairs like soft red flames. She is deadly fire and rising dawn, she runs this place, there is no mistaking. The dwarves seem unsure, but Gandalf’s eyes are twinkling. He bows slightly.

"Ah, Lady Ariel, the fiery dawn."
She allows herself a small smile.
"Mithrandir." Her eyebrows rise and she continues in Elvish. "It is strange company you keep. We were alarmed as you were crossing into the valley."
"I need to speak to Lord Elrond."

Rude!

She almost rolls her eyes again.

"I am afraid that is not possible. He is not here," she now starts in the Common Tongue, "you will have to speak with me."

A whisper runs through the dwarves, clearly a questioning of her motives. Gandalf flinches slightly, probably partly because his plan has been crushed and partly because he knows she will be the more difficult one. And happily, so.

"Not here? Where is he?"

Luckily for them, they are interrupted by the sound of a horn ringing through the valley. She only gives him a little shrug before he turns around behind the company - all of which have started to face the bridge. Soon, the sound of hooves is getting louder. A white banner approaches, fluttering in the wind, until about 15 riders spill onto the courtyard. Her father is riding in the front and Ariel has to admit he is cutting a fine figure in his armour with the light dancing on the shiny dark hair. He takes in the situation, and she can see his alarm, just like in Elrohir's face who is following right after him.
Meanwhile, the dwarves scramble into another sort of circle as the elves surround them in two concentric circles, like shepherds circling a group of lost sheep.

Are you alright?
Yes , Ada, I was just getting started.

In her mind, she can hear him huff. He stops his horse, looking down at the newcomers.

"Gandalf!"
"Lord Elrond! Mellon nín. Where have you been?"

The stop gives Ariel some time to look at the dwarves more closely, especially their leader, without being scrutinized in return.

"We were hunting a pack of orcs that had come up from the South," her father explains while he gracefully gets off his horse. "We slew a number near the entrance of the hidden path."

He comes closer to hug the wizard in a rare show of affection that seems to confuse the dwarves even more.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our boarders, something or someone must have drawn them to the valley," the lord comments while he casually hands Hadhafang to a guard. It is a show of authority right in front of the visitors and Ariel smirks slightly.

"Oh, that might have been us," Gandalf admits.

Ariel scowls a bit, then she catches the dwarven leader’s shake of head, then the glint in his eyes, and suddenly she knows who it is.

Ada, that is Thorin , son of Thr á in.

Outwardly, he doesn’t react, but turns towards the dwarves.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thráin," Elrond declares.
"I do not believe we have met," the dwarf argues suspiciously.
"No, but I did meet your grandfather, Thrór," Ariel calls from the back, "and you resemble him greatly. I knew him when he ruled Under the Mountain."

The dwarf’s eyebrows shoot up as he takes her in again, to him a girl, only just grown.

"Indeed? He made no mention of you."

She makes a vague gesture with her hand; it doesn't surprise her. He didn't like her much, after all. Her father, apparently fed up with this nonsense, dramatically starts in Sindarin again, causing outrage among the dwarves. She almost chuckles - it only had been a dinner invitation.
Thorin's dark eyes meet Ariel's with a mixture of pride and wariness again and she allows herself another small smirk, one of her hidden Cersei-ones. It seems to take him aback.

"Welcome to Rivendell," she bites out.

~ 0 ~

Dinner turns out to be quite painful, but Ariel hasn't expected anything different. A beautiful table is set up, a feast for any elf, and the dwarves are rude, complaining about the lack of meat and potatoes. The soft music is not to their taste, and neither is the company. Ariel thinks that they probably would have been much happier at one of Robert's banquets or in a tavern. She doesn't know how to feel about that thought.

From what she has understood, most of the company have rhyming names, though the doesn't bother to remember them. There is a hobbit among them, though, which is somewhat intriguing. Even though she is not really interested in the guy himself, she should probably find out as much as possible. 

It falls to her to entertain Gandalf until her father is ready for dinner, and they fill the time with chitchat in which she already finds out a lot about the current dangers (expected) and threats (increased and worrying). He excuses his lack of proper garderobe (not surprising) and complements her appearance (as he should).
When her father arrives, he sends her to get Estel, which annoys her because she isn’t a maid and that's what Lindir is there for, but with a sight she makes her way to Gilly's place.
Her friend opens the door, a question mark in her expression.

"How can I help you?"
"I am supposed to pick up Estel to see the dwarves. Make him experience other cultures and such," she sighs.

Before the mother can say anything, Estel - who of course has been listening - already appears, like a sprout shooting out of the ground.

"Great! Let's go."

She considers telling him to get changed, but he is wearing dark trousers and a blue jerkin while the dwarves look as if they have been dragged through the mud, so she guesses his normal clothes are fine.

"Well, come on then."

They arrive just on time for her to see one of the dwarves - a younger one, if she isn't mistaken - wink at one of the harpists, Lindir's sister. The elleth blushes and she sighs internally and hopes to the heavens Estel hasn't seen that and gets any ideas. 
They stay in the shadows, and she has the boy watch and observe, like they do in the forest, because he is meant to learn. The dwarves are rowdy and impolite, but she finally does join her father, Gandalf and Thorin near the top of the table while Estel becomes a little shadow, looked after by Erestor.

Suddenly, Glorfindel appears next to her shoulder, his eyes glued to the blade Elrond is currently holding - it's Thorin’s, apparently, but it's Elvish.

"Orcrist," her father just explains, "the Goblin-Cleaver."
"It was made by the High Elves of the West, in Gondolin," Glorfindel interrupts in an uncommon show of excitement, "used during the Goblin Wars."

He looks seriously at Thorin.

"May it serve you well."

The dwarf bends his head in a show of respect as he receives it, but then Ariel's friend almost blanches.

"This …this is Glamdring. This is the foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin - my king."

The last words come out a little bit choked while he holds the sword Gandalf has brought. He touches it reverently, as if he were indeed holding his former king’s hand. When he gives it back, he seems sad and strangely relieves at the same time, as if holding on to it is too painful.

"What about this sword?" a voice suddenly asks.

As they turn to the side, Ariel sees the hobbit holding out something towards the group. He seems a bit intimidated, but nevertheless determined to get answers.

"I wouldn't bother -" a loud dwarven voice calls from the back, but her mentor already drops to his knees to be eye to eye with the halfling.

"May I have a look?" he asks lowly.

The hobbit nods and hands him the scabbard, as the knight pulls out what seems to be a dagger, Ariel can see his hand is shaking.

"This sword, Master Hobbit, was once a dagger in Gondolin. It got lost during the fall. I had never thought to see it ever again," he explains, “as a dagger, it does not have a true name, but the writing on its blade stresses its sharpness. It won't rust and won't break. I hope - I hope it will do you great service."

He hands it back with a small smile and somehow Ariel knows it once was his. 

"How did you come by these?" Elrond wants to know.
"We found them in a troll hole, near the great east road," Gandalf explains, "shortly before we were ambushed by orcs."
"And what were you doing there?"

With a shake of his head, Thorin gets up and interrupts the flow, making Ariel look for Estel. He has disappeared, but so has Erestor - decided this was enough talk about falls and wars for one evening, as Glorfindel explains soon afterwards. So, the lady takes a seat at the head of the table next to her father, rather unasked.

"You keep unusual company, Gandalf," Elrond comments, too. 
"They are of the House of Durin. Noble, decent folk."

Ariel snorts and can see her father's corner of the mouth quirk up, just a bit. Unfortunately, right that moment is used by the dwarves for an impromptu performance of their musical skills, jumping and dancing on the tables included. Ariel thinks Lindir's sister will faint in a second. If it weren't so annoying, it almost would be funny.

Only the hobbit seems uncomfortable, he finds her eyes and gives her an apologetic shrug - which is at least something. Maybe hobbits are indeed less annoying than dwarves - which makes her question how he has come on this trip in the first place.

~ 0 ~

She comes across him a little later again, when she catches him wandering through the halls of Rivendell, more precisely, through the public ones where the heirlooms of the Kings of Old are displayed. Why one lets all pieces of Narsil lay around freely is quite questionable to her, what if they get lost? But her father tells her it's important, so whatever, not her problem. Though, if she is honest, having a cool, famous sword is quite a fancy thing, of course. 
Maybe her reluctance about Narsil has more to with her own past than anything else, because each time she looks at it she sees Ice, broken in two and reforged into two swords - so maybe it’s just a little bit of a bad conscience, too. 
(Maybe she shouldn’t have called her own sword Oathkeeper either, but that’s too late now.)

The hobbit looks nervous as he sees her, but he steps towards her, overwhelmed but determined.

"It's an honour to be here," he said, his voice polite, "I was just admiring your home. This place is incredible."

She nods, after all, these rooms are public.

"These walls depict our history," she tells him, "the War of the Last Alliance. The Dark Lord and his One Ring. How Isildur cut it off."
She motions towards Narsil's shards. "That’s the sword that was used."
"But it's broken."
"True. But it's still sharp."
He looks at her with fascination. "I do believe so."

Maybe it's the honesty in his voice that makes her cave, but she sighs.
"Do you want a tour of Imladris?"

"If it is no bother to you, my lady, I would love it," he answers excitedly.

She chuckles softly but motions for him to come with her. He is delighted about everything she shows him, and it warms her heart, a little like Estel does. Estel, who comes bounding towards the two of them and starts to chat the hobbit's ear off with his stories and own comments.

"Maybe you should get to your ... companions?" Ariel finally offers after quite a while.
"I shan't be missed. Truth is, most don't think I should be part of this excursion."

He sounds a little bit sad as he looks down into the valley.

"I have heard hobbits are very resilient!" Estel, all eternal goodness, pipes up.
Bilbo seems taken aback. "Indeed?"
"Uhum!!!"
"I have also heard they are rather fond of their comforts of home," Ariel cannot help but add. 
He thinks for a moment.
"I have heard it is unwise to seek the council of elves, since they will both say yes and no."
For a moment, she is flabbergasted, but cannot even argue with the statement. Estel, the little traitor, giggles. Maybe it is the lightness he brings out in her protégée, but suddenly she blurts out: "you are very happy to stay here, if you would like to."

Bilbo seems just as surprised as herself at the statement, but then nods and smiles, before they part ways and she finally drops Estel off at his mother's place.
She has just decided to go and finally find her grandmother when she meets Lindir who of course uses this precise moment to start to complain about any and everything. Ariel hums non comically as they walk on. Suddenly, strange sounds are drifting towards them, and her unease is growing. Finally, they cross around a corner, and both elves stop in their tracks. Indeed, it is the dwarves, who have apparently decided the main fountain is a good place to wash and cajole in the water like a strange sorts of seals. 
It is all of them, most likely, and all of them fully naked, and nope, not a picture she needed burnt on the inside of her eye.

When she looks at Lindir, she thinks the elf will fall over any second, so pale has he become, and she holds his arm, just in case.

Chapter Text

Truly, Ariel has thought that maybe she would get a good night's rest after that day - no, she hasn't really, that is a lie - and indeed, she doesn't.

The dwarves finally retire, as far as "retire" is the right term for a company that starts making a fire in the outskirts of the Homely House and grill sausages that make her stomach nearly flip, just from the smell. She is a little confused when the halfling disappears - of course, she could track him down, but her father and Gandalf soon get up and by the Valar, she is going to follow them, especially if Thorin is involved! 
When she moves Elrond looks at the brink of saying something, but then thinks better of it and simply motions for her to come - a smart choice.

They all gather in his study, and this apparently seems to become a secret little council. Strangely enough, Lady Galadriel and Saruman are not invited, which means that probably her father assumes they will not agree with whatever will be discussed. Maybe she should tattle to her grandmother

Of course, she has to sneak in, too, invited or not. Judging by the look the dwarf gives her, she certainly is rather not invited.

Ariel doesn't care, this was her home, she will go wherever it pleased her.

Star- and moonlight is shining through the windows, the light the Eldar love so much. Whether Thorin likes it is another question - he seems annoyed, his posture tense and eyes wary. But maybe that is because of Gandalf and Elrond and the issue they are currently debating - about a map in his possession, and the fact that he won't pass it over to her father. Well, his bad, she thinks. 
The wizard is getting more and more exasperated by the stubbornness and truly, Ariel would just walk away and let him steam about that. Whatever is on that map, it is clear they need elven help, otherwise they wouldn't have this discussion!

Her father seems to be happy to simply wait them out, so she will follow his lead, for once a silent observer. Just as the hobbit does, who has appeared again, seemingly very awkward in the face of the conflict.
After a moment of hesitation, the dwarf leader slowly pulls out the parchment, then, despite the protest of his white-haired adviser, he hands it to Elrond. Circumstances have forced his hand, and he knows it.

Her father carefully opens the map. The parchment is old, its edges frayed, but the intricate details of the Lonely Mountain and its surroundings are still clearly visible. His eyebrows rise.

"Erebor? What is your interest in this map?"

Ariel almost sighs. It's a stupid question, isn't it? The only thing this dwarf can want is have the mountain back. It's easy. 

"The interest is mainly academic," Gandalf interferes, "since, as you know, these kinds of maps often contain hidden texts."

Ariel can see that Elrond isn't buying any of this, which is very reassuring - but he seems a little amused. Then, he takes the map to walk a couple of steps and hold it into the light. 

"Cirth Ithil!" he suddenly exclaims.
"Moon runes - of course!" Gandalf answers, "easy to miss."
"Well, in this case that's quite true," her father confirms, "since moon runes can only be read by a moon the same shape and season as the one under which they were written."
"Can you read them?"

Ariel thinks that if her father were the type, he would have rolled his eyes by now.

It seems the dwarves are extremely, ridiculously lucky, since they have arrived at exactly the perfect time: They need a crescent moon, just like the one almost 200 years ago. So, Elrond takes them to one of the cliffs where the moon can shine down on them undisturbed. It's a beautiful place, and on days like these one can feel the magic in the air. It's an old, primitive sort of magic, old like the trees, and it makes her blood sing and her cheeks become warm. With a deep breath, Elrond unrolls the map again, spreading it carefully on the stone table near the cliff. Ariel feels a sudden surge of excitement and trepidation as soon as the silvery light touches the parchment and signs appear, just as gleaming and beautiful as the light, despite the rather hard edges of the writing style. 

Elrond leans forward, his eyes scanning the map with keen interest. Ariel steps closer as well, intrigued, and very aware that she is annoying Thorin. Her father starts reading the ... well, is it a prophecy? A task list? A recommendation? She isn't quite sure.
“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.”
Maybe it's a manual, then, after all, since the instructions are rather precise.
Maybe it's everything - or nothing. Her mind races as she considers the possibilities. 
There is talk about a keyhole, but this map is a key as well, a key to reclaiming a homeland, to restoring honour and hope to Thorin and his people.

"Ada," she says softly, "this is trouble. Big big trouble."

She can see Gandalf frown and prays the dwarves haven't understood her Sindarin words. They don't seem to care though, apparently, because Thorin is far too busy considering the issue of the timing - and he's not wrong, they are a little bit pressed for time, she thinks.

"We still have time!" the white-haired dwarf next to him declares.
"For what?" the hobbit wants to know.

Why is he here again? He is so clueless!

"To find the entrance, of course! To be at the right place at the right time!"
"So that is your purpose then? To enter the mountain?" her father asks. She thinks it's rhetorical.
"What of it?" Thorin retorts. He sounds a bit petulant as he takes back the map.
"There are some who wouldn't deem that wise."

Of course it's bit, not truly, but Ariel also knows they won't care. Truthfully, she can even understand them, that pride, that will to get back what's theirs. If she liked them just a little bit more, she would even find it noble. She doesn't, though. 
Besides, just for a moment, there is a gleam of something else and very familiar in the dwarf lord's eyes, and it scares her - because she has only seen it twice. Once on a mad dragon girl, and once in the mirror. Each time, death followed.

~ 0 ~

In the moonlight, her father and the wizard shuffle up the stone stairs with the young elleth hot on their heels. Robes and her dress are swishing over the floor and damn she should have brought a cloak. Well, too late now. 

"These dwarves will march, with or without our help!" Mithrandir declares, slightly frustrated, "they are making their way towards the Mountain, determined to reclaim their homeland!"

Ariel bites her tongue lest she argue a mountain is hardly a land - that's not the point, she reminds herself. 

"I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels he has to justify himself to anyone," the wizard goes on, "so, for that matter, do I!"

Well, with all his wisdom, what does he know?
They reach one of the highest platforms of Imaldris, the one with the prettiest view and the hardest to get to - good for councils, lest one sees who comes close and cannot easily be overheard. Also great for making out, if Glorfindel is a reliable source. It's dark and almost gloomy now, despite the moonlight that is still floating down on them - but the columns throw shadows, deep ones, great hiding places, and Ariel is glad about the dagger hidden in her dress. Just in case. 

Her father turns towards the other man, and she can see his expression in the light - it's serious, though there is also a wry sort of amusement in it.

"It is not me who you have to answer to."

He nods towards the circular place, more precisely, to a space between two pillars. A figure stands with the back to the group, tall and regal, blond, long hair cascading down over a grey cloak. There is no mistaking who it is, especially since the only other elleth with that sort of build and long golden hair is currently standing behind them in a red dress and trying not to grin about this dramatic entrance. Damn it, her grandmother certainly knows how to make an impression. 
She can see the small shiver that is going through the wizard - a common reaction of anyone who meets her. Still, that she can do that to a Maia is more than impressive. 

He steps forward. "Lady Galadriel."
"Mithrandir. It has been a long time."

She seems serious, but Ariel would bet she's not. The wizard bends his head in reverence - good for you, grandmother - Ariel thinks, he never does that to me.

"Age might have changed me, but not so the Lady of Lórien."

Gandalf, seven hells, stop flirting, I am cold. We all know she is stunning.

Her grandmother's lips quirk up as she looks at him and for a moment, she looks so young, so approachable. Suddenly, her voice fills Ariel's head, and it takes everything in her not to flinch in surprise.

You are thinking very loudly, granddaughter. Though I am flattered by your assessment.

"I have no idea Lord Elrond had sent for you," Gandalf goes on.

Her father shakes his head.

"He didn't," a voice calls out of the shadows, and Ariel can see the wizard's face become stone. 

For a moment, his eyes wander and catch hers, since she is still halfway hidden behind her father. The look can only be translated as "I am not amused" in Sindarin, though it is rather a "what the fuck" in the Common Tongue of Westeros, and yes, Ariel has to agree, because she isn't happy about that either. Then, Mithrandir turns around, bows.

"Saruman!"
"You've been busy of late, my friend!"

He just shrugs, not yet ready to admit to everything, but then the white wizard finally looks at Ariel.

"If you were so kind to have an eye on Imladris while the council is at work, it would be a great help."

It's a dismissal if she has ever heard one, and despite the way he asks it's still rude - because this is her home, he can't just make her leave like that and assign her a job in a place he has no authority over. She smiles politely.

"Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor are fully informed and have everything under control. I am currently not needed."

The wizard looks at Lord Elrond, as if she suddenly didn't exist anymore. 

"This is no place for a child."

Ariel chortles. She might be young, but she is not a child, and she might not have fancy powers or a pretty magic ring - she isn't even a queen anymore - but she wants to hear what they are saying!

"She stays."

Lady Galadriel's voice doesn't allow any contradiction and the wizard seems to realise it, too, since he sighs and takes a seat, but doesn't comment further.

Hannon le.
You're welcome. 

Ariel slinks into the shadow while the usual chitchat starts - she is surprised to see that the morning is already slowly dawning when they finally get to the point. Apparently, the feast and council with Thorin had been going on longer than she had realized.

"Tell me, Gandalf, did you think these plans and schemes of yours would go unnoticed?" Saruman asks.

Gandalf looks at him, seemingly tired - well, it has been a long couple of weeks for him, Ariel guesses. 

"No -" he almost stumbles over his words, "I am simply doing what I think is right."

"The dragon," Lady Galadriel suddenly starts, turning back towards the group, "it has long been on our mind."
Ariel feels as if she has been punched in her gut. Damn it, that dragon! A memory she has almost managed to ignore until now, until they addressed it directly. For a moment, her arm seems to burn again, right from her fingertips and up, until pain is licking over her shoulder blade. Well, yes, somehow that damn animal has long been on HER mind, too.

"This is true, my lady. Smaug owes allegiance to no one. But if he should side with the enemy, the dragon could be used to terrible effect."

Well, he isn't wrong. Absolutely not - though Saruman firmly denies there even exists something like an enemy at all. He claims he has been defeated, but Ariel isn't so sure. Haven't they just been talking for ages about rising darkness? Is he deaf? Does he think delusion is a solution? 
Truth be told, she thought that too, once upon a time, until a grubby Northerner brought her a wright. Maybe she should bring Saruman a huge spider, then.

And the thing about the dwarven rings... other than Saruman, their disappearance does worry Ariel, because obviously she doesn't trust dwarves, but she trusts lost magical items even less so. His pretty lines about The One Ring don't calm her down at all - because it exists, and therefore, it can become a problem.

Or a chance - a quiet voice in her whispers.

"For four hundred years we have lived in peace. A watchful, hard-won peace," her father comments.

She looks at him incredulously.

400 years ago, nana was hurt by orcs. Since then, we have been hunting. Ada, you just came back from slaying orcs. That is not peace, not even a watchful one. In peace, you don't get your sword arm burnt by a dragon.

"Hardly a prelude to war," he answers, if a bit reluctantly.

The wizards seem a bit confused, but the lady just continues the slow circles she has been walking. She is a bit like a bird of prey, Ariel thinks, albeit a beautiful one. Like a white hawk, now without the grey coat. With a smile, she nods towards the other, younger elleth.

"Let her speak."
"There is something at work. Something powerful. I can see it here, and I can see it at Mirkwood. It is no longer called Greenwood, since a sickness has befallen it. Spiders and other dark creatures are on the rise. From what I have heard, patrols have encountered it, too, just outside the protection of Lórien. It will not be ignoring us, even if we decide to remain blind to it."
"They say...," Gandalf goes on.
"Yes? What do the Woodelves say?"

Saruman's tone tells her he doesn't think much of King Thranduil and his people. It makes her bristle.

"They say a necromancer has made his home in Dol Guldur. A sorcerer, who can summon the dead."

Well, that's a new information. A shiver runs over her spine as she thinks about dark nights and rising dead and suddenly, she is very happy about the white lady who has appeared next to her like a warm glowing star.

"That is absurd!" Saruman argues, "nothing like that exists in this world. It is just a mortal man, dabbling in black magic."
"I thought so, too. But Radagast -"
"Don't speak of Radagast. You cannot take Radagast seriously!"
"I admit, he is a little bit odd. And solitary..."
"It's not his solitary life I oppose to. It's the excessive consumption of mushrooms, which haver certainly altered and messed with his wits! It's unbefitting..."

The voices drone on, but Ariel focuses on the grey wizard. He finds the elven lady's eyes, and she is sure they are talking, just the two of them. She must have given a command, because suddenly, he pulls an object out of the depth of his coat. Both Ariel and her father step closer.

"What is that?" Elrond wants to know.

He moves to touch it, but Lady Galadriel's words make him pause.

"A relic of Mordor."

When he flips the cloth away, a Morgul Blade is revealed, sharp and spiky and disturbingly similar in shape to her own sword, if a hundred times more menacing. 

"Made for the Witch King of Angmar. But it was buried with him. When Angmar fell, the Men of the North took him and everything he possessed and buried it, in the deepest darkest tomb."
"A powerful spell lies upon the grave," her father argues, "it cannot be opened."

Well, obviously that has been done!

She looks at the sword again. The Witch King - she has heard of him, of course, the elves have fought against him, though that was before her time. The blade isn't rusted and doesn't look ancient at all though, but there is certainly an old feeling about it.  However, if it is such a cruel blade, why does it feel as if it is singing to her?

"What proof do we have?" Saruman argues and interrupts her musings.
"I have none," Gandalf has to admit.
"Because there is none!" To her eyes, the white wizard sounds far too gleeful, "just... let us look at the facts. A single Orc pack has crossed across the Bruinen."
Wrong
"A dagger, from a bygone age has been found."
Simplified
"And a human sorcerer, calling himself the necromancer, has taken up residence in a ruined fortress. That's not so much after all. The question of this dwarfish company however, troubles me deeply."
Why?"
I do not think it can be done. I would have speared them the disappointment."
What is his problem?

He talks and talks, but once again, Gandalf and Lady Galadriel trade looks. This time though, she is included in the conversation.

They are leaving.
He shrugs a little.
Yes.
You knew.
Yes.

Ariel's lips quirk up, just as a very stressed Lindir bursts onto the scene.

"My Lord Elrond! The dwarves - they are gone!"

Chapter Text

"What do you intend to do about that?" Saruman barks.

Not a lot, Ariel would think, and yet that fills her with quite a bit of anticipation.

"I won't try and hold them back," Gandalf answers determinately, "and I don't think Lord Elrond will either."

Her father shakes his head.

"I won't, but I am not certain about this expedition. It is too volatile; these dwarves are far too unpredictable. And besides, their enmity to the Elves of Mirkwood is well-known."
"You hope they will detain them?"
"I am not yet certain; I haven’t seen a future. But I fear if that were to happen, other dwarves would take offence, and we would have a petty war on our hands."
"If they only had a mediator," Lady Galadriel sighs, "if there only was someone who knew Mirkwood and the king. Who had connections!"

She smirks in that unnerving way of hers and raises an eyebrow.
Her father looks at her and she can see he wants to tell her no. Part of her is still slighted by that, but there is also more knowledge now, and she can see fear where she once only saw resentment. Her father is scared for her, he doesn't want her to get hurt, he doesn't want her anywhere near that dragon ever again. But -

You know I am the one for this job.
I know. I hate it.
I know, Ada.

"I will go," she declares, "I will follow them, take care that they make it to the Lonely Mountain and wreck as little havoc as possible on the way. I am not sure how much I can do, but I will certainly try my best."

"This is ridiculous!" Saruman complains, "she's a girl!"

"I would advise you not to speak like that about my granddaughter," Lady Galadriel argues.
Her voice is still soft, but there is an obvious edge to it, almost a threat in it. Galadriel's eyes meet Ariel's, her gaze piercing and filled with unspoken understanding about a question she has never asked.
"You are more than capable, Ariel. Trust in your abilities and in the guidance of those who have taught you."

Elrond nods, though still a bit reluctantly.
"You know the lands they will travel through, and your knowledge of Mirkwood and friendship to the prince will serve you well. This quest is more than just the reclaiming of a homeland—it could have far-reaching consequences for all of Middle-earth. And you won't go alone."

For a moment, she just gapes at him.

"Not alone? But who do you want to send on such a quest with me? Glorfindel -"

She can see her father is shaking his head.
"Sending you can be considered some friendly interference. Sending Glorfindel would seem almost aggressive, given the circumstances. The king won't take it kindly if he thinks we are meddling too much in his affairs."
"But then -"

Her father lifts his hand.
"I was considering asking one of your brothers to go with you. But, given the current situation, I believe there is someone far more suitable here in Rivendell for you. If the lady allows it."

He trades a look with Galadriel, and finally, she understands.
"Haldir?"
"He shall accompany you, if he agrees," the Lady of Light confirms.
"We cannot yet be sure whether it will be smarter if you reveal yourself or if you shadow the dwarves," Gandalf begins, "but in any case, the Council needs to remain informed about their journey."
"Of course. I will do as I see fit in that moment."

Gandalf smiles and she can see a twinkle of approval in his eyes. "Excellent. The dwarves have a head start, but I believe you can catch up with them at the edge of the Misty Mountains. You need to take swift horse as far as you can go."

She nods. "I better go and search for my companion then and inform him about the change of plans."

Ariel bows in front of the group, then she hurries down the steps towards the houses. She wonders what they will discuss without her, somehow, she has the feeling that especially Galadriel and Gandalf will have a word with each other. But she doesn't have time for that at the moment. She finds her friend with the other Lórien Elves deep in meditation. When he sees movement and her serious expression, however, he jumps up.

"Ariel, what's the matter?"

She doesn't miss a beat.

"The dwarves are leaving for Erebor. I am meant to track them down and follow them to the Woodland Realm. Are you coming with me?"

Haldir doesn't hesitate and he doesn't ask. "Of course. Let us prepare, we leave as soon as the sun is truly going up."

They jog in the opposite directions, and she barges into her own place where she quickly sheds her dress. There is no place for much vanity this time, it's more about security now - leggings and a tunic in brown and green, the light black armour and black decorated bracers. Still, to remind Thranduil of her standing, she chooses a cloak of grey wool, a gift from the Dúnedain, embroidered richly with dark red. For now, she braids her hair in one singular braid, though she knows she will pull it up when she has the time.

Ariel grabs her weapons, next to the door, as always. Haldir is waiting outside with bow, quiver and sword, just like her.

"Ready?"

"Almost. There is something I need to do."

She doesn't wait for his answer, instead she jogs towards a nondescript house and knocks on the door. Gilraen opens, dishevelled, but at once alert when she sees Ariel in battle gear.

"You are leaving?"

It's not really a question at this point.

"Yes. We are tracking the dwarves."

There is shuffling behind Gilly and Estel appears, adorably confused and still sleepy. 

"Ariel. Where are you going?"
"I don't know yet. To Mirkwood, most likely," she answers truthfully.
"I want to come with you! I want to protect you!" he declares.

She smiles.

"I know. But for now, you must stay here and protect Imladris and your nana and my ada while I am not here. Can you do that for me?"

The boy nods eagerly.

"But I still want to go with you! You need me!"

She kneels down so she is at his level, quite a feat with a sword on her hip.

"Of course I do! Though just now I need you to be safe. I need you to be my hope here with the rest of my family."

He considers that for a moment.

"Weeeeell... but you will come back, won't you?"

Truth is, with war and dwarves and elves, nothing is certain. But he looks so hopeful, so she nods.

"Of course. And I promise, when I come back and you are a bit older, I will take you on an adventure."

She shouldn't give these promises, and yet, for him she breaks the rules. She will always break them for him, she knows. Estel nods, then surges forward and hugs her.

"You need to be careful!"
"And I will be, my estel."
"Will you go alone?"

Ariel shakes her head and nods towards Haldir, who is hovering at the door.

"Haldir is going with me."

Estel measures the elf with a look, surprisingly imperious for such a small being.

"You protect her! If you don't protect her, we have a problem!"

The elleth smiles a little, this sounds so much like a phrase he has copied from Erestor at some point. But Haldir only bows. 

"I will. She means a great deal to me, too, be assured, young warrior." He turns towards her. "Ready to go?"

She nods and gets up, but before they can truly leave, they meet her father and Lady Galadriel at the edge of the dwelling. There is no telling what the lady discusses with Haldir, but she focuses on Elrond.

"Ada, what about the necromancer?"

He places a hand on her shoulder.

"You cannot fight every fight at once. And there are some battles you simply are not the right opponent for. And for others you are."
"What you are saying is I don't have magic, but I know dragons," she answers dryly.
"Exactly."
"This doesn't sound like a good thing."

Her father shrugs a bit helplessly, as if to say "it is what it is". Actually - it is what it is.

"May the stars and sun guide your path, Ariel. Remember, you are never truly alone."
"May the wind be at your back," her grandmother adds with a smile.

Ariel and Haldir both urge the horses forward, riding through the gates of Rivendell and out into the wild. She knows the way, at least for now, so they ride with as much speed as the uneven ground permits. The landscape is blurring past her as they follow the trail of the dwarves.

Much sooner than either of the two wish they reach an edge of the Misty Mountains where they need to leave the horses behind since the paths become too uneven, too dangerous for anything but careful steps. It's odd, they must have reached the dwarves by now, she wonders.

"Do you think we missed something?" she asks Haldir.

Her companion shrugs.

"I don't think so. But these are stones, the realm of the dwarves. Aulë made them out of stone, maybe they disappeared into it."

He means it as a joke, but it gets her thinking.

"You are right! Haldir, that's it! We lost their trail after that rockfall - maybe they truly found a way into the rock to escape whatever happened."
"Very possible - but then there is no way to know where they will surface. This must be a labyrinth inside for which we have no map, most likely populated by orcs and other scum."
"True. But what we do know is where they will go. Oakenshield is single-mindedly focussed on reaching that mountain. So, he will have to cross Mirkwood, likely via the Old Forest Road. But even if they don't, their patrols will know."
"And you think they will tell you?"
"I can be convincing!"

Haldir snorts and nudges her shoulder.

"Well, that means we need to reach the other side as quickly or even quicker than they do. And since we can't go below, we must go across."
"Yes."
"Why do I have the feeling you always get me into trouble?"

She swallows.

"Yes?"

He nods.

"No place I would rather be."

~ 0 ~

Days pass in a haze of swift travel and cautious rest. Ariel’s mind is focused, her senses attuned to the surroundings as they press onward. The two of them function as one unit, from hunting to keeping watch, down to the short conversations. It is only when they think they might have almost crossed the last pass that Haldir finally asks.

"Well, there is something odd about you, there always has been. The better I know you, the more I feel it. You never said anything about it though."

Ariel swallows. She has known the confrontation would come, but for some childish reason she had always ignored that fact. It had seemed so distant and insignificant.

"I lived another life," she finally tells him, "before. But not in Arda. In another - well, in another world, another body. Fully human."

For a moment, Haldir is quiet. Then he breathes out.

"I am sorry, then."
"What for are you sorry?"
"Because you obviously lost your life."

Oh - yeah. That issue...

She thinks she might blush, which is totally uncalled for, but this is just so awkward.
"Yes, I suppose I died."
"The esteem of the Valar must have been high, if they brought you back, against Eru's usual plan."

Now she cannot help it, she starts to laugh.

"No. Truly, no. While I love that you believe that could happen - I ..."
It occurs to her that maybe telling him all her dark secrets is not such a good idea, but the damage is done, he is curious.

"What is the matter?"
The question is genuine, considerate.

"I - Haldir, for whatever reason they sent me, it wasn't a reward. Not by any means. I wasn't ... I don't think I was that kind of person who would be rewarded."

Even though you did quite a couple of impressive things - a voice that sounds so much like her own sounds in her head.

"Maybe not. But still, I believe there is a reason why you have been chosen. For better or worse. I have decided to believe it's for the better."
"Maybe you're a fool, then!" Her voice sounds fond, though.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe you're wrong."

If only you knew, my friend.

"What was your world like? Was it like Middle Earth?"

She shakes her head.

"No, but in some ways, it's not so different. No elves, no dwarves. Many many humans. And dragons." She flinches. "They had been gone for so long. But then, the dragons returned. And there were even darker creatures. We called them the Others, ruled by the Night King. It's a world where summer and winter will go on years. With Great Houses all ruled by a king. Quite a bit like Gondor once was, I suppose. Or like the elves in Valinor."
"What about you?"

He cannot seem to help himself and ask. Her smile turns a bit grim.

"I was the oldest child, the daughter, of the richest house of all. House Lannister. My father was - he was what you might call a steward here. He ruled the realm for the king. And then, there was a war among men, a great rebellion, because the king was mad, and a prince stole a woman, and another went to war for her. When it was over, when the fires had burnt out, the woman was dead, just as the man who had stolen her. The other one took the throne. And I married him."

"So -"
"Yes, I was the queen."

Haldir's eyebrows rise, but he doesn't comment on it. 

"You were married. Did you have a family?" he finally asks.

She nods.
"Two sons and one daughter, yes. They all died before me, though."

"I cannot even start to understand your pain," he tells her, "my heart bleeds for you."

She gives him a tight smile.
"They paid. By the Gods, they paid for what they did to my children."

He doesn't say anything more, about his thoughts or feelings about her, and it sets her on edge. At a particular narrow and steep ridge it makes her a bit clumsy and Ariel feels a prickle of unease as the rocks shift beneath her feet, the precipice to their right dropping away into a dark abyss. Her instincts urge her to move faster, to escape the crushing weight of the mountains pressing in on them from all sides. Maybe they also urge her to escape her own thoughts once again.

Haldir, however, seems to be in no hurry. He moves cautiously, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the practiced vigilance of a seasoned warrior. Ariel can feel her frustration building with each of his careful steps, the slow pace grating against her nerves.

“Must we creep along like this?” Ariel finally snaps, her voice sharper than she intended. “At this rate, we’ll be stuck in these mountains until spring.”

Haldir doesn't turn to look at her, but his voice carries back over the rocks.

“These paths are treacherous, Ariel. We cannot afford to be reckless.”

Ariel bristles at his tone.

“I’m not being reckless, Haldir. But we’re not exactly making progress, either. If we don’t move faster, we’ll be caught in the worst of the weather.”

Haldir’s steps don't falter, but there is a tension in his posture that Ariel simply can't miss. “I would rather be slow and safe than hasty and dead.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. After the day she has had, Ariel’s frustration finally boils over, her temper flaring.

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m just some foolish girl rushing headlong into danger without a thought for the consequences?”

Haldir stops abruptly, turning to face her with a look that was equal parts exasperation and so.ething else.

“I think you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment,” he says, his voice tight. “You’ve been on edge since we started, since we entered these mountains, and it’s affecting your decisions. There is too much - the dwarves, the dragon, the king. Your wish to please the council. Your honour. It is driving you mad!”

Ariel’s hands clench into fists at her sides, the sting of his words cutting deep.

“And what about you, Haldir? You’ve been distant, cold even. You won’t talk to me, you barely even look at me anymore. If anyone’s letting their emotions get in the way, it’s you.”

Haldir’s expression hardens, his eyes flashing with something akin to anger. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” Ariel shoots back, her voice rising. “Because I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

The air between them crackles with tension, the storm of emotions that had been building for days finally breaking free. Haldir’s jaw sets in a stubborn line, while his hands are clenching into fists as he struggles to rein in his temper.

"That can't go on like that. You are distracted and it's dangerous, " he tells her off once more, "and to be honest, the assumption that anything you were to tell me could change any commitment from me to you to get you safely to the other side is fairly insulting."

She swallows.
"You're right."
Ariel still hates that sentence. She will probably hate it in every life and in any world.

"There is very little that would make me walk away from you. Even though I assume there is more in your past you are hiding in your heart. Maybe you should stop hiding."
"What if I don't like what I find?"
"Then that's that. And opens up questions about now. About who you want to be."

~ O ~

They can't find the dwarves, nowhere and not at all, but at least the path winds down the mountains now. They had hoped to reach the trees before nightfall, but despite their superhuman speed and strength, the journey on foot without a path is exhausting. The ground is treacherous, with jagged rocks and sheer drops hidden in the dark, just out of sight. So, to avoid injury, they rest in a small alcove in the rocks that offers at least some shelter from the biting wind. Haldir sets about building a small fire, while Ariel unrolls their bedding whivh they probably won't use anyway and settles down beside the flames, pulling her cloak tightly around her.

For a while, they sit in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound breaking the stillness. Ariel stares into the flames, her mind drifting back to a time and place far removed from Middle-earth. After their conversation, memories she had tries so hard to bury are beginning to resurface. They are pulling her back into the past with an intensity she hasn't felt in years. There is pain, sadness, and still a strange longing.

"Ariel," Haldir interrupts her musing softly, his voice cutting through the silence. "What troubles you?"

She hesitates, her gaze still fixed on the dancing flames. For a moment, she considers brushing off his concern, keeping the memories locked away as she always has. But something in the way he looks at her, the quiet understanding in his eyes, made her pause. Maybe ...

"I've told you about my past life," she begins, her voice barely above a whisper. "About the world I came from, and a little about the person I used to be."

Haldir nods, staying silent, sensing that there was more she needed to say.

"But there’s something I haven’t told you," she continues. Her voice becomes tinged with a mix of reluctance and longing, and she is sure he can hear it, too. "Someone."

She cannot look at Haldir, the elf she loves so much in such a different way, while thoughts about green eyes and sharp smirks dare to overwhelm her. "His name was Jaime." His name comes out choked, almost a sob. The name hung in the air between them.

"He was everything. He was everything to me. He was a warrior. Self-assured, cocky, mean. Untamed. Strangely noble sometimes. Protective above measure. We were both human, so so human."
"He was not your husband."

It's not exactly a question. Ariel thinks about Robert and huffs out a bitter sound.

"Goodness no! My husband was busy drinking and -" she needs to substitute 'whoring' with the Westerosi term, since there is no Sindarin word for it. She is pretty certain Haldir gets the gist of it though, since he blanches.

"You -"

She shrugs and cuts him off. 

"In that world, Jaime and I were bound together in ways that defied reason, defied morality even. But it was a bond stronger than anything I’ve ever known. And I said before, I wasn't the kind of person who would get rewarded."

Haldir stays silent, his face impassive, but she is sure his mind must be racing.
"I suppose you did say that," he finally agrees tightly.

Maybe it's this coldness that makes all the Cersei-petulance come out, that makes her speak up again.

"He was my brother, you know. My twin. In Westeros, love like ours was forbidden. A sin - even though a king had married his sister just a generation before. The dragon lords, to keep their blood pure. Well, we were lions, and we were drawn to each other, unable to resist. I loved him with a passion that consumed me, body and soul. It was dangerous and dark and... intoxicating. We loved each other and we hated each other, and we tore each other apart. We tore a kingdom apart."

The silence is deafening for a moment, just as loud as a thunder.

"And what of that love now?" Haldir asks, his voice carefully measured.

Ariel sighs, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the memories are too much to bear. "I don’t know," she admits. "Part of me still loves him, even after all these years. But it’s also a love that’s tainted, with what we did to each other. He isn't here. Not in Middle-Earth, I am sure about that. My brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, I mean, they are nothing like him, and I am glad for it. So, I’ve tried to - well, I haven't tried anything, really. I just did. I started my life here, but... it’s not so simple."

Ariel thinks of her life growing up in Rivendell, and Lórien, and Mirkwood. The kindness and darkness, the teachings and fights. Resentment and fury, joy and fun. And overall, there has been peace, for so long. Peace that allowed her to grow up once again differently. Maybe she only ever grew up now, she wonders. And there has been so much love, she knows, for that that stupid, bratty, beautiful blonde elven child. It has been so much, so she often doesn't want to think about it because it makes thinking about Westeros too sad. There are wounds in her soul, she knows that, and most are probably self-inflicted, but they have scrabbed over, some have become faint scars that sometimes ache, but do no longer deform her. She will never be truly good, not like others are, she has no illusion about that. But she thinks that maybe she can be - it is hard to say "better", because that would mean acknowledging that she was, well, not good before. It wasn't all bad, she likes to think.

Only Jaime - apparently, he is like a splinter, still lodged in her soul. Has never bled out.
She sometimes wonders whether she can't let go of him because they are truly part of a whole. 

"You said you don't understand Elvish affection. But then, you’ve experienced a kind of love I can’t even comprehend," Haldir finally says, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness he probably hasn't intended. "A love that seems... dangerous."

"It was," Ariel agrees, her voice hollow. "But it was all I knew. It was my whole world."

Haldir looks away. "And what of this world, Ariel? Do you not feel anything for those who care for you here?"

She turns to him, her eyes searching his, as if trying to find the answer to a question she herself doesn't fully understand.

"But I do. I - do care, so much. But what I felt for Jaime... that I did understand. And it was different. Only eclipsed by the love for my children."

"And yet, you’ve left that world behind," he says, his tone sharper than she has expected. "And you said it yourself, he isn't here, is he now? So, I cannot see how that should work, being part of a whole. The fact is, you have lived here for a lifetime, alone, just yourself, and you have been fine. In your own life. But it seems you’re still clinging to the shadows of a past that no longer exists."

Ariel flinches at his words, her eyes narrowing as she feels a surge of anger rising within her. "You think it’s that simple? That I can just forget everything I was, everything I felt? You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to love someone with every fibre of your being, knowing it’s wrong, knowing it could destroy you, and still being unable to stop."

Haldir’s eyes flash with something dark and unreadable. "No, I don’t," he admits, his voice low. "But maybe that’s because I’ve never had the luxury of such a selfish love."

She knows she has been selfish before, but having him call her that, that's something else. The words cut deep, leaving a heavy silence between them. Ariel stares at him, her heart pounding in her chest, as the weight of his accusation settle over her. The fire still crackles softly, its warmth doing little to thaw the coldness that has settled between them. Ariel’s thoughts swirl, memories of Jaime intertwining with the reality of the present, leaving her feeling more lost than ever. Haldir finally turns away, his expression unreadable as he stares out into the darkness beyond their small alcove.

"Get some rest," he orders her quietly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. "We have a long journey ahead."

Ariel doesn't respond, her mind too tangled in the past to find the right words. She lays down on her bedroll with her cloak tight around her. As she closes her eyes, the memories of Jaime linger, haunting her even as she tries to push them away. But now, there is another weight to bear—the knowledge that her confession has driven a wedge between her and Haldir, a wedge that might never fully be removed. As the night wears on, Ariel finds herself wondering if she had made a mistake in revealing the truth, or if the truth had simply revealed the cracks that had always been there.

Chapter Text

It's tight between the two of them, the next day when they reach the bottom of the mountains. They loom like teeth behind them now, the mouth of an ancient creature that they have just escaped. Tension increases even more so when they realise the dwarves are nowhere to be seen, and not the smallest trace is to be found either.
"Mirkwood it is, then," she tells Haldir, and he only nods.

The camaraderie that has once defined their journey now feels like a distant memory, as though it belonged to another time. Ariel can feel the tension between them, like a taut string ready to snap, and it gnawes at her with every step they take. The days of easy banter and shared laughter seem a lifetime away, replaced by an uncomfortable silence that neither appears willing to break.

"Why didn't you tell me about it earlier - about Jaime?" he finally asks.
"And say what? 'Haldir, I'm sorry but I fucked my brother. Bad call, but I desired him?'"

She knows she is crass and haughty, but she feels cornered.

"Besides, Túrin bloody killed himself for the same thing! THAT'S what we learn as elflings! How am I even -"
She shakes her head.
“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “not really. I just... I didn’t know how to explain it. And I didn't want you to hate me.”
Haldir’s gaze softens, but the hurt remains. “You could have trusted me, Ariel. You should have trusted me.”
"Well, you didn't take it well, to be fair."
Haldir sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he runs a hand through his hair. “I know. But it doesn’t change the fact that you didn't trust me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. Ariel feels the sting of unshed tears in her eyes, but she blinks them back, refusing to let them fall. She has been through too much, survived too much, to break down now.

"Do you love me?" she finally asks, "in a way I cannot love you?"

Haldir stopps walking and turns to face her fully. His blue eyes meet hers, and for a moment, he seems on the verge of saying something, but the words won't come. Instead, he sighs, running a hand through his silver hair again, a nervous tick. 

"I love you, meleth nîn," he answers finally, "despite everything, I do. But as I said, passion is something I cannot afford."

It's an answer and it's also not, but she feels it's the best she will get for now. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haldir shakes his head, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Neither do I.”

For a moment, they stand there in the shadow of the mountains, the world around them forgotten as they grapple with the rift that has opened between them. Finally, Haldir breaks the silence, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “We should keep moving. The dwarves won’t wait for us.”

Ariel nods, grateful for the small reprieve. “Right. Let’s go.”

It feels better down here, where there are trees and sometimes fresh water, even though they haven't reached Mirkwood yet. Now she would like their horses back, she silently grouses, because all that walking is quite inconvenient.

"I never inquired," Haldir suddenly asks, "though I am not sure whether it matters anymore. The prince - and you? Is there an understanding?"

Ariel almost chokes on her lembas.

"Legolas? And I?"
"Exactly."
"Seven hells!"
Haldir looks slightly bemused at her outburst in Westerosi, so she switches back.
"What I mean is - no. There is no understanding. But we would be a good match, politically. The king would probably approve - even though it's only for a lack of alternatives."
She grimaces.
"But I don't want to marry him."
"I figured."

He still sounds bitter, but doesn't comment further.

"Legolas is - he is good, though. He has become a friend," she has the compulsion to add, "whoever he will bind himself to will be a very lucky one. Even though he lives for the challenge, so he also might drive his partner mad."
Ariel shrugs.
"You will see what I mean soon enough."

~ 0 ~

Indeed, he does, she supposes, though their first meeting is anything but ideal:
Both Haldir and herself are exceptionally good trackers as soon as they have anything more than stones to work with, so it doesn't take them too long to find the dwarves' trace. It leads directly towards the mountain, through the forest, past to where Ariel knows the Halls of Thranduil to be. They likely want to pass it unseen - but it won't happen. She wonders whether Gandalf knows that, too. He must, she believes.
The forest is even darker than last time she visited, truly mirky and murky, grey and partly abandoned. No animals in the underbush, no birds, no tender leaves. There are spiderwebs everywhere though, big spiderwebs that point towards massive creatures. She shudders. Disgusting. 
Of course, the dwarves are in trouble when the two elves find them, just in the process of being eaten by the horrible eight-legged animals - maybe she should just let them, Ariel wonders. That would solve the problem. But no - her job is it to protect these dumb little men, so she will. 

"Seven hells," she mutters once more, before Haldir and her jump into battle.

Despite their dispute and tension, they still function as one unit, like one mind with two bodies. She wields her sword and he covers her with bow and arrow. The spiders fall, but it's not enough - until suddenly arrows start to rain down on them. Well, around them.

"The Woodland Guard!" she calls towards Haldir, but they do not stop their savage fighting.

Of course, her eyes are scanning the forest, looking around for shiny blond hair. She can see brown and black, even some reddish hues, some dark blond, but no silvery strands. They fight their way down, next to the scattering and confused dwarves, for the first time splitting up to round them up like sheep. She hates they are standing basically in a pit with the trees rising around them, she very much would prefer to be up there. Ariel might not have been born in Mirkwood, but she has lived here long enough to know they are in a horrible disadvantage, should the Guard decide to become aggressive.

Suddenly, there is a prickly feeling in the back of her neck, and just a moment later, everything seems to freeze, most notably the dwarves. 
An elf has descended to the forest floor, bowstring tight - just as tight as Haldir's, whose arrow is pointed at him in return. If the situation wasn't rather serious, Ariel would have laughed at the absurdity. Still, they both seem rather happy to shoot right now, even though Haldir must know who he is. So, she turns further, on the verge of pushing through the crowd towards her friend, as an arrow suddenly lands cleanly in front of her feet. Her eyes snap up towards the trees, towards the Guard. That had been a warning, clearly - and very rude.

"Laicolassë!" she calls out, deliberatedly switching to the nickname, "would you please call your guard back?"

Before Legolas can answer though, a scream pierces the forest, followed by a panicky shuffle amongst the dwarves.
"Kili!" one calls out, visibly distressed.

A bit to their right, there is more fighting, and Ariel thinks she can see a flash of red. Screeching follows, then a thud. Then silence. She can see how Legolas is listening, too, then he lowers his bow, nods at Haldir and pushes the dwarves to the side as he forms a path towards her.

"Search the dwarves!" he calls over his shoulder, just before he pulls Ariel into a hug.
"You could have sent note, Círui!" he tells her, scolding lightly.
"I am the messenger!" she explains, "well, we are."

She points towards where Haldir has come closer, obviously still slightly weary of the Guardsmen. He bows slightly in front of Legolas.

"Hîr nîn, mae govannen."
"Legolas, this is Haldir, Machwarden of Lothlórien."

Legolas smiles.

"Mae govannen Haldir. It is a pleasure to meet you. I trust your sudden appearance has to do with these dwarves?"

Ariel nods. 
"Indeed. We were sent from Rivendell to make sure things ... don't escalate."

"We will have to bring them to the Halls for questioning," Legolas explains.

She shrugs.
"Suit yourself. I was expecting it."

"You will be guests, of course."

Ariel grins.
"I was expecting that, too."

He shakes his head at her, but they are all distracted by another approaching person. The fox-red hair is gleaming, despite the dimm light, and her moss-green eyes are sparkling as she quickly bows in front of the two newcomers. 

"Suilad Círui, hîriel nîn," she greets Ariel with a strange mixture between formality and affection.

"Tauriel, Captain of the Woodland Guard," Legolas introduces her.

Before they can chit-chat further, they move to more practical topics - like the spiders, and their behaviour. Ariel hears with concern how much braver and bolder they have become, she had suspected it, but now it is confirmed.
A guard approaches the little group and hands Legoals a sword, apparently taken from one of the dwarves. He weighs it in his hand. The prince turns towards the dwarves, for the first time, he addresses Oakenshield.

"Where did you get this from?"
"It was given to me!"
"Not just a thief, but a terrible liar!"

"While I am far from willing to defend dwarves - they had them when they arrived in Rivendell. Allegedly found them in a trollshaw. That's Orcrist, and Glamdring was found as well. It's with Gandalf now. And my father gave it back to Oakenshield. That is true. Unfortunately."

Ariel scoffs. Then she looks around.

"Where is the hobbit?"
"The hobbit?"
"Yes, the hobbit. Bilbo, also part of this company. He looks like a small human, with slightly pointy ears and curly hair. And six toes, I believe."

Tauriel calls out towards her seconds, but all shake their ehads. With a sigh, Ariel stalks towards the dwarf leader again.

"Oakenshield - I am going to ask this once. Was Bilbo still with you when the spiders attacked you?"

The dwarf shakes his ehad.
"No. We lost him in the mountains, on the way. Fell down a cliff inside the mountain."

Ariel hums, not believing him for a minute - if that were true, the whole expedition would be in danger. Oakenshield is driven, but he isn't crazy - at least not yet. They would need another thief should Bilbo really have found his untimely end. No, the hobbit is around, somewhere, they simply don't want to admit it.
Well, she thinks, maybe that could be useful. So she nods andfollows the others as the Mirkwood elves lead their prisoners towards their halls in a not-so-silent procession. If she stands a little longer at the gates before they close andwonders at a small breeze of airthat passes her - who is to tell? She doesn't know how nor what that means, but something tells her it has to do with the halfling.

~ o ~

Thranduil is courteous to her, dismissive to Haldir, and absolutely disdainful towards the dwarves. Nothing unexpected - only the bargain he wants to strike with the dwarves is. Ariel knew he cared for the white diamonds, but she hadn't expected he cared that much. And Thórin, stupid prick that he is, throws away a lovely opportunity. Ariel tries to intervene, but there isn't much she can do, not when a dwarf has decided to be stubborn.

So, the dwarves are thrown into cells, though as far as cells are concerned, these are still rather fine. There is water and food and fresh air, much more than in many other instances.

Clearly, they won't be let go, not know, so she has some time to deliberate her next steps. Free them? Debate more? Leave it all like that? Legolas seems happy to keep them incarcerated, while Tauriel is strangely fascinated by the dwarf whose life she has saved. She certainly won't admit it and hides it behind sarcasm and mockery, but there is a glint in her eyes that Ariel knows just too well. He has peaked her interest, and it's the kind that brings trouble and heartache.

Ariel won't lie, a good night's sleep in a real bed does wonders to her mood. Haldir seems to feel quite the same, but he doesn't seem truly relaxed. Well, she cannot fault him. Mirkwood elves are special, after all. Still, the tension eases, at least a fraction of a bit. 

Then at the second day, she is suddenly awoken by animated calls. There is a hustling and before she knows what she is doing she is already out of her meditation and in her boots, weapons in hand. Outside her room, elves are running into the direction of the cells.

"The dwarves!" she hears, "they have escaped!"

Well, that answers her question now, doesn't it. She spots Legolas and Tauriel as they run outside. Then there is Haldir, and they only trade one look - then they rush outside, too, following their hosts.

"To the river!" Legolas calls, "they are in the river!"

In the river? She wonders about it, but as soon as they reach the water, it all starts to make sense. They river is rushing on with speed, dangerous and traiterous, and there are wine barrels bopping in it. Wine barrels with dwarves in them. Ariel has to admit, it's a genius idea - and it's working. The group is already getting smaller and smaller. Now the elves are also on the hunt though, running down the side of the stream, with Ariel and Haldir at their feet. Thy are focussed like hawks, blending out anything else, when there are suddenly arrows all around them. Then panicked screams, and they are certainly coming from the river.

"Orcs!"

Indeed, ghastly orcs are breaking through the underbrush, hunting the dwarves. They are fixed at the group, like a pack of dogs, relentless and furious. 

"Take the orcs!" Ariel screams, because truly, that simply must be the priority. 

It's funny, they comply, even Legolas - apparently everyone has come to the same conclusion. Mirkwood arrows start to decimate the dark pack, only interrupted by Haldir's and hers. 

Ariel is happy she can switch weapons quickly, because foes keep eengaging her on the bank and she needs Gwêdhchebin to hold them at arm's length.

It's brutal and savage and in the end she has more cuts than she would like to admit, mostly because she wasn't wwearing appropriate fighting gear in the first place.

The dwarves escape after they pass a couple of ugly rapids in their improvised boats, and while Legolas curses, she wonders whether it's maybe for the best. Hopefully, none of them has been hit, though, because she can already feel the sting from where an arrow has only slightly nipped her shoulder.

She grits her teeth as she stumbles slightly, and then a familiar body moves next to hers, covering her side.

"What happened?" Haldir barks at her, and it's almost frantic.

"The arrows. They are poisoned," she snaps, "it's just a scratch but bad enough. I need athelas, as quickly as possible. Anyone who has been harmed will need it."

As it turns out, the others are fine, since apparently the swords hadn't been tempered with. They make their way back, one last orc as a captive. She doesn't miss how both Haldir and Legolas guard her sides, even though she can very well walk on her own.

Athelas is hard to come by, but a king has his ways, so soon afterwards she finds herself in her room with part of her tunic unlaced and pulled down. It's her bad arm, thankfully, and one scar more doesn't matter in the silver web anyway. She should rest, Ariel knows,  but they will interrogate the orc and she wants to know what he says. So, she laces up her clothes and walks down the stairs and towards the throne room.

Haldir is standing in the shadows, watching the unfolding spectacle with a curious look in his eyes. They seem to just have started and are mainly throwing insults at each other, but some things are clear - the orc is confident, petuliant, he believes in something.

Legolas asks about the motives for tracking the dwarves, but in his answer, the orc reveals something else: The youngest dwarf has been hit by a poisoned arrow as well, is unlikely to survive. Ariel can see Tauriel stiffen in the shadow across the room - and wonders. Wonders how such a short meeting can have changed so much. But the heart wants what it wants, she supposes. Suddenly, blades glitter and swirl, then a warning from Legolas, deep and clear, not to antagonise his Captain. Ariel can only agree. But as she charges, her king calls her back just before ordering her to leave. She complies, if not with some reluctance. Somehow Ariel has the feeling she won't remain at the Halls for much longer.

Thranduil obviously doesn't care about the dead dwarf, but he tries to bargain - he offers to set the orc free. There is something in his voice, something cold and calculating,  that tells the Rivendell elleth that he doesn't mean it in the merciful, freeing kind of way. 

The bickering- there is really no other word for it - now moves to Oakenshield, his aims, the intend to become king. No news for Ariel, but still, Legolas is convinced nobody will enter Erebor while the dragon lives. It's a reasonable suspicion, but the orc seems to disagree. He praises his master, the breaking dawn of the time of the orcs - all because his alleged master serves The One. There is talk of war, and immensely so.

Before Ariel can think further on that, the king has separated the orc's head from his body with a clear and precise cut - the idea of freedom he had had in mind all along, she supposes. He doesn't want to talk about what the orc has said, shuts Legolas down.

His only explanation is that the others - their foes - want to unleash a great weapon, something of gigantic scale. Something horrible. Like a dragon, Ariel supposes, but another thing also nags at the back of her mind. It's just vague, but it stays there, just the hint of a thought. About a ring.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, she thinks, sometimes it seems as if this place will never be fully lit up. Not like Rivendell anyway. There is always a sense of twilight around in the halls, she doesn't really know whether it's because most of the elves here aren't High Elves and therefore prefer it that way, or because this is simply what Greenwood is or has become like. In any case, these are halls she urgently needs to get out of. 

“I’m going, Legolas,” Ariel says as soon as she finds him, tackling the issue head-on. Her voice is firm, though she avoids meeting his gaze. "Tauriel is gone, she has left not long ago, and I need to go after her. The dwarves are most likely going to Laketown next, totally headless, and the city is vulnerable. These people, they won't survive if another pack of orcs decides to hunt the fugitives down again. And I am certain they will, since we didn't get their leader. Not really, at least. Tauriel cannot go alone against all of them! It will be a full pack I assume since they will want to be more careful, probably with wargs!"

Legolas' face seems like it has been set in stone, like beautiful marble. His eyes are fixed on her, with confusion and maybe a bit of disappointment. Then he shakes his head. “This is not your fight. You’re not responsible for Laketown, Ariel. This is not your realm. And while your engagement for a friend is certainly to be congratulated and praised, it’s also certainly not your place to follow Tauriel into this mess. You should know better than anyone— the king has forbidden it.”

“He has -" the golden-haired elleth acknowledges, "but I’m not bound by his decrees, which you should know as well.” Her tone is sharpening. “I answer to no king. However, I do have orders from the White Council, and they have ordered me to watch over the dwarves - well, kind of, at least. So, I do feel bound by that. And besides my friend, it is our fight - because, what is next? Orcs crossing Mirkwood, spiders getting closer! Your father wants us to do nothing! Darkness grows if it is unchecked, like mould! Sealing oneself off is not the way! This is not a storm that will pass, this is a spreading sickness! Legolas, as you might have suspected I have not always been a part of this world, but now I am, and by the Gods, I will not let it go to the hells!”

The thing is though, she understands the Woodland king. She does. She really really does. Ariel looks at Thranduil, and she sees a king, almost unchallenged. A king with concerns for his kingdom, but nothing more. Nothing beyond his realm is of interest of him, aside from maybe his bickering and petty feud with Lord Celeborn. But this attitude, it is short-sighted, there is no vision. It is arrogant to think Mirkwood won't be touched by evil. Cersei - Ariel - Cersei - learnt that once, the hard way.
But this is hard to tell someone who believes in the own superiority, and who does it with good intentions.
(It is even harder to tell someone with malicious intentions, but that is another story.)

If anything, at her words the prince's eyes turn even stormier. His usual soft optimism has given way to something darker, a protective instinct clashing with his trust in her. 

“If you go, you may not return. There are the orcs, there are the dwarves, and there is still a dragon out somewhere! Ariel—this is death you’re walking towards.”

From the shadows, Haldir’s voice breaks in, calm but edged with disapproval. “The prince is right. This is reckless, even for you!”

Ariel spins around on her heel to face him, flames of frustration flickering through her. "You don’t understand! I cannot sit by when I know I can help. Not anymore. Tauriel can’t go alone, and so I won’t let her,” she argues again.

Haldir’s oh-so-familiar eyes hold hers for a long moment, something flickering in their depths that make her breath catch. It's not fear—not for himself, at least. It's anger. Anger at her, anger about the situation. Jealousy, too, perhaps. It must be, after all, she is basically choosing once again somebody else above him and his counsel.
His words come slow, deliberate, almost icy. “And who protects you, Ariel? Or have you forgotten, you’re not as invincible as you like to think. Your shoulder should be a good reminder, I believe!”

It's a bit of a low blow, but unfortunately no less true. She feels indignant, but beside this, Ariel’s gaze softens for a moment as she stares at Haldir. Everything has become so messy between the two of them, everything on the verge of breaking. And yet, she can see through the cracks, to the fierce protector underneath, the one who has always looked out for her since they were young and dumb and inexperienced. But this time it is different. She simply can’t allow his fear to stop her.

“I don’t need protection, Haldir,” she argues quietly, her voice softer but no less resolute. “Not from this. I’ve fought all of this before—wars, kings, dragons of a different kind. You know this.”

“I know what you’ve been through,” he snaps, his composure slipping for a brief second before he reins it back. “That’s why I cannot watch you throw yourself into this madness.”

“This isn’t about you watching me!” Ariel fires back, “I am not some child in need of coddling. You may not understand why I have to do this, but I do. If I don’t, then I am nothing more than a bystander to the world. And that is not who I am. Not anymore. This is my world now, too!”

Haldir flinches at the sharpness of her tone, but his gaze doesn't waver. “And when did this become about proving something, Ariel? You have nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing! Not to Tauriel, not to your family, not even to yourself.”

"We both know this is about much much more, Haldir! And besides, what about you? Don't I have to prove something to you?"

They stare at each other. "Well, you could start with proving that you aren't a stupid bitch," he starts.

Her heart twists at his words, at the deep concern she hears buried in them. She doesn't want to hurt him, not by any means, but something keeps dragging her towards the city, almost like a calling. Maybe it is the presence of the dragon and the orcs, the wish for revenge, the fear, or the will to get away from everything. Maybe it's duty. Maybe it's something else. 

"I am doing what's right," she says, her voice quieter once again, but no less determined.

She needs to leave now, as long as she can still believe that it is a good idea, before he can make her doubt herself with his own fears. As she turns away, Ariel adjusts the straps of her corset, her bow and her cloak, while her mind is already set on the journey ahead.
“I’m going with Tauriel."
The finality in her voice leaves no room for argument.
"Come with me."

He shakes his head.
"Now you are asking for too much." He turns towards Legolas and gives a small bow.

She could pull her rank on him, after all, he has been chosen as a companion to protect her, not abandon her when she needs help. But their relationship is already brittle, and despite all her entitlement, she is not that stupid - she won't endanger it further. So, she only nods.
As she begins to walk away, Haldir’s voice stops her once again. It's soft, but it cuts through everything, as it aways will for her. "Ariel ... meleth nîn ... be careful."

She pauses, her back still to them. “I always am,” she whispers, but the words sound hollow even to her own ears. She is not, will not be. Without another word, she disappears into the depth of the halls, towards the exit and the woods. The weight of both their stares lies heavy on her back and she wonders what they will do now. Stick together? She could imagine that, somehow. 

Thank the Valar Ariel has lived in Mirkwood for a reasonable number of years, because she knows Tauriel's former favourite trails, probably still the same now. She also knows where the other elleth will likely rest for a bit. Because she is certain, the Silvan is counting on at least one of the other three being just as reckless as she is. 
Her suspicion is correct, she finds her waiting at the edge of the gurgling stream that the dwarves had used for their escape. She is tense, an arrow ready to fly, just in case the newcomer hadn't been Ariel but someone more menacing. Well, more obviously menacing, with the danger much less prettily hidden. More orcish.

"You are leaving, I assume."

The redhead throws back her hair. "I have to. Don't try to hold me back."

Ariel huffs. "You want to go alone? Against a pack of at least thirty orcs? Don't be stupid! You need help. Not even you can engage that many at once."

"Are you offering?"

"Of course, if only to keep my reputation."

"Your reputation as Lord Celeborn's headstrong spoilt granddaughter who won't obey orders or your reputation as the dawn bringer trained by the best warriors of this age who fought when the dragon came?"

"Are these really my reputations in Mirkwood?" she asks, slightly flabbergasted.

"Indeed, my lady. I wouldn't lie about such a thing."

Ariel thinks for a moment. "I suppose I will keep up both reputations then."

Tauriel nods. "How are you though? Is the athelas working?"

In answer, Ariel flips her golden braid over her shoulder. "It's fine. Bruised but fine. It won't kill me, now that it has been treated. Otherwise, I hardly would have made it here."

"And what about your orders, to be an ambassador in Mirkwood?"

A sly smile plays around Ariel's lips. "What orders?"

"And what about the king and the prince and the marchwarden?"

She shakes her head. "You seem very suspicious, given the fact that you obviously need my help, my friend. Well, whatever I do, the king will never touch me, the consequences are too high. Both Legolas and Haldir are rather cross with us right now though, I am afraid."

"I am sorry, híriel."

"Well, you didn't force me. I came of my own free will, because I believe you are right. We cannot leave Esgaroth unprotected. 

Tauriel narrows her eyes. "Are you truly sure about this, about joining me?"

"Tauriel, if I had a coin for everyone who is angry at me, I were rich! Really really rich. But I need to know, are we doing this because of Laketown or because of the dwarf who is probably already dead?"

"Laketown, of course," she argues, but the slight waver tells Ariel that this might not be the full truth. 

"Well, let's get going then."

~ o ~

"Do you know what a rune stone is?" Tauriel asks her as they jog along an almost hidden path.

Ariel frowns. "What? Well, I have heard of them, but never seen one. Why? Where does that come from?"

She swears she can see her friend blush. "No reason. Just - the dwarf had one. I had never even heard of such a thing. So, I was simply wondering if you had"

The dwarf. Once again. Ariel doesn't ask, she doesn't want to provoke it - because this, this is the slippery slope, quite obviously. "No, I haven't," she answers evenly, "very little contact with runes in general."

"And -" Tauriel shakes her head and stops herself. "Forgive me, it was a stupid thought."

When they stop at a small brook to refresh themselves, Ariel nudges her with her foot.

"Meleth, what did you want to ask?"
"About starlight. But -"
"- but they call me Minuial for a reason," Ariel finishes her sentence. 

Her hand wanders to her chest, where Arwen's necklace lies, partly tucked under her clothing.
"But that doesn't mean I have no love for the stars. You don't need to be made of them to love them."

Tauriel looks slightly awed. Well, Ariel has never really good at comforting or saying the right thing, but she thinks that maybe right now, she has, for once. 

~ o ~

It takes them two days to get down to Esgaroth, even though they push on with everything they have. One evening, it suddenly starts to snow - it's nice, not having rain shower down on them. The flakes look like diamonds in the starlight, bright and twinkling. They fall down until they almost cover Tauriel's red locks - a bridal veil, Ariel's mind supplies. She doesn't speak it aloud and her friend doesn't notice though, and yet, something akin to prophecy seems to be in the air. 

Ariel personally doesn't like snow, it brings too many memories, of a place where a lot of chaos started. A tower, a boy, a fall. A bad conscience, now. Year, a life, later. About another redhead especially, but an innocent one at that time.
But she doesn't have time for that.

"It's Durin's Day," she tells her friend the next morning, "they need to reach the mountain today." She sighs. "Most likely we are already too late though."
"Well, maybe they won't make it either," her friend argues.
"Then Seven Hells will break loose," Ariel remarks.
"What is it with you and these Seven Hells?" 
"A figure of speaking, I suppose," Ariel explains.

It's Westerosi, of course, something she never quite got rid of.

"But what I mean is - Thorin is determined. This is his mission in life. If he doesn't manage it, I am not sure what he will do."

Start a war, just because? 

It's almost night already as they finally arrive, tired and dishevelled, and oh, how much would she like a proper break. But there is not time.
The city has changed since the last time she was here, obviously, it has been rebuilt and grown, but in its core, it's still the same. Floating, a little bit like what she has heard of the Crannogmen. It's not really pretty, but not bad either. The houses are all connected, the pathways wobbly and creaky, and somewhat that is quite cosy in the right light. Still, every second step your feet get wet, it seems and that is quite annoying. But if people are happy to live like that, she won't judge it - as long as she doesn't have to stay. 

Her eyes unwillingly wander up towards the mountains to where Dale once was, now she can only see darkness at the side of the mountain. While she knew Esgaroth back then, Dale is where most her memories are anchored to. It was beautiful, a city of her heart, and now, almost nothing is left. She thinks people don't return because it is too sad, or maybe rebuilding would take too long, especially if the lake is much more convenient. Her shoulder suddenly aches in memory and she rubs it under her cloak.

"The dwarves will need or have needed weapons," she tells Tauriel as they reach the outskirts of the structures, "I am not sure wherefrom. Buying them is risky, stealing even more so. Probably it's the only option, though."
"Does Laketown have a weapon storage?" her friend wants to know.

A small smile steals on Ariel's face. "Oh, indeed. That is another way, of course. Let's start looking there first then."

As it turns out, the dwarves are already gone when they arrive, because they tried exactly that - robbing the storage. And of course, the dimwits got caught but bargained their way out of it. Ariel is torn - apparently, she cannot hold them back, but is she meant to follow them or check the city first? It's a difficult question, both options have their merits.

"The archer," Tauriel reminds her, "he has been wounded."
"He's probably dead by now," she remarks dryly.

The other elleth flinches but cannot argue the point. 

For a moment, it is quiet, they stand there in silence, on the verge of the next move. Then there is suddenly a movement in the air. Like a drop of water on a spider net, or the tiniest breath of wind on a leaf. Tiny, almost unnoticeable, but present It is not from here, but coming from the mountain. Out of the mountain. Dread fills her stomach.

"The dragon," she whispers, "they have awoken the dragon."

~ o ~

"Círui, what's the matter?" Tauriel asks, noticing her odd behaviour.

"The dragon," she responds a little louder, "it - it will come. We need to get the people out. Everything here is made out of wood. Once there is a spark it will spread, and they can go nowhere, they will be trapped on the water, in an inferno!"

It's not that there are many better options, but as far as she is concerned, Laketown is a very bad one. Suddenly, the choice is very easy.

"There must be a leader of some kind - I don't know what the political structure is like here now," she tells her friend, "but we don't have much time."

"Alright. We need to split up. If anything, we meet here again," Tauriel agrees, more decisive than before. 

Ariel nods. "Alright. Let's go. Good luck, Mel."

They give each other fleeting smiles before they disappear into the darkness of Esgaroth. It's chaotic, people are bustling around, already panicking. They seem to have felt it , too, that vague dread, and now they don't know what to do. The appearance of an elf doesn't particularly help either. Ariel tells to whoever will listen that they need to evacuate while she tries to squeeze through the mass of people on the narrow pathways, grateful for her agility. No sign of a leader or a dwarf, but this is like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. From time to time, her eyes move up towards the sky, but for now it's calm and dark. Nothing to be seen, she just hopes it stays that way.

Suddenly, the screaming behind her back gets louder and she frowns - what are these people doing there? Starting a riot, now?
But suddenly there is the sound of growling, deep dark growling, and her blood freezes. Then it boils hot in a mixture of annoyance, anger and elation. No, not that! She really doesn't have time for that orc scum now - she literally has a bigger fish (dragon) to fry right now!

She slowly turns around, hand already unhooking her bow from her body. Two orcs are approaching, slowly crouching lower and snarling. People are slamming their doors shut, but the creatures are fixed on her - elves seem to be even more interesting than humans. With two arrows, their crumble on the floor, but these are only the first ones, she knows. More will come. More to hunt down.
But where is Tauriel? Has she found the dwarves?

Ariel creeps down the path, warning people as good as she can while keeping her eyes open for potential attackers. She meets one already at the next corner, a taller specimen this time. They are gruesome, vicious, with horrendous teeth and breath, and she hates the feeling of being touched as they fight. It's stupid, maybe, after all, her life is far more valuable, but she cannot forget what they did to her mother, and it makes everything in her thunder. 

It is simply good fortune that she suddenly spots a shock of rusty red hair swishing around the corner. It looks like Tauriel, very much so, at least a good place to start. She follows the path, down the next narrow road and towards a house at the end of it. Fighting sounds are already coming out of it, the light inside is flickering, figures moving in front of the lights. Shadows usually seem bigger than the creatures actually are, but in this case, Ariel would wager that the orcs are indeed probably rather tall. Squeezing through the door into the fight would be of no advantage, but as far as she can see, the roof has already been splintered, most likely by an attack from above. 
An easy feat anyway, these roofs here are horribly flimsy. 

With to leaps she is on top of the neighbouring house, almost dancing across the roof towards where the fight is definitely happening. She peeks inside - yes, there are dwarves, and Tauriel, and orcs, all muddled up in one big fighting pile. As far as she can see, one of the dwarves is laying on the side of the room while two little voices scream - it tells her that apparently the dwarf is despite everything still alive and that there are children somewhere in the house. If she had to guess, she would say under the heavy oaken table in the middle of the room. Tables and food are strewn all over the floor, the table cloth only a rugged ball of cloth while bodies shuffle around. Ariel cannot wait any longer - She jumps inside, bow strung, one arrow ready to fly. As soon as her feet hit what she strongly suspects used to be the kitchen table her eyes dart around. 

Tauriel is just moving to the other edge of the room, engaging orc after orc, but she won't be able to keep that up much longer. More and more are pouring in, and while her friend is good, her resources have limits as well. Ariel quickly finishes the first orc off with an arrow and knocks the other down with her bow, before she switches weapons. It's too tight in this crammed room to use her sword, so her dagger will have to do. 

It's certainly not her preferred way of fighting, maybe that's why she doesn't carry crossed knives as Legolas does. It doesn't mean she isn't good at it though, her friends have taught her well. She stabs and cuts, always where the black armour isn't covering the dark creatures completely. Sure, they are dangerous, but they are by no means invincible. And they fall, one after the other, as the elves run through them like the force of the morning light. 

At one point, there is a scream, pained and raw. It's the dwarf, he has fallen off the cot and is now laying on the floor, crying out in pain. Why, Ariel doesn't know, but one look confirms that Tauriel looks haunted. She wants to say something, anything, when screams from the outside get loud. It's the call of a commander, calling the other orcs.

The elleth pushes towards the sort-of balcony that overlooks the channel between the houses, pushing out another orc in the meantime. Like spiders their foes are now regrouping outside, following the call with blind devotion. Dark shadows in the night, horrendous, but for now, people might be safe. 
There are wargs in between, she thinks, but less than she would have expected. Maybe the water makes them uneasy. 

She would like to follow them, track them down, but something makes her wait. There is still Tauriel - she came here for her friend, so she can't leave the redhead now. With a last look at the retreating force, she storms back inside. 

"Tauriel?"

But her friend is already working, busy crumbling something into a bowl. Athelas, by the smell of it, so the fluid is most likely water. There are two girls in the room now, one about ten maybe and one older, maybe sixteen years old, already a woman, in fact. Ariel suspects that these are the ones who had screamed in fear before.
A couple of dwarves are busy dragging the injured male on the table, at the same time they fully ignore his pained gasps. 

They shouldn't bother, some part of her cries, not with a dwarf. Tauriel and herself are elves, after all. 
But Ariel herself cares about a tiny human, and about Gilly, so what's the difference - another part of her argues back. 

This is probably the worst of times to debate morality, the worst time to be indecisive. She cannot afford to be unsure, insecure. What she can be sure of is that Tauriel will stay - she knows that from the bottom of her heart. 
So, Ariel steps closer, pushes one of the dwarves to the side to hold the archer down. He is pale and sweating, feverish, and half delirious. The wound is black and infected, a wonder that the lad is still alive. Her friend gives her a grateful nod before she presses the athelas on it.
Tauriel is a woodelleth, a great fighter, but no magician. She doesn't have the powers that Ariel's father or grandmother have - in fact, she doesn't have any at all.

But as she recites the ancient chants, prayers to the Valar to keep him alive, to Aulë who cares for the dwarves, to Yavanna who is dearest to her woods, to Manwe, and to Mandos, something seems to happen. Maybe it's a sign of grace, maybe it's luck - Ariel can just stand there and watch as it all unfolds, powerful and unexpected- unexpectedly powerful. She isn't sure what her friend is doing, Tauriel probably doesn't even know it herself, but if she had to guess, she would say the elleth is pouring a little of her own strength in the dwarf, just enough to keep the darkness at bay.

The dwarf has his eyes fixed on his healer, with the last of his strength it seems, and there is wonder in them, far besides the pain. He seems almost entranced, enchanted - in love.

He's in love, it's written blankly on his face, and Ariel has to swallow and look away. It's safe to let go of him, she thinks, and steps away towards the exit. There, she turns around, only to see how their fingers briefly interlace. She was right then, Ariel thinks, this is more. Dangerously more.

The dwarf falls back into a pile of nuts, knocked out by the effort and pain most likely, and Tauriel's eyes snap up. Green eyes meet green eyes, dark and foresty into the colour of bright emeralds. She seems alarmed, a bit flustered, a bit resigned. Petulant as well.

Ariel gives her a half-smile, before she is distracted by more sounds coming from outside. It's still the orcs, and they still are meant to be hunted. She sprints outside, bow and arrow ready, following the sound. She catches up with the scum almost at the outskirts at town, thankfully no humans seem to be in proximity here. The houses appear to be storage space for boats and other equipment, which might or might not come in handy further down the road. Suddenly, a large orc - the last in their party - turns around while the others go on. 

He faces her, deliberately, an ugly smile on his face. 

"YOU!" it's almost a hiss.

She fires an arrow, then another one, but the orc is quick and dodges the attack. Ariel has just enough time to pull out her sword, gleaming blue, before he reaches her. They clash, it's metal onto metal, incredible force. The next hit is even harder and this time she staggers back, to the orc's delight.

"Oh, so fragile? I thought you were stronger," he taunts her.
Ariel charges at him. "You know nothing about me."
"I know everything. Who you are; what you do. And how your pretty little mother cried when my brethren found her."

That's it, Ariel sees red at the mentioning of Celebrían. Her hits become harder, but she loses the rhythm, it's only brutal without any finesse. How can that scum dare to talk about her mother?! The orc visibly has problems keeping up with her, but he does, until she suddenly becomes careless in her rage. Just that one moment is enough, the orc brings up the covered elbow and towards her face. Pain explodes in her face as she is hit, but she manages to grab the attacker and grab him against a pole in return, until he can rip himself out of her hand and scurry away. 

She can only watch him leave, too dizzy from the hit, now that it fully starts to sink in. Deep breaths, Ariel tells herself, regulate breathing, keep her stomach under control despite the stench now on her body. Her nose is a distraction at least, highly painful, but at least not broken, as far as she can tell. Then, there is something warm suddenly dripping down and she freezes - that cockroach managed to make her bleed! 
The elleth gingerly brings up a finger, catching a red drop on her fingertip.

He made her bleed, now she will return the favour. 

At first though, she wants to catch up with Tauriel, discuss the plan. She turns around, ready to head back into the centre of the city, but then freezes. There is movement on the side of mountain, like a bird, directed towards Laketown. But Ariel knows it is not a bird. This is fire. This is death. 

Chapter Text

Ariel will always be able to say she tried - yes, she tried, to warn as many as possible, to drag them to boats and to exits, all before the big dark mass of a dragon reaches the city. That's not much time though, and people start to panic and become headless. They scream and push or don't do much at all, really. These individuals just slump down into heaps, as if the panic makes it impossible for their legs to keep them upright – probably the truth. It only worsens the situation, though.

Humans, she thinks with disdain, why am I actually doing all of this?!

But she continues her work, even though she might not be kind, or gentle. Moments like these are not the times for soft words, and she finds most people react much better to barked orders than to gentle commands when their lungs start to tighten up in panic. Besides, she has never been one for sweettalking anyway. She was expected to, in her old life as Cersei, to be sweet and dutiful, but nobody taught her, they just demanded. In response, she became the opposite. Here, her family did their best and still she turned out to be rather prickly, maybe it’s just in her nature.

Then the shadow is there, dark, and menacing and familiar in a strange way, and she can hear the flapping of the big leathery wings, the swishing of the wind around the scales. A human eye would never detect it, but with her elven vision Ariel can see the colours, not a simple black or red or brown, but almost like dark brownish marble, a mixture of everchanging colours, crossed by fiery hints of red. In a strange way, he is beautiful and also just as big as she remembers, so her mind hasn’t been playing tricks. At least he hasn’t grown further, as far as she can see.

It's all so majestic, in the way that an erupting volcano is majestic - that's what she has been told. It's the same way the exploding Citadel was majestic.

Power and pain.
Gold and greed.
Crimson and cruelty.

She knows he cannot stand in the air, he is a dragon and not a dragonfly, so he needs to continuously move. It brings him uncomfortably close to where she is currently crouching, and Ariel has to fight the desire to pull in her head like a tortoise. SHe takes a deep breath.

 A red glow in what must be Smaug's chest is the only warning they get before the horror finally starts. There is a singular blaze, and straight away houses are reduced to cinders.

Fire and blood.

It’s nothing new, but that portrayal of raw power and of blatant destruction nevertheless takes her breath away. But he doesn't stop, he goes around and around, he spits fire, all the while circling his prey, willing to ruin everything. 
It seems like Dale all over again, or like King's Landing, and everything is coming back. All the memories, all the pain and guilt, and for a moment, she feels as if she is choking, and not just on the smoke that is starting to swell. But she pushes it aside, finds her way back to the present, back to where people need her now. Back to where things can still be changed. 

People jump into the canals, some just faint, sometimes even while they are running. The smoke makes it heavier and heavier to see, the air is getting thick and rough on her throat.
She tries to pull these people up, because what else can she do? This is a dragon; her weapons won't do any harm to the scales. They are thicker than chainmail, like an iron harnish. They need black arrows, but they don't have any. So, getting the people out of harm's way is the best they can do for now. 
Of course, she knows it is actually useless, any dragon could reach them in a heartbeat and have them for breakfast, no matter where they go. Ariel is fighting an uphill battle here, and she probably should run - and still she stays. She decides to believe that maybe her grandmother or Gandalf might at one point show a little bit of interest in their situation and maybe maybe bring about some help. 

If not - well, then at least people won't say that Ariel Minuial was a coward.

Suddenly, a bell starts ringing, slow and grave, almost like a funeral bell. It sounds sad, full of hurt, and yet it carries on, constantly, through the screams.

A salve of arrows hit Smaug, distracting him profoundly. It's the people of Laketown, bowmen and -women on the rooftops in a futile attempt to buy the others some time, or maybe even find a weakness in the dragon. Her elven ears hear faint commands over the screaming, a man's voice, decisive and firm. She doubts any human can hear him, but he is admirable, nevertheless. There is someone on the belltower, she notices, maybe that's him. When Ariel squints her eyes, she can indeed make out a man through the smoke, medium height and normal build, dark hair, human. Unknown to her, certainly.

Smaug meanwhile hisses, furious, and turns around to attack, not just with fire but also with his teeth and tail. She quickly loads two families more on a small bark and pushes them away before the dragon reaches her part of the city. He is too angry now, maybe he really wants to feel it, in any case, he doesn't just turn people to charcoal anymore. Now he is using his jaws, teeth, and claws as well, while his long tail whips through the houses as if they were made from cards.
Ariel ducks into the entrance of a shop as wood comes raining down on her. No, she cannot help the stranger in the tower, so she turns away - when she is suddenly almost run over by someone.

The elleth splutters at the indignity at such an hour, of all times, but the attacker seems even more taken aback than herself. It's a child - well rather a teenage boy - who is staring at her with big doe eyes. She gives him a onceover - He seems somewhat familiar, but her stressed brain cannot place him right in that moment. When she looks at him again, she almost startles as much as he did: Indeed, her sharp eyes make out the tip of an arrow, haphazardly covered in cloth and wrapped into a bundle. He must have dropped it as he ran into her. He tries to pick it up, but she is quicker.

"You forgot something," Ariel tells him sharply, "what do you want with it?"

He seems to consider his answer for a moment, then sets his jaw.

"The arrow. It's for my father. Bard."

He points towards the tower. 
The bowman. A black arrow. 
Elation rushes through her, followed by more dread. It might work. It just might. But it has to, and there is only one arrow.

Of course, she doesn't need the bowman, not at all, but the tower is a good position. 

"Give me the arrow, I will bring it to your father," she tells the boy, but that brat shakes his head.

"No. Never, it is mine, and I am not giving it away."

Ariel sighs, she truly doesn't have time for that shit. She needs a solution, now, quickly. So, she sighs again.

"Well, seems like we are going together then."

He nods tightly and turns around, but just as he does, she knocks him out with a well-placed hit against the side of his head. The kid slumps together like a puppet without strings and drops the bundle. Ariel quickly dumps him on a barge that is passing by - after all, children (or teenagers) of that age should never run around the city alone at this time to begin with!
Who knows, he might even make it to live another day now, if he were to go up against that dragon, he certainly wouldn't. His father will thank her later, she thinks.

The elleth picks up the arrow and scrambles through the fire, cursing everything that slows her down. Ashes are raining down from buildings, sometimes there are bigger parts or even metal that crash to the ground next to her. Due to her good hearing and reflexes, she always knows beforehand, but it is still extremely inconvenient. Her hair has become unpinned, now open strands and tiny braids are all cascading down - and getting all tangled up. She probably should have just put them in a singular plaid, she ponders.

Meanwhile, the bowman keeps shooting at Smaug until his arrows run out, of course without any result, other than making the dragon even more angry and fully alert of his presence. He has cut something, probably the rope, in the tower, so the bell has gone mostly quiet, and that only makes the flames and screams seem louder in her ears.
Just as she almost reaches the tower, the beast quite casually bumps it with his tail while flying by. The man his flung back onto the platform as the wood starts to groan, but for now it still holds.

With as much speed as she can muster, Ariel scrambles onto and up the ladder. When she pokes her head through the hole at the top of the structure, she can see he is on his stomach but seems mostly unharmed aside from some nasty scratches.

"What are you doing? Why are you here?" he calls out when he sees her.

"I've come to help you!"

"No, nothing can stop this! Run!" the bowman claims. He sounds desperate, close to tears.

She shakes her head, pushes herself up, the arrow in her hand. As predicted the man startles as he sees the weapon, but then something seems to settle in him. His eyes narrow, and he holds out his hand.

He wishes, she won’t give away the weapon!

"Where is my son?"

Now she startles as well because that kid has totally slipped her mind in the meantime.
"Safer than here. On a boat," she answers truthfully. 

For a moment, the father is silent. Then he speaks again.
"Good. Now give me the arrow."

"No -"

The whirring sound suddenly intensifies tenfold. This can only mean one thing -

"- duck!" Ariel screams, but the tower is already being shaken once more as the dragon collides with it, this time certainly on purpose.

She is thrown around, tries to balance out the impact, but then the wood under her splinters. Ariel loses her footing and it feels as if the world is tilting. In just the span of a handful of seconds the she is tumbling to the side and over the edge. Only her elven reflexes keep her from falling three stories down and into the water or dropping the arrow, she reaches out and grabs the ledge with all her might. She has trained this, holding onto buildings and cliffs one-handed, this should be easy - and it would be, if there wasn't a dragon literally breathing down her neck. Additionally, this is her bad arm and side she is hanging on with the additional weight of a black arrow in her other hand, so while she can hold herself for a while, she'd rather not. 

Just as she makes her first attempt to swing the arrow up and onto the platform, strong arms already pull her up. She gasps as the bowman doesn't let off until she is up and save and their eyes truly meet for the first time. Middle-aged, human, dark-haired, attractive – and he seems familiar, just like the boy. And he had the black arrow hidden somewhere. Yes, Ariel remembers, there was this man called Girion in Dale, back when all of this started. That's who he reminds her of.
Wood crushes behind the two of them and they whip around to see the dragon approach once more, slow and menacing. He moves as if he has all the time of the world, because well, he has. It’s like a cat playing with a mouse when the mouse as nowhere left to go. There is no aid coming, no rain against the flames. Bard and her, they are sitting ducks, just ready to be eaten.

"Who are you, bowman, daring to stand against me?" the dragon asks the man next her. 

Ariel shivers at the sound of the voice. It’s old, as old as she is, probably even older. Dark, vicious, smart. As far as it is possible, he sounds almost indignant. 

Bard doesn’t answer, instead he grabs the arrow from a still-distracted Ariel. He leans down to pick up his bow but comes up empty - it's broken. Two parts are dangling from his hand, only connected via the bowstring.
The dragon's laughter echoes over the city, loud and clear, but Ariel wonders how much use that weapon would have been to begin with - shooting a black arrow with a normal bow? No. That would never hold. They used special machinery back in Dale to withstand the force. 
Or one could use an Elven bow, of course – like her bow that has sailed over the edge while she was clinging onto the tower. Ariel curses.

"Oh, that is a pity," Smaug meanwhile goads, "what will you do now?"
He fixes his eyes on Ariel. "And you - I know you. That hair - like spun gold. Yes, I remember you. You were there, and your burned, like molten ore. You are forsaken, both of you! No help will come to you now!"

Bard is starting to breathe more quickly, panic is rising once more. He is looking for a way out, but there is none. The beast approaches further, and houses break apart under his weight as he moves forward. His longue comes out, tasting the air or licking the scaly lips, Ariel isn't so sure. For a moment, the dragon seems horribly human. It makes her shiver, and it feels like something is crawling over her skin.

"You want to save them from the fire? But oh, you can't. They will burn! I will burn them all!"

Burn them all. Aerys. Madness. War. Robert. Marriage. Jaime. Joffrey. Myrcella. Tommen. Jon Arryn. Eddard Stark. More war. 

Her life seems to run in front of her eyes. 

This is not how I wanted to die. Again.

Suddenly, an idea sparks. It’s stupid and ridiculous, but truly, she doesn’t have any better one at this moment, so that will have to do.

"The bow! Attach your bow to the tower! Just smash it in!" she calls and hopes Bard can make sense of it.

Apparently, he can, since he drops the arrow to the platform and starts pushing the two parts of the bow into two poles that form a sort of "V" next to a little ledge. Normally, that would never work without tools, but the wood is damaged and warm and panic is giving him strength.

"It might not give the arrow enough force that way!" he answers though.

Ariel just shakes her head. She knows that well enough, but he hasn’t given her anything better to work with either. She steps behind the man and pulls out her dagger. Then she grips one of her own strands of hair as close to her head as possible and cuts. Soft golden hair falls into her hand and she wastes no time but ties it to one end of the wood of the broken bow. It’s a tight knot, one she knows since she has been a child and first gone out hunting, it is the sort that only gets tighter once you put pressure on it.

Twist - twist - twist.

She moves her hands quicker than she thought possible, twirling the strands together into a solid, hard strand. Then she almost jumps to the other edge of the contraption. As she repeats the knot at the other side, the bowman's eyes get big. Ariel has just created a poor imitation of a Galadhrim bow, or rather something like a Galadhrim crossbow.

From the way Bard looks at it, he must know what Elven hair can do. In theory.

"Let's just hope that's enough. And that the wood will hold," the elleth mutters. 

Also, let's hope she can pull back the bowstring, because that is the one thing she has never quite managed. The Galadhrim bows, made with golden Lórien hair, have always been somewhat of an unattainable dream, especially after her shoulder got hurt. 

Her mind wanders to Haldir, just for a moment, a desperate final call and the hope that he is safe somewhere, as far away from this mess as possible. She is glad he isn’t here, though she certainly regrets how things have ended between the two of them.

Smaug meanwhile seems quite entertained, he watches them with no little amount of glee. Dragons are vain creatures, and he seems to be the worst of them, very secure in himself, and craving entertainment. Well, she assumes after years of sleeping she would crave something interesting as well.

Ariel's eyes meet the glance of the bowman next to her - he looks scared but determined.

"I know where."

She assumes he means he know where to aim – it’s the first admission that he has actually something akin to a plan. That's good, because she has no idea where to shoot. 

With no further comment, she cuts the old bowstring and starts pulling the new one back. Bard nocks the arrow and lets the tip rest on the little ledge of the tower. While it is splintered and wonky, just like the rest of the construction, and the arrow trembles a little, it holds the weight.
 The elleth steps back, step by step, and the resistance is heavy, worse than expected. The arrow in itself would be a challenge on a good day, but now, the angle is all off, and the wood of the bow clearly not made for a bowstring of elven hair. Additionally, there is smoke and screams everywhere which is highly distracting, and a dragon watching.

Ariel grits her teeth.

Help me!

The man seems to read her thoughts and doesn't hesitate, one step and he is behind her, arms around her to reach for the bow. She is tall, even as an elf, but he is a bit taller and therefore his arms are just long enough to work together. They pull, a shared burden, while she desperately tries to make out where he wants to aim.

"Two wretches! And you have nothing left! Nothing!" 

The whole creature seems to burn, he has fire all around him now, he is the fire. He burns with greed and violence and jealousy. 

He is like me.

She gasps, but then Smaug shakes his ugly scaly head, and just as he turns a little, she suddenly sees it - a dark patch, about the size of a couple of scales maybe. At the hight of his breast. An old injury, maybe given to him by Girion. She feels Bard tense behind her and knows, yes, that's it, that's where he wants to aim. Both their hands and arms are shaking from exhaustion, though she is probably holding on a little bit better than he is. A long breath.

"He will come closer," the man comments, his voice only audible over the beating of her heart and the pulsing in her ears because they are standing so close. 

She nods, because he will, and they need him to, just to be sure he is well and truly hit. Ariel is suddenly hyper-aware of her body, of her feelings, the sounds, the smells. The weight around her neck, Arwen's pendant. The sister she likely won't see again, at least not in this life. Maybe in Mandos’ halls – though will she go there at all?

Then the dragon charges, furious and fast, straight at the two of them. There is fire playing at his fangs together with a gleam in his throat, almost as if he has eaten burning coals and is just waiting to spit them out again. One more move and she can feel it, feel the moment, just as Bard does.

It must be archer intuition -

- "now!" the man behind her screams, but she already lets go, and the arrow soars.

It twirls and rotates around itself, vicious and cruel and then it hits the body, right in the black soft space.

Smaug roars in surprise and pain, flailing, and there is nothing they can do as he crashes into the tower, and it breaks and crumbles. Her stomach would be lurching if she had the time to think about it - which she doesn't, not truly. It’s all so quickly, and very very painful, sharp spikes and splinters digging into her body as she quickly loses height. There is splashing around her, but she hits hard ground in an unholy thud that takes her breath away for a moment. A rooftop, she notices, just before that ledge also breaks and she falls another story deep.

The second crash is just as painful, but falling everything at once might have killed her, so lucky her, probably. With the last of her strength, Ariel turns onto her back. Everything is whirring in her brain, but at least she hasn't gotten sick. She moves her toes, her finger, her neck. Everything still works, though it hurts, but she assumes nothing is broken. Above her, there is the sky, darkened by smoke, and in front of the darkness a rapidly moving shadow. The dragon - in an attempt to escape, from itself. It is still roaring and screaming and if she could, the elleth would love to cover her ears.
But that would mean oving, and moving hurts.

Suddenly, the creature seems to stop in mid-air. Time is suspended, and then the beast comes falling down, like a rock, like a force. 

There are screams, there is a crash, shrill cries, then there is only the cracking of the flames and the groaning of wood.

Smaug is dead.
I am not. 

Chapter Text

The scent of smoke, iron and brakish water still lingers over the ruins of Laketown as dawn slowly breaks over the Eastern horizon. The first rays of sunlight creep over the water like soft tender fingers, caressing the waves, and cast a ghostly light over the remnants of the town. Ariel stands at the edge of one of the few surviving docks, her own - surprisingly still whole - bow now slung across her shoulder and her sword on her hip, where it belongs. Her pretty face and hair is streaked with soot and she probably won't get the dirt off her body any time soon. 

It feels surreal, seeing the dragon lay in the lake, a golden bulk just visible under the surface. 

Over, the fight is over. For now.

She can feel the weight of the people’s gazes on her back as more and more join her to stare at the creature. Bard has led them here, to the dock, an attempt to ralley the survivors. Yes, she could help, and no, maybe she should not. These are humans, and she is a stranger. A stranger who just shot a dragon out of the sky, but still a stranger. Bard however, he is a hero now, a hero they know.
Normally, this would have bugged her, but right now, she is only feeling so so tired, and maybe a little alone.

Her body is battered, but even more so, her soul is aching - the destruction around her is a stark reminder of the worlds she had left behind, and how easily they can somehow bleed into this one.

Out of the corner of her eye, she finally sees the bowman approach. His expression is caught somewhere between weariness and gratitude. Yet his eyes, sharp and discerning, they remain steadily on Ariel, as if he is scared she might disappear. They haven't talked until now, not really, she realizes.

"Hannon le," he tells her in Sindarin, "you brought the dragon down. You saved these people. And I owe you my life."

Ariel waves her hand. "We both know we did it together. And I believe that debt has already been paid in full."

Bard gives her a small, grim smile, but before he can respond, Tauriel approaches from behind.
She seemsmostly  unharmed, her stride purposeful, her expression unreadable as her eyes sweep over Ariel and then to Bard. Relief.

“The wounded are being tended to. But we’ll need more supplies soon if they’re to survive the coming days,” she starts.

Humans. Ever so breakable.

But Bard nodds solemnly.

“We’ll make do with what we have for now. My daughters and I will see to the rationing.”

Ariel glances at the townsfolk who now huddle at the shore of the lake, their faces drawn and pale, though some at least show sparks of determination as they carry whatever they can.

“These people have lost so much,” she murmurs, once again grappling with different images, a different life.  

Later, as the sun climbs higher in the sky, Ariel finds herself once again standing a little bit further off to the side on a ridge, and again overlooking the lake. The ruins of Laketown are now stretched to her side, and in the distance, the Lonely Mountain looms, its dark silhouette stark against the pale sky.
The remaining dwarves are leaving, she has discovered, and now she watches with some morbid curiosity how two of them load supplies onto a boat and climb in. Another follows, but one - Kíli, Ariel thinks - still stands on the shore. He is facing someone, and even if Ariel hadn't known already, the gleaming copper red hair would be an utter giveaway. 
From her vantage point, their goodbye seems awkward, and she can only imagine how Tauriel feels - not that she has much capacity for compassion left at that moment. But she notices the hesitation, sees how her friend struggles not to step forward, and her heart clenches in sympathy. 
Suddenly, the dwarf presses something in her hand and then scrambles away to join his companion - the elleth can't see what it is, only that Tauriel seems taken aback. It must be special, then - which is probably bad, because that means that this whole entanglement is more serious than Ariel had anticipated. 

When they meet again later, she dearly wants to ask, but there are always other people around, and while they could simply talk in Sindarin, it still doesn't feel like a conversation one should have in public. 

"So, what do we do?" Tauriel finally asks her.

That is the question, isn't it? The dragon is dead, Oakenshield has probably reclaimed the mountain, and Ariel has managed to be entangled in the middle of all of it. 
Something is still nagging at the back of her mind though, and she cannobuput a name to it. Is it a bad conscience because of her fight with Haldir?

"Well, I am not sure how happy the king would be to see us," she argues anyway.
Once upon a time, she would have simply assumed people had to accept her presence, but these days, she is a bit more careful. (She still thinks Thranduil ought to not make a scene, though.)
"You don't want to return?"
"I didn't say that."

Truth be told, Greenwood isn't her favourite place in the world.

The sound of hooves on damp earth interrupts their conversation. Ariel turns sharply, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of two familiar figures approaching on horseback: Haldir and Legolas.
Haldir's silver hair catches the little light that is shining through the smoke as he dismounts, he seems almost to glow, but his features are impassive. Behind him, Legolas follows to do the same, effortlessly graceful, but she doesn't miss how his jaw tightens when he looks at Tauriel.

“They found us,” Tauriel murmurs, her voice low.

“Were you expecting anything less?” Ariel asks, though her tone lacks its usual sharpness.

In fact, she wasn't quite sure anymore what she was expecting herself  - after all, they have parted on less than ideal terms. As the two elves approach, Ariel’s sharp eyes scan Haldir, looking for any sign of injury or strain. She finds none—physically, at least. They probably missed the fight completely, or only ran into a couple of eering orcs.
At the same time, she notices that he is doing the same with her, cataloguing every scratch and bruise.

“Fashionably late as always, leaving us to do the work” Ariel calls, masking her emotions with a sardonic smile. Her arms cross instinctively in front of her body.

“Considering the chaos you left behind and all the mess you are in, I’d say our timing is impeccable,” Haldir replies, his tone just as dry.

Two can play the game, it seems. He turns towards Tauriel.

"You have been banished for your disobedience. And you, my lady," he turns towards Ariel, "let's just say you are expected back at the King's Halls as quickly as possible. Demurely and with the appropriate amount of respect and guilty conscience. Though, at the same time you just might want to stay away from Greenwood for a while. A couple of centuries maybe."

Say what you want, but the Marchwarden for once doesn't beat around the bush. Were she Legolas, she would bristle at the audacity, but her friend seems to be in agreement. Maybe he needs it, this briskness, to face Tauriel and all the questions that come with her. 

"She just killed the dragon!" Tauriel protests meanwhile, pointing at Ariel, certainly not scared of Haldir. Why should she though, they are pretty much of the same rank.

"So I have heard. Is it true?"

Ariel just shrugs. Everyone knows anyway.

“Humility does not suit you,” he says quietly, his words carrying a weight that only she can discern. He is right though - it doesn't, not really. She ahs always been an obnoxious, jealous, spoilt brat. She doesn't do demure. 

"Well, yes, I guess I did," Ariel finally confirms.
Suddenly, she finds herself in a bone-crushing hug that makes her sore muscles burn even more. 
"You bitch, running off to get yourself killed," Haldir scoffs quietly.

She snorts, but for a moment indulges in the luxury of burrowing her head against his chest. Then she pulls back.
"Why are you here, then? Just to chastise me?"

They both know he won't drag her back to Mirkwood - Celeborn would never forgive him, he is toeing a fine line already. Haldir’s jaw tightens, but he doesn't reply. Legolas, sensing the rising tension, places a light hand on Haldir’s arm.

“No, we didn’t come to chastise,” he says quietly. “We came to help.”

Ariel raises an eyebrow.
"Help who?"

"You."

She swallows down a comment  as she sees how Tauriel’s expression softens at his words, though her friend quickly masks it with her usual stoic demeanor.

“And where are the dwarves?” the prince suddenly asks, his tone light but probing. There seems to be something else in that question.

"They should be alive, somewhere in the ruins. We were preparing to find them when the people of Laketown needed us.”

It is a full-on lie, and at least Tauriel knows it, after all she has sent them on their merry way herself. As far as Ariel is concerned though, these two ellons abandoned them and the city when they needed them, they have no right to information. Legolas’s brows furrow slightly, but he nodds, accepting the explanation.

"What do you plan to do now?"

"We can't leave them like that. Humans."
Ariel surprises herself by speaking up, arguing for humans, of all people. 
"They need help, organisation, water, food. But the orcs - in Laketown, as they closed in, there was one ... We fought and that scumbag was talking about my nana, about what the others did - about what they did to her. He is still out there. And moreover, these orcs were different. They were marked. A mark I have never seen."

"Can you describe it?"

"I could draw it."

The elleth picks up a stick and starts to draw crude patterns into the sand. Next to her, Legoals stiffens. 

"That is a mark I haven't seen or even heard spoken of in years. It's the mark of Gundabad."

The others all face him with wide eyes. "Gundabad?"

"Yes, Gundabad, the orc stronghold. It should be impossible. But -"

The stunned silence that follows is broken by the arrival of Bard, who approaches with a sense of urgency. “There are still survivors in the ruins,” he says. “If you’re willing, we could use your help.”

Tauriel nodds immediately, back in action, her hand already on her bow. “We’ll go.”

Ariel steps forward to join her, but hesitates when Haldir tenses next to her, an old reflex born from fighting together. For a brief moment, their eyes meet, and she sees once more the weight of unspoken words in his expression.

“Let’s go,” she proclaims finally, turning away.

~ o ~

The flickering light of the campfire cast long shadows against the makeshift tents and shacks that now dot the outskirts of the former Esgaroth. The air is thick with the scent of smoke of the damp burning wood, but when you are freezing, you aren't picky. A constant murmuring, like in a beehive, covers the area.

“We cannot stay here,” Legolas suddenly says firmly, his eyes hard in the moonlight. “Gundabad is stirring. The orcs will not sit idle for long.”
He has been on edge all afternoon, even more than when they first arrived. Something has rattled him to the bone, though he tries to hide it.

Haldir leans back against a broken barrel, his expression still skeptical.
"There have been orcs with marks, I believe Ariel. And yes, most likely from Gundabad. But an army? In the Misty Mountains? We don't know that!"

"But what if there is? The they will sweep down, like a tidal wave, before the survivors here can even find shelter,” Legolas argues.
That's all they seem to do now, argue.

Tauriel’s jaw tightens. "He's right. I’ve seen the signs for years. The spiders grow restless and brave in the forest, and the birds get shy and terrified of some nameless evil. If we do nothing—”

“You all want to risk your life for a possibility,” Haldir interrupts, his tone colder than usual. “There’s no sense in abandoning them for a hunch.”

Legolas steps further towards him, a challenge.

"It's not just a hunch. Gundabad is a real threat, by the Valar. We have ignored it for far too long! And just because you are ignorant -"

"What is this actually about, my prince? Why are you so willing to do now what you refused to do just a day ago?," Haldir interrupts him, his voice a strange mixture between challenge, understanding, and condecension that makes Legolas bristle even more.
He has always been a bit insolent, that's what has drawn her to him from the beginning on, but that tone is still odd, to say the least. 

"Gundabad was a danger once, and it can be again," Legolas barks, "and I will not stand idle while danger looms over us!"

"You stood very idly when a dragon just burned down a whole city," Ariel shoots back.

"But Gundabad is no dragon!"

Haldir finally pushes himself off the barrel and towards the other silver-haired elf.
“You really think you’re going to waltz into Gundabad and take on whatever force is gathering there? Without an army? Without support? You are just as delusional and self-destructive as these other two!”

"Self-destructive?! I -"

“We will do what we must,” Tauriel says, her voice softer but no less resolute, "and before you blame us for disrespecting orders, look in the mirror. Or at your lady, it doesn't matter."

Haldir exhales sharply, for the first time searching for Ariel's eyes, as if to form an alliance against the Mirkwood elves.

"You are right, it needs to be scouted," she confirms, " but the people here, they need us as well. More urgently. You are two people, no backup. It's the Misty Mountains - you can't take on an army just the two of you. And you’ll leave us shorthanded when the orcs come from somewhere else entirely. This isn’t just reckless; it’s selfish."

Tauriel twists around to face her, the red hair like a licking flame.
"Well, if we find an army, scout it, take some down, bring back information, buy the people time - all the better. If there is none - good. If we fail - you just painted out, we are only two. It doesn't matter in the great scale of things."

"It matters to me!" she barks.

"That's just as selfish," Legolas argues.

"And I don't fucking care if it's selfish! I never said I wasn't," she bites back. 

The silence that follows is heavy.

"I'll ride North," Legolas finally say, his voice decided, "will you come with me?"

While the question is mostly directed at Tauriel, Ariel feels that it might also include Haldir and herself.
The Silvan elf nodds.

"I will."

Ariel stays silent.

Don't you dare.

As they prepare to leave, the campfire’s warmth seems to dim. There is tension between all of them, nothing is spelled out. Tauriel approaches Ariel one last time. “Híriel-nîn, thank you, for trusting me. Even if you don’t agree.”

“I didn’t say I trust you,” Ariel replies, “just... don’t make me regret letting you go.”

As Legolas and his companion disappear into the night, she sits down heavily next to the campfire. After a minute of hesitation, Haldir finally joins her. 

“Fools,” he mutters, his voice low.

“Maybe,” Ariel replies, watching the direction they’d gone. 

"Why did you stay? You’ve always been the one to act,” he aks finally. “I can see you believe them, that there is something up there.”

"I do, but these people here, they are vulnerable. But why did you come? Why now? You could have stayed with the king."
The words are tinged with bitterness.
Factually, Thranduil has no right to demand anything of Haldir, he is not his subject, but practically, since they are on his land, respect and courtesy would demand obedience. 

"But you are here," he answers.

"You didn't care before, when it was inconvenient."

"I always do." Haldir barks out a humourless laugh. "We are a fourfold disaster, aren't we?"

The night is mostly quiet again, but the uneasy silence speaks volumes. 

"What is it that makes the prince so ... agitated about Gundabad?" he finally asks.

Ariel flopps onto her back.
"You will have to ask him when he returns. It's not my story to tell."

"If he returns."

"When he returns."

Haldir’s jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue.

"Bard wants us to move to Dale," Ariel changes the topic.

"Sounds like a sound plan to me," Haldir argues, "protection, shelter, maybe even some solid buildings."

"I hate Dale," Ariel scoffs.

For the first time, Haldir smirks a little, at least it sounds like it. "I bet you do."

"That city cost me too much."

"I have heard you did just fine, shooting down a dragon with an improvised Galadhrim bow."

"Not Esgaroth. Bloody Dale. Now I needed help from a human," she frowns.

He doesn't argue the point. 
"I thought you like humans? After all, you keep risking your life over and over for them."
It is as much of a question as it is a challenge.

She shrugs.
"I feel connected. Responsible. I still don't want no need their help, by the Valar!"

The Marchwarden huffs.
"Of course you don't. Rest now, I will keep watch."

It's an offer and an order at the same time, but Ariel finds that after all, she needs rest. So she rolls into a ball, despite everything still reassured by his presence.

~ 0 ~

“Keep the children in the middle of the group. You’ll be safer from the wolves if they try to press our flank," they instruct the villagers the next day, trying to build some sense of order. Needless to say, tired, exhausted humans are worse than toddlers - but they  listen to Bard and herself, at least there's that.
Ariel can see that Haldir pretends he doesn't really care, but under his stoic expression, there is concern and vague annoyance.

“How is it that they listen to you without question?” he finally wants to know as they fall into step next to each other.

"Well, you should have killed a dragon as well," she answers, a bit more snappily than necessary.

Haldir snorts but says nothing, instead, he scanns the surroundings. On the horizon, there are the ruined spires of Dale visible in the distance, half-shrouded by mist.

“We’ll be lucky to get there before nightfall,” he murmurs.

Surprisingly, they do, they pass the old, cracked gates just as night starts to fall. The torches make the greyish walls glow ghostly, and yet, it's much better here than outside in the open. They try to organise people, but it's hard in the dark. Hopefully they will survive another night without revolts and chaos, because that is what is coming.

It's just natural.

The Bread Riots, a memory, it keeps creeping up on her. Hungry, starving people, chaos, death. But there isn't any kind of force that could bring order here. No real guards. It would be anarchy.

The new Watch though, they are loyal to Bard, and they keep the others in line, so that as soon as light returns the next morning, they start with organising everything better. But food is getting scarce, one way or the other, and while they prioritise the injured, women and children, it's not even enough for them.

"Hunting parties," Ariel starts, "we-"

The sound of hooves interrupts her considerations.

Chapter Text

Something is odd about these sounds, but still she follows it around the corner, just to come face to face with an army of elves.
She can feel Bard tense next to her and she cannot blame him - they fill the whole courtyard in perfect lines of gleaming armours, golden, even in the greyish pale midday light. They move in unison, just one step to the side, a statement. The armour and swords make clanging sounds that ring through the ruins, it shows that they are ready for whatever might come.
Their faces are almost blank, emotions covered in the way that only elves seem to know how, something Legolas has never truly learnt. Something she has become very adept in, however, if she sets her mind to it. Which happens seldomly, because that is not her reputation. Her reputation is that of an insolent, important, spoilt, talented, formidable, beautiful, cruel, wonderful, vain, trustworthy brat. And a dragonslayer now, which seems to count for something - row after row bend their heads in a gesture small enough to miss if you aren't attuned to elven expression, but she sees it, nevertheless.

What do they want here? 
Ariel is weary. They are certainly dressed for battle, for serious battle, not just for hunting. The breastplates look stronger than many she has seen in Imladris, more like some of Lord Celeborn's equipment. Silvan influence, she assumes. But there is nothing to gain from attacking a group of humans in an ancient ruined city, at least not for elves. So maybe - She steps toward the army without looking back but can feel the human commander behind her. Esgaroth inhabitants gather on the stairs further back, curious and scared, as they certainly should be. Ariel just hopes Haldir will keep them back and from doing something stupid, like scream or cry or come closer. The elves part like the sea in front of her, like her golden hair when separated with a sharp comb. It is exhilarating, that power, having them move for her. A rush. Yes, it should be scary, like waves that could close around her, but Ariel feels nothing of that. Nothing at all. She steps forward, head held high, as the elves indeed close ranks again behind her and that human who seems intent on following her like a puppy now.

They have just crossed the first block of warriors as a huge elk storms around the corner, with the king on his broad back. She has seen the animal before, of course, but finds him impressive again, each and every time - Thranduil's beast, unnatural and magic in its splendour. The antlers are huge and sharp and something to clearly stay away from, and yet, there is something oddly peaceful about it. Maybe it is the sense of connection between elves and nature, but Ariel thinks he would maybe let her pet his oversized ears. The king would likely not be happy about that - which in itself would be a motivation.

"My Lord Thranduil," Bard starts before she can say anything, to her dismay, "we didn't hope to see you here."

Why he generally assumes that seeing Thranduil is a good thing is beyond Ariel. Well, probably because he doesn't know him personally that well. Or because he hasn't been in trouble with him recently. Neither point applies to Ariel, because she both knows him well and is in trouble.

"I've heard you needed aid," the king answers simply. 
His voice is surprisingly warm, but there is something in it that keeps Ariel on edge. Maybe it's the whole situation, him showing up like this, all benevolent, after others did the dirty work. It's what Cersei would have done. 

He looks down the archway, and suddenly the weird cluttering that has been bothering her for quite some time now makes sense: Wagon after wagon, pulled by four horses each, loaded with food passes through. Chattering erupts among the people as they finally push down the stairs and, in the courtyard, the hunger stronger than their fear of the strangers. Ariel can see their amazement, the happiness. It's understandable - they were starving. Bard watches them, his eyes bright. He cares, she understands, he truly cares for these people, and for some strange reason felt responsible. 

"You saved us!" he tells the king, „How can we thank you?"

Due to the size of the elk, both him and Ariel need to look up at Thranduil, and she is sure he loves it - a moving thrown for him, with his silver circlet on the silver hair with his shiny silver armour. His face hardens.

"You didn't come for the people," Ariel concludes. "You have another aim. To offer a deal? Or reclaim something?" she guesses.

At first, he just raises an eyebrow, makes her wait. It is annoying, but nothing that bothers her overmuch. Then he sighs.
"That depends on whether it is true what they say. Is the dragon dead?"

"Indeed, he is," Ariel confirms, with just a tad of smugness.

"Did you kill him?"

It is unclear who the question is directed at, most likely on purpose, so it is no wonder that both nod in answer. 

A dark smile blooms around the king's lips. "Then have my thanks. And Celebormîrig, let it be known that this deed is the only reason why I will ever allow you to step foot into the Greenwood again."

She answers his smile with a faint one of her own, too proud to nod in acknowledgement. It doesn't matter why, as soon as some kind of diplomatic connection remains, Ada will be satisfied. Hopefully.

"Well, since the dragon is dead, and the dwarf has made his way towards the mountain - I assume - I do want indeed something. I want back the Gems of Eryn Lasgalen, white jewels, part of the treasure in the mountain. They are mine."
From what she has heard, opinions about this diverge, but right now, Ariel won't argue about these specifics. Fact is, Oakenshield has a full new treasure for himself, the gems shouldn't matter. However, she has seen him, the way he is talking about it, the obsession. Obsession she knows just too will. The dwarf won't part with any tiny coin if he can help it.

Thranduil looks around. "I can assume our interests are aligned?"

Indeed, a treasure would solve the issue of starving, help the rebuilding. But there are no grounds for that, only the chance to make conflict worse, to -

"Oakenshield promised the Mayor of Laketown a share of the treasure as he left with the company," Bard interrupts her train of thought. "We can reclaim it. We must reclaim it. I will talk to him."

"As you wish, human. And let the dwarves know that should they deny us our part ... we will be here."
It is as much of a promise as it is a threat.

The bowman bristles. 
"You would go to war over a handful of gems?"

Ariel is sure he would go to war over much pettier things. As would she. Maybe. Potentially. Probably.

"The heirlooms of my people are not lightly forsaken," the king answers without looking at the man.
What is that even supposed to mean?

She frowns. 
"This has nothing to do with your people! This is about you, and your personal gain. Your honour, your property, which you feel has been touched."

The king's eyes narrow. 
"Little girl - I AM my realm! If they scorn me, they scorn everything I stand for!"

Truly, she very much does not like Oakenshield, but right now she is tempted to agree with the dwarf just to spite Thranduil. Even more so, she starts to worry she will be pushed to the side soon, politically speaking. It's a very inconvenient thought, because if she has no power, what is her aim?
She has had a good life, learning and growing and having a family, but is that enough for eternity? The answer is very clearly no. She isn't someone who is meant to be idle. Has never been. And that hasn't changed. She might not be Cersei anymore, but there is still enough Lannister in her. Or maybe it is running in her family here as well - look at Feanor, look even at her grandmother. None of these people were made to follow.
Thranduil is still looking at her. 
"Sometimes I wonder - do you not understand? Or do you just pretend not to understand? 

Ariel just raises her eyebrow in defiance, because she thinks he already knows. They are too alike. Of course she understands.

"Two days," the king finally says, "for you to talk to him and for them to give up the jewels. Otherwise, we shall attack."

Then he turns around his elk, and leaves behind the city.

Bard turns towards Ariel, but she thinks he might not even truly see her. His thoughts are far too strongly focussed on the people that are still grappling for the food, the people who need the treasure, the gold. 

"Tomorrow I'll go," he tells her.

"I'll come with you!" 
Her tone makes it clear that she won't take no for an answer, and he grits his teeth, clearly done with being commanded around by elves. Fair enough. 

"We leave at first light!"

He disappears somewhere into the ruins, probably in search of his daughters. 

"Your head is still on your shoulders," someone suddenly drawls next to her. She turns slightly but can't stop the small smile that steals onto her lips. The tone - she knows that tone, hasn’t heard it in what seems far too long, but is actually only the bat of an eyelash in an Elven life. 

"I'm precious enough," she tells Haldir matter of factly, "and I believe the king is otherwise occupied. He didn't even ask for his son."

Haldir frowns. "That's odd, isn't it?"

"He is obsessed with these diamonds. They are everything to him, he doesn't see anything else anymore," Ariel argues.

"You are probably right," her companion sighs, "so, I assume the human and you are planning to talk to the dwarves?"

"Yes."

"You know you will probably fail?"

"Also, yes."

"So, you are preparing for war?"

"Absolutely. These parties involved, they are stubborn, and proud and hungry and desperate. Conflict can only be avoided if someone caves in, and it won't be the humans - they have nothing left. So, it's either Thranduil or Thorin. Thorin is alone, but should he find the Arkenstone, he can call on the other dwarves. He will have an army."

"And there is nothing to be done? What do you - what is your plan?"

She flinches. "There is none. We have played our cards, and aside from trying to make them see reason, there is nothing we can do. Should Legolas however find that there is another army in Dol Guldur -"

"- a common enemy could unite everyone!" Haldir finishes. 

Ariel makes a vague gesture with her hand. "You don't take into account that you are dealing with Oakenshield and Thranduil! Two kings in their own right, clashing. No, they won't give up one bit of power, they would rather ignore any threat and see the world crumble. Or, they'll unite for a tiny bit of time, just to have a go at each other later."

"You are absolutely and beautifully optimistic," her friend deadpans. 

"I am realistic! I have seen it happen, all of it."

"You have, haven't you?" The odd look is back on Haldir's face but tempered by what seems to be reluctant acceptance. "So, do we just wait?"

"We wait for Bard," she confirms, "and make sure he doesn't die on the way. In the meantime - there is a man, I have just seen him shortly. He is like a weasel, and we need to keep an eye on him. Not sure where he came from - maybe he belonged to the master of Laketown or whoever first?"

Haldir nods. "I will pay attention to him."

Ariel nods, just to see Bard come towards them. He looks tired, worried, and yet determined. 
"You have heard the king - I have to leave right away. The dwarves might need some time for consideration, I don't want to get in trouble due to the time limitation."

"Who does he think he is?" Ariel huffs again, "to give such an ultimatum."

"The king?"
It's hard to say whether Bard is exasperated or amused.

She rolls her eyes. 
"Yes, and I am the second lady of Imladris, third of Lórien. He should know better."

"Well, it wasn't directed at you, precisely," Haldir argues, "you just get yourself into this trouble and make it your business."

Ariel glares at him, but he just shrugs. Bard - smartly - decides to not comment at all. 

"Well, if you go now, you will reach the mountain, but you will have to stay up there. There won't be enough time for the way back, and the way is treacherous in darkness. But then, we don't know what is lurking out there, we might as well encounter a threat."

"We?"

"Well, of course we are coming with you. This mission is too important to have only one messenger deliver it," Ariel explains.

"And you don't fully trust me."

"That too," she admits matter of factly, "but enough to see that your people need you and you better come back in one piece. And we are going to make sure that happens. Tomorrow. We will leave at first daylight, Thorin will have to decide quickly whether he wants a war or not. There is only one good answer, after all."

Bard nods, reluctantly, but obviously seeing her arguments. "As you wish, my lady. At first light, then."

~ 0 ~

The way is unknown to all of them, and even more exhausting than Ariel had expected. Now she is even gladder that they had one night of rest - while Haldir and her would be fine either way, Bard is still human, and humans are simply fragile. Nevertheless, there is an odd sense of beauty to the way the sun draws patterns on the reddish and brown stones, almost like a lion's coat. It is only interrupted by speckles of snow, like a blanket, or the decoration on an expensive cloak. Under different circumstances, she would have loved to stop and take it all in, the fresh air, clear sky, a promise of better times. The sense of freedom, the close connection to nature all around, despite the destruction that is visible even from afar. 
But there is something else, something almost like a call. Just a tiny little feeling, like a pinprick at the back of her mind. It must be her feeling of duty, she thinks, and it is calling her towards the mountain with much insistence for such a little feeling. Maybe she is becoming a bit mad, she thinks. Maybe all the fighting is getting to her.

Their little group reaches the ledge with the door just as noon comes, in the middle of the brightest sun. Ariel and Haldir stay back a bit as the human jumps off his snowy white horse. There is a bridge in front of the portal, it looks stable enough, other than the huge stone door itself. It was beautiful once, and now it is rubble over rubble piled on top of each other. Any ornaments are broken up, you can't see the motives anymore, not even the framing. The huge statues on the sides have lost their heads. Even though the pattern on the sides remains, like little windows, one next to the other, it looks somewhat empty. There are dwarves inside, and nevertheless the mountain seems to have lost its soul. 

As Bard approaches, suddenly clouds appear, like a bad omen. It's ridiculous. Then a crow flies up, almost touching his head, screaming loudly at the intruders. Ariel looks at Haldir, nods, then gets off her horse as well and throws the reigns at him. She follows the human with some distance, almost respectful. She is sure the dwarves have seen them approach, and from the way the bowman tenses, there is someone on the other side of the hole in the door. He takes a deep breath.

"On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honour your pledge," he starts, "a share of the treasure so that they might rebuild their lives."

It's straight forward, but rather polite. Thorin must have answered, very lowly, probably about Thranduil. Obviously.

"That armed host will attack the mountain if we do not come to terms," the human leader adds. "A share of the treasure for the humans, and the white gems for the elven king."

As expected, there is no quick positive reaction.

"What of your conscience?" Bard doubles down, "don't you feel we do have a just cause?" He leans forward and Ariel steps closer so not to miss anything. "My people offered you help, weapons, made a deal. And in return - you awoke a dragon! You brought death and destruction!"

"The people of Laketown - nobody came to our aid!" Thorin barks, loud enough for Ariel to hear.

"It wasn't their mission!" Bard argues back, "they had no obligation. And besides - they had no chance while your endeavour made the city burn! If anything, you owe us reparations! But we don't even demand that. We only demand what we are owed according to the bargain struck before!"

"Bargain? We had no choice! It was under distress! A bad bargain, bater away our birthright! You call that a fair trade?"

With two strides, Ariel pushes next to the bowman, interrupting the dwarf.

"The only unfair thing about it is you not owing up to the mess you caused by awaking a dragon after promising it would not come to that. Besides, it is not as if the people of Laketown demand your whole treasure - just enough to rebuild. It will hardly make a dent!"

"Two dragonslayers. At my door. Complaining like old washing maids. Tell me, why again should I honour a bargain facing a human and an elf, of all."

"Because you gave us your word, does that mean nothing? The word of a king?"

For a moment, Ariel thinks they have him. Then, he disappears. There is rustling, rustling of armour, and steps. She imagines he is facing his dwarves, his companions.

"Be gone!" he suddenly cries, "or our arrows will pierce you! And tell the same to the Elven King who dares to threaten us!"

Bard hits the rock in frustration, a sentiment Ariel can only relate to.

"You can't win this!" she tells him, "They outnumber you, they can cut you off. They are healthier and will break against the mountain like waves until it crumbles. It is stupid to think otherwise!"

"They shall try!" is the only answer.

~ 0 ~

The little party arrives Dale in the evening, gloomingly, hungry and tired. Not surprisingly, the king still seems quite willing to go to war over those gems, and even a bit smug over the refusal to give them up. A powerplay, if she ever saw one. It is both against humans and dwarves, but also among the elves. Should he win this war, it would boost his reputation both in Silvan and Sindar circles. And if there is one thing he wants, it's more acceptance in High Elven circles.
Ariel has the feeling she could hit something, or preferably someone, right now, for that reason she quickly excuses herself to climb up a deserted tower. Maybe that will get her mind of things or at least keep her from actions she will regret later. Where Haldir has gone - no clue, but he can look out for himself.

Suddenly, another sound of hooves alerts her, faintly at first, then clearer. Who can it be now? Another messenger? She doesn't dare to hope for good news, because there so seldomly are nowadays.

The elleth hears people start to shout and then they seem to be jumping to the sides, it's almost comical. After all, it is just one horse, though the rider is quite impressive. He is tall and cloaked and he shouts, and she breathes out with relief, or at least something like that. That's Gandalf, and while she doesn't trust that a wizard has any kind of answer, he might still be more reasonable than the idiots she has to put up with right now. She scrambles down from the tower, changing to a dignified pace as soon as she comes into the sight of the humans. Her eyes meet the wizard's as soon as she steps into the courtyard, a connection right across the elven knights that are still stationed here (a threat or a gesture of goodwill, probably both) and the other working or fighting men.  She already wants to speak up, when another voice cuts across.

"No, no, we don't want vagabonds here! Go away!" calls a spindly, dark-haired man. 

It's the man again, the one she has told Haldir about, and apparently, he doesn't learn his lessons. If she had her way, that guy would have been degraded to scrubbing latrines already. But alas... 
Right now though, she cannot help herself. With two steps, she is next to him and smacks him against the back of his head with her flat hand. He almost jumps out of his skin from surprise, but a dark look stops every complaint. Gandalf snorts.

"My lady - I assume you are in charge?" he asks her.
He seems at the same time bemused and amused. It's probably not a compliment.

"Well, yes and no," she admits grudgingly, switching to Sindarin, „I try to make sure these humans don't perish like flies. But they are under human leadership. And that would be -" she nods to where Bard is walking toward them, a stormy expression on his face. "But -"
She fills the voice with so much double entendre that the wizard cannot help but realise how unhappy with the state of things she is.

Gandalf nods. "So, the lady says you are in charge?" he asks the bowman.

"Who is asking?"

Gandalf sighs.

See. That's what I have to put up with all the time.

And they have to put up with you.

Her eyes widen at the response, she hadn't known he could communicate with her like that - though she should have expected it, truth be told. It means she needs to shield her thoughts a lot better in the future.

"A concerned party who went on this mission with the dwarves, originally. And who needs to talk to you, and the Elven King."

Bard nods, though Ariel is pretty sure he is grinding his teeth.
Gandalf looks at her.

"My lady, would you accompany us?"
It is phrased as a request, and she appreciates the way he is talking to her in front of the humans, who are clearly listening. Most are too dumb to notice the value in her clothing and it's good to remind them of her status from time to time.

Come on!

It seems he isn't that polite in private though. She shouldn't be surprised. They make their way to Thranduil's camp, situated as close to the edge of Dale as possible.

"You look horrible," she argues with one look at him, back in Sindarin, while they are walking.

"You don't look much better."

"I killed a dragon."

"I fought a necromancer."

"You didn't kill him though, I assume."

"How would you know?"

She shrugs. "Just a feeling."

"You are horribly petty."

"You are horribly vain, though you try to hide it. At least I don't pretend to be different from what I am."

He definitely has something to say to that, but by then, they have reached the tent. Elves look at them curiously and the wizard barges in, not waiting for the king to react. It doesn't make a difference, he probably has heard them coming from a mile or so away. He is on a makeshift throne, quite ridiculous, looking bored.

"Stop this," Gandalf demands.

"Stop it? I am just getting started!"

"War is coming! You need to put away your petty grievances with the dwarves! The enemy is coming from Dol Guldur!" the wizard almost roars - well, he gives a stern talking. He is blocking the door though, which is sort of awkward for Ariel and Bard behind him.

The king shrugs, but Bard blanches and pushes past Gandalf and into the tent, to face both of the men.

"What are you talking about?"

There is a moment of silence, cold like the wind outside, in which Thranduil still tries to remain blasé. Then he slowly gets up and stalks through the room like a lion in a cage.

 "I see -" a pause. "You -" another pause, in which he fetches a glass of wine. "Know nothing about wizards. They rush in, like a dark wind, from the distance. They appear alarming, like a winter storm." He looks a Gandalf, a challenge, and keeps circling. "But sometimes, a storm is just a storm, and nothing more."

"Not this time!" Gandalf argues. "We are faced with armies of orcs, orcs bred for battle! Our enemy is on the move, with all of his strength!"

He steps closer to the king, which gives Ariel an opportunity to slip in. The king looks away, then back again.
A sigh, head leaned back. His silver hair cascades down his back in a beautiful curtain, lit by the lamps all around. An odd thing to notice in this situation.

"But why now?"

"Because we forced his hand - Thorin Oakenshield, his actions made all the difference."

Thranduil's eyes become almost hawklike, and for a moment, she can't blame him - his life was comfortable until the wizard showed up. The grey messenger turns and leaves the tent, and like moths, the others follow him. 

"Azog the defiler was meant to kill him on the way. His master, he wants the mountain. There is a treasure, but there is also the strategic position. Erebor is the gateway to the lands of Angmar in the North."

They are standing on a cliff now, right across from Erebor. There are snowy mountain tops in front of them, the last light of day is playing on the mountain. And Ariel believes him. Why shouldn't she? The wizard looks at all of them, illuminated by the hesitant sun.

"The kingdom has fallen once - but Angmar can rise again. And then ... Imladris, Lórien, the Shire. Even Gondor. They will fall. All."

Thranduil raises an eyebrow. "These orc armies - where are they?"

Indeed - where?

Chapter Text

Nobody will believe the wizard if the orcs aren't in sight, that much is clear. But on the other hand - the less orcs, the better. So, it seems like they are at an impasse, for a while at least, until war is dawning.

The king huffs and stalks back towards his tent with Gandalf hot on his heels, still talking, though Ariel is sure the words don't register. She stays for a little longer with the human next to her, a strange silence in between, the silence and curious understanding that only death can forge.

"It's not what I wanted," he finally says, "I didn’t want war. Or chaos. I just want a better future for my people."

"I know. But sometimes, these things don't matter."

"You knew him, Girion?" he finally asks.

"Yes, I did," she answers after a pause.

“You fought with him, so they say.”

“I did.”

“They also say elves aren’t fond of humans.” He seems truly curious.

“I believe some are, some are rather not,” she settles on.

“What about you? You protect us.”

Ariel snorts. “I do tolerate certain individuals.”

“It’s more than that, isn’t it? You could have left. Why didn't you? Your kind - you are not even from this region," the human pushes further.

The warrior looks at him sharply. “Don’t push it, bowman. Rather count yourself lucky I didn't.” It's not an answer. "I don't particularly like dragons," she finally adds, "and Mithrandir is right. Evil spreads."

"I suppose."

Ariel turns to fully face him. "Girion was a brave man and did everything he could. And now they look up to you, they need you to guide them. It's a burden more than a privilege and you have been settled with it. Do it well."

It's ironic, giving advice like that, and yet she feels it's important. And he nods. Maybe he is smarter than her after all.

"Maybe we should head back?" he offers, and she agrees, because she doesn't want to be left out of the loop.

Before she can reach the tent though, Haldir is there, out of the shadows, and pulling her to the side to where they cannot be easily overheard.

"What news?"
He seems concerned.

"War, most likely, if the pig-headed king doesn't see reason."

"Which king?"

"All of them!" she huffs. "Have the others returned?"

Haldir shakes his head, quite agitated. "No, I don’t believe they have. But the way is long and tedious after all, even on an elven steed. Now, sit down for a moment, rest, before you take on the world once more."

He pushes her down to sit on a big rock before handing her a bottle. His fussing makes her smile a little, it is comforting if a little annoying. As she sits there in the outskirts of the camp, all the noises wash over her like waves, insisting and pressing and powerful. It's an army, an army ready to fight. A lot of tension, anxiety, and volatility. Shadows are getting longer; time is running out. Ariel gets up again, gives back the flask.

"I need to go. Come."

He follows her without question, because it is clear where they are heading. Their hearing picks up the argument from quite a bit away, it's Mithrandir still trying to make the elven king see reason.

"Since when has my council counted for so little? What do you think is my aim?" he is barking.

"I do believe you are trying to save the skin of your dwarven friends," the king answers calmly. "I do admire your loyalty towards them - and yet it does not change my plans in the slightest."

His face is sombre in the flickering lamplight, sharper somewhat, but not ghostly. Tragically beautiful maybe, Ariel thinks from her place at the door. He gets up, approaches the wizard. It reminds her of a grand cat.

"You - you started it. And now I will finish it!"

When he faces Haldir and Ariel, she thinks he will finally talk to her, but instead he rudely speaks over her shoulder, commanding the archers to get into position. He truly is willing to let everything escalate, it seems, even though he is not openly attacking. Not yet. She grinds her teeth.

"The dwarves are out of time!"

"This is not true!" she contradicts the king, but he doesn't seem to hear her, dismissing her claim with the flick of his hand. But she won't be disheartened. "You gave them two days. Which is half a day more than what they have had until now. Honour your own word, King of the Woodland realm," she demands in clear Sindarin, challenging him with every authority she has.

He frowns, but Ariel is afraid he is too far gone to register anything apart from his desire for the gems and vengeance.

Gandalf pushes past them and turns to Bard, who has come out of the shadows behind them.

"Do you agree with this? Risk humans for gold?"

Bard shakes his head and tries to nod at the same time. It looks confused, he probably feels that way too.

"It won't come to this!" he argues, "they can't win!"

"That won't stop them!" a clear voice suddenly interrupts them, making everyone turn around in surprise.

Ariel as to school her features, because she hasn't heard anyone coming closer either. It's the hobbit, scrambling through the mass of people. Maybe she ahs been too distracted, or maybe he is truly as light-footed as Gandalf has praised him to be.

"They will fight to their death for the mountain and the gold without thinking twice!"

"Bilbo Baggins!" Mithrandir proclaims, ushering them inside the tent once more while outside elves start marching towards the gate.

"If I am not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeon," Thranduil states dryly while looking the small person up and down.

Ariel can see he his biting his lip, a little intimidated. "Uhm, well, sorry about that."

The bowman is biting back a smirk, so is she. Everyone loves to see Thranduil humbled a little bit.

"But I came to bring you this!" Bilbo adds quickly, approaching the king to carefully lay something on the table. As the opens the bundle, everyone steps closer.

"The heart of the mountain!" Thranduil sighs, transfixed, "the king's jewel."

He almost touches it, but not quite. His look is remote, as if he is looking at a long-lost lover.

"That's a king's ransom," Bard comments, voice rough, "how is this yours to give?"

A good question, though Ariel is sure Thranduil wouldn't care whether it's stolen or not.

"I took it as my 14th share of the treasure," the hobbit explains.

It’s smart, Ariel has to admit. Almost Lannister-smart.
Probably still a bad, deadly idea though.

"Why would you do this?" Bard still questions, "you owe us nothing."

The question is justified, but the elleth already knows the answer: Because he is good. Because he wants to help, and he saw a way to do so.

"I am not doing it for you," he confirms her suspicions, "I know that dwarves can be obstinate, difficult, ill-mannered and secretive. But ..." he looks down, then up again. Then he finds Ariel's eyes, why, she doesn't know. There are silent tears in his eyes. "They are also kind, and loyal to a fault. I would save them, if I can, because I am fond of them. Thorin values this stone above anything else. So, I believe ... I believe that in exchange, he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war."

Ariel bites her tongue, because she wants to argue that such an exchange is hardly fair, since, as Bilbo says, they are owed what the dwarf doesn't want to give. But probably that's not very helpful right now.

The elven king finally seems to reconsider, then nods slowly.

"One try. We start as soon as the lark is singing."

~ o ~

And indeed, as soon as the first birds are awoken, the elves stir, golden waves once more, horrible in their perfection. Haldir and Ariel ride at the front of the train with the other leaders, even though they have nothing to lead, not right now. But for a moment, she pretends, wonders whether that was what her father felt like when he commanded his people on the battlefield. Say what you will about him, but he was also brave, not hiding behind walls, but out with his soldiers, always close to the fighting. So was Jaime, a good commander, a good strategist, despite his other intellectual shortcomings. She shivers at the memories, and her friend - is he still her friend? - gives her an odd look. Ariel quickly schools er features.

The hobbit is gone, has disappeared into the night, and while Gandalf is miffed, Ariel is not surprised at all. Neither about the abilities, nor about the actions. He is devoted, and devotion makes you stupid.

They stop, slightly out of reach of dwarfen arrows, not that they have many to begin with. For a moment, she wastes a though on the archer Tauriel likes so much, whether his leg has healed at least a bit due to elven magic. Even without a call, dwarves appear in the door like on a balcony, Thorin with a heavy crown on his head and a bow in his hand. He looks every bit a king of dwarfs, and every bit convinced of his claim.

"We have come to call for what we are owed once more," Bard starts.

"Go away, there is nothing for you here!"

Slowly, the human reaches into his jacket, pulls out the stone. He holds it up over his head, lets it pulse in all its magnificent colours in the early morning light.
She wonders whether the Silmarils were a little like that. But no, this belongs to the dwarves. It must be very different.

"But we have this!"

"Thieves!" another voice cries and, oh, apparently the archer is well enough to make a racket, if Ariel isn't mistaken.

"The stone belongs to the king!"

"And the king may have it!" the bowman calls back at the dwarf, flipping the stone up into the air with a nonchalance he certainly does not feel. He catches it effortlessly, then he tugs it into his coat again. "We don't want to keep it. But first, he has to honour his word."

Thorin is muttering now, but Ariel understands the words on the wind - "fools, ruse, lie". They don't believe in the authenticity - and why would they?

"The Arkenstone is in this mountain!" he roars but is interrupted by Bilbo.

A brave hobbit, and a dumb hobbit, to confront a king that is clearly drifting towards madness, the early signs of dragon sickness so clear on his face. Thranduil perks up even higher, if this is possible, Bard flinches back in sympathy. An argument seems to develop on the balcony, the elven army forgotten for a moment. The dwarven king is fully focussed on Bilbo now, the how and why of the jewel, and the accusations - that he is changed, distrusting, breaking his promises.

Still, a small part of her understands the feeling of betrayal, the fury, the will to keep the gold. Then he calls for the dwarves to throw the burglar down the ledge, and she can see Bard freeze. Haldir and herself tense up in exactly the same moment, both clearly considering how quickly they can reach the mountain. But they would be too slow. When did she become willing to safe a hobbit anyway? The dwarves struggle, his company resisting the order. But Thorin is tall for a dwarf, and powerful and it does look rather bleak, when suddenly Mithrandir pushes through the ranks of elves. Where he has been until now, she doesn't know.

"He is my burglar - please, don't damage him. Return him to me!"

The wizard talking about Bilbo like a property, like men talk about wives or daughters. The king freezes, especially as Gandalf starts shaming him in front of his people. It gives the others enough time to throw down a rope and have the hobbit climb down, to relative safety.

"Are we resolved then?" Bard questions, "the return of the Arkenstone for what we are owed?"

Thranduil says nothing, which is a bit surprising, but not unwelcome. The other king is quiet as well, but just for a moment looks to the rising hill on the left that are streaked by the sun now. It's a flicker of attention, but for a hunter like Ariel, it's enough. Something is not right. There is a sound of shuffling, and she would bet it is an army, though the thought seems somewhat ridiculous.

"The right flank!" she hisses, loud enough for Haldir to hear. She is fairly certain the king listens as well, though the movement of his head is miniscule. The elves don't move one bit without an order, though Ariel can feel the rising agitation.

"Will you have peace, or war?" the human asks, unaware of what is happening behind him.

He simply doesn’t have the same senses, nor the same vague abilities to pick up these subtle changes. A raven flutters, like a dark omen, and then the shuffling is getting louder.

"I will have war," he answers, quietly but clearly, just as a row of people appears on the edge of the hills. Dwarves over dwarves over dwarves, armoured for battle and with spears that seem to cut the air with their edges.

"Ironfoot!" Gandalf coughs, probably with respect to the dwarf in the front, riding a - is that a pig?!

Thranduil spurs his elk into action. "Turn!" he calls in Silvan elvish, and the golden wave breaks. Ripple after ripple they turn and march, until the whole formation is facing in the other direction. The screaming and howling of the company are only a dim feeble sound over the clattering of harnishes and helmets.

Ariel can see Gandalf talk to the hobbit, but the words are ripped from their mouths in all that noise.

Then, everyone stops again, in that eerie way that only elves do. United like fish, as little charming the comparison might be.

She has to give it to Ironfoot - at least she assumes it's Ironfoot, from all she has heard - he is gutsy. Standing there, basically alone with only his pig, facing down a full army, telling them to fuck off. Not such a bad idea, actually, she thinks, if it were the other way round. These dwarves - yes, please sod off! The humans on the side of the army become nervous, making Bard call out to them. The elleth wonders how long their trust in him will remain.

Mithrandir once again tries to discuss and barter, and once again, he is rudely refused.

However, Ironfoot calling Thranduil a "faithless Woodland sprite" is slightly funny, if only for the indignant look on the king's face.

The implications are less so.

War seems more and more likely. When Dáin threatens to "split his pretty head open", he actually smiles. It is a sharp smile, sharp like his blade. The dwarf truly takes that personally. On the other hand, Thranduil certainly won't stand for the "Pointy eared princess" - dude, this is getting exhausting, and they haven’t even fought yet! The dwarves get ready to advance, much slower than the elves but not less forceful. When Thranduil tells Bard to stand down before he advances with his army, she plants herself firmly next to the human. This is all so ridiculous, and truth be told, she has no interest in being part of another king's games.

The cavalry is approaching from down the ridge, if you can call it cavalry at all, because it's goats - swift and fully armoured and vicious looking and yet so odd that Ariel barks out a dark laugh. The elves string their bows, ready to let go of the string, while Mithrandir is still crying out for everyone to hold their fire.

But they don't. A swarm of light Mirkwood arrows ascends into the air like a flock of deadly birds - just to be shot down seconds later by something Ariel has never seen. These things aren't arrows, but something like that, shot into the air, capturing all of the arrows. The constructions are big and loud like eagles, and then they crash to the ground, wrecking the army. Her jaw drops at the sudden destruction, the dead elves on the ground. Despite everything, these are her people, and she would choose them over dwarves any day.

Another salve of arrows doesn't find the aim, and then, just as the spear people switch into the frontline, the goat riders arrive. Some are speared right away, but others use the shields as springboards to jump into the army and mess it up from the inside. The dwarves, they are good, surprisingly good. And they have underestimated them.

And yet, the elves are evenly matches in number and superior in skill if she says so herself, so soon there what one can only describe as a bloody brawl all over the area in front of the mountain.

Are you happy now, king, she thinks. To see all these people die because of you.

She knows Cersei wouldn't have batted an eyelash, and it makes her vaguely queasy. Or maybe it's all the goats.

It is loud, so loud, everything is loud, the clanging and the screams.

But suddenly, a roar overlays it, a roar that seems to come from below. Then, something akin to a hand breaks to the side of the mountain ridge in front of her. It is huge, bigger than anything she has ever seen - anything living, at least - moving like a snake or an elephant trunk. Just a moment later, there is another, then another.

And once again an army crosses the ridge, though this time it appears to her more like a dark black drip of tar than anything else. It's orcs, all in dark armour but in surprisingly orderly lines who run down as if Morgoth himself was behind them. Their armours are uniform, her quick senses can make out iron armour, spears and spiky helmets. That only vaguely cover up the terrifying faces.  The dwarves turn on their heels and rush towards the new danger - they are brave, she must give them that. They are also incredibly stupid, but well, that’s an advantage.

The elves reorganise, sliding back into formations, archers back with their bows. Whatever weapons the orcs have, they are not that sophisticated. As the king barks orders and her eyes meet Haldir's - they both know it, now they do have to fight, and they will. Neither of them is known for having any patience with orcs.

"Are you with me?" The question is loaded.

He nods."My Lady."

She nods back, before they storm into battle

~ o ~

It is as horrendous as any other battle, well, and they are doing this in broad daylight. It helps that she can see well, but the only thing she sees is death and destruction. Orcs are orcs, but these are of the well-trained sort, which are always a hassle. Normally, the creatures are more like animals, rabid and crazy and out for blood. These are trained, kept in line, most likely in fear of a commander and in a blood frenzy at the same time. But they are no match to either the elves or the dwarves. Two parties who for a moment start fighting each other and instead focus on the dark inpouring mass, just as Ariel had predicted. The dwarves first build an iron wall with their shields, like the scales of an animal, just low enough for an army of Elves to jump over. Arrows fly again, and this time, nobody stops them.

Haldir and herself take on foe after foe in a technique they have perfected over centuries, standing almost back-to-back, while at the same time trying to duck away from what she has now identified as some sort of hungry earth worm. Ariel has never seen anything like that and truly could have gone an immortal life without it.

Dáin’s army is doing well, but both his and the elves are being pushed back, closer and closer to the mountain. There is no sign of the humans, they have either retreated or are mixed into the chaos. Or dead. She wonders where the orcs are getting their orders from in the meantime, because they clearly react to drums and horns. However, she soon finds there are more visible signs as well – more precisely, something that looks like a flag, but can be regulated more easily to give signs. They have to take them out, she thinks, but it seems so far away, with a whole battlefield in between.

Suddenly though, there is a commotion, and she sees the dwarves storm out of the mountain. They aren’t many, it shouldn’t make a difference, but it certainly does for the dwarves in general. Cheers fill the air as they form an order once more.

And yet, it still feels like not enough. How can it be enough?
It’s hard to consider anything enough if suddenly trolls and other huge creatures star to roam the grounds, tearing at anything they can grab.

Suddenly, Ariel sees Gandalf’s spiky grey hat poke out from between the masses and then he is next to her.

“Dale!” he bites out, “we need to get to Dale!”

Chapter Text

The humans have already fallen back, thankfully so, because the elven army hardly manages to reach the city before the orcs do. As they become even more obvious how well organised, they are, neat squares, all in shape, like a parody of their golden foes. They clash on the way, in front of the walls, on the walls, in the city.

All the time, over and over again.
Yes, Dale has been made to withstand an attack, it's stonen and proud, but the creatures run against the walls in a frenzy, crushing their skulls and unfortunately the walls alike. Their bellowing rings through the chilly air as the battle rages. 

At the same time, the Elven host starts to falter, not fully, but slowly, if you know where to look. Like one grain of sand after the other dislodging. Too many have fallen, too many have bled. This is not about cowardice, this is about exhaustion, about loss. The battle is falling apart. 
And their king is nowhere in sight. 

Her blade sings through the air, slicing into an orc’s throat before she spins on and catches another across the chest. Standing on the bridge towards the city, in full sight of both the Elves and the foes, she must make a choice. 
Her eyes roam the battlefield once more, from the few Mirkwood captains she can spot to the ridge where the king has vanished. 

Then there are signals, horns from the dwarves, sounding eerie and almost mournful. Now, she does no longer hesitate. 

“Elven archers, down, to the bridge. Artillery, fall in line!” she shouts.

Her voice cuts through the noise and she can see heads whip around or at least perk up. She isn't their king, they under no obligation to follow her - but she is royalty, has trained with some of them and probably outshines the wide majority in skill.
She is also in most minds still their potential future princess and she is not above using her connection to Legolas. 

Most of all, she is a voice in the chaos.

For a moment, she considers splitting her people and covering the dwarves' retreat, then she remembers how little she liked dwarves. No, she is willing to risk something for humans, but for dwarves - that is truly going a step too far. 
Haldir seems to feel quite similarly, since he doesn't argue. 

We still have a chance, for now. If I play this right.

Elves move into new positions; shields lock together and form a wall. The retreat is slow, but they lose less men and manage to keep away more foes from Dale, at least at the part where "her" part of the army is running. The other ends are still very much in chaos, just as the courtyards when they finally reach the enclosure. 
The ground already slippery from the rests of snow, mud, and blood. Thranduil is nowhere to be seen, either she has overtaken him somewhere on the way or he is in another part of the city. His elves though, they are here, taking care of the enemies that have already sneaked in beforehand.
Yes, the army is frazzling at the edges, but now with clear commands, they regain some of their former efficiency. 

Ironically, despite the dangers of Mirkwood, Ariel feels they haven't seen true war in centuries, millennia even, and overall, comparably little confrontation. That's what you get for hiding away - a false sense for security. Lórien isn't any different, she knows, and if she is honest, neither is Imladris, at its core. Elves only engage when they have to.
But Ariel - well, she remembers. Remembers so much war, aside from the Middle Earth orc hunts with her brother. 

"Archers, in position on the upper areas of the courtyard. The rest, form rows. Cover each other!" she shouts.

Haldir nods once before he joins the archers and the others follow him, even though she has absolutely no authority over them. 
It fills her with sudden satisfaction, that doesn't stay long though, since their foes do not stop coming. 

"Archers, position!" she calls out.
There is a flurry of movement, enough to make her call out.
"Archers, now!"

Arrows rain down from above, and for a moment she freezes to avoid accidently being hit. Creatures fall to the ground, black blood seeping into the snow. 
The sound of hooves is getting louder, but it isn't a horse.
Before she can decide whether she is delighted or rather weary, finally the king's elk runs around the corner, three orcs on his antlers. His lord removes their heads with one elegant strike - just to suddenly fall forward as his animal friend's knees buckle. 
Ariel can see an ugly black arrow protruding from its knee and whips around, reaching the perpetrator just because he can send another arrow fly. The orc lunges at her with a twisting blade, but she kicks it aside in one fluid motion. A swift twist with her sword hand does the rest. 

The king in the meantime rolls forward most elegantly as soon as he hits the ground, not wasting a moment. He jumps up like a coiled silver snake or like a giant wild cat to slash at the orcs with clear cold precision. Ariel has never truly seen him fight before and must say she is quite a bit impressed - or would be, if she had time for something like that. Right now, she is busy staying alive.

For a moment she thinks there might be a turn in the battle as the number of foes lessens, but she cannot be sure. They can only fight fight fight, and her lungs burn, and her sword feels heavier and heavier as the time goes on. Then, the last sword clangs to the ground. She looks around, blood everywhere, empty eyes, hunched bodies. But also, elves that start to flock to her, only demurely scattering as their king appears again from the Valar knows where. 
He has a cut on his cheek and yet he is still so incredibly gorgeous, still shiny and cold. His eyes though, they are haunted.

"Prepare to leave!" he barks at nobody in particular.
Ariel clenches her jaw. He is fully in his right to make them leave, but to her, it seems very ineffective. It is also dangerous - because without his support, the humans and dwarves will be defeated by the orcs that are still pouring in. She doesn't like the dwarves, but at least they are a useful bulwark against true darkness.
She steps forward.

"No."

His eyes widen, then the eyebrows scrunch together, all so quickly it almost looks comical.

"No?" It sounds like a threat. It probably is.
"No, you won't leave them like that," she tells him. She sounds confident, she finds, sharp, almost imperious. At least surprisingly imperious for an about 20-year.old-looking battered and bruised woman in the middle of a battlefield. Well, maybe, she thinks, maybe this is exactly the time to be bratty and imperious.

"Who do you think you are?"

A queen.
But she's not.
And apparently, Thranduil doesn't want an answer after all.
He pushes past her, but she can see the other elves are hesitating. Then, there is more movement, and a shock of red blocks his way. Tauriel is standing between the houses, bow ready. The snow starts swirling around her, it's oddly gruesome and haunting at the same time. 

"Don't you dare walking out on this!" she barks, flipping up an arrow, "a second army is approaching from the North. They are going to die!"

The king looks a bit indignant, but calm. Ariel is sure though that the anger in him is churning.

"Yes. They will day. Either today, or tomorrow, or in a couple of years. Because they are mortal," he points out. 

He is not wrong. And yet. 
She has fought for these mortals, killed and burnt. Almost lost her sword arm once. Accepted a stupid love in her friend. 
A friend who now won't budge with the courage of a desperate woman, even as the king steps towards her and with one clear strike cuts through her bow.

"It's not real," he tells her sternly, "what you are feeling is not real."

She wants to tell him he is wrong. He is wrong. So wrong. She only needs to look at Tauriel and knows it is true. And the king knows it as well, deep inside, he just doesn't want to see it because it is too close to his own heart. 
Ariel steps forward while her friend still looks at the shattered parts of her bow. A shattered weapon, shattered dreams. Shattered as they will all soon be, if they don't get going. 

"Love or no love, king. They will advance, whether you like it or not. They will, and you know it, though you don't admit it. I won't stand aside."

He just shrugs. Of course he does.
But that speech wasn't for him. It was aimed at the other elves who start to look a bit uncomfortable at the thought of their beloved Greenwood being destroyed.  Something he doesn't see, because he is too focussed on his own anger. An anger which is only growing as his son appears, a silvery prince, just to defy him and follow the disgraced captain in the direction of the battlefield. The look he gives Ariel tells her Legolas knows very well what she is doing, he has read the signs. It surprises her a bit: While her friend is certainly not dumb, he also is not a cunning strategist. But she can read him as well, and there is a hard line around his mouth, one her sweet butterfly usually doesn't show. Putting everything that has happened together, Ariel would wager it has to do with the orcs who targeted his mother - she has seen that look so often, on herself, in the mirror.

She steps forward to follow her friends, towards the lower regions of Dale.

"We secure the city."
It might be an information, it might be an offer. It might be a challenge, it might be nothing at all. Everyone can take that they way they want it.
Indeed, Haldir is next to her in an instant, they catch up with Tauriel and the prince behind the next corner.

"We need to get to the watchtower!" Tauriel explains, "they will start the second attack there!"

She wants to get to Kili - who apparently for some reason Ariel cannot fathom has ended up there - but truth be told, it is an issue one way or another, they can't afford to be surrounded. So, she nods. 
Then she turns slightly, towards the elves who are pouring around the corner, grey-faced, but determined. Willing to fight, even though they are defying their orders.

"Legolas, these are your warriors," she tells her friend, but the prince shakes his head decidedly.
"We both know they are not following me, dragonslayer."

She knows she should deny it, it would save them a lot of issues later (political catastrophes, most likely), but her pride won't let her. He is right, these people follow her, not him. They probably like him much better, but they trust that she can lead them. The elleth gives her friend a tight smile. 
"Make haste and get these bastards off the tower, we will swipe the lower sections of the city and follow."
Ariel takes off her bow, hands it to Tauriel. "Just in case. Now, let's move!"

She sees Legolas and Tauriel rush away, through the ruins, through the fighting, towards the ruined towers of Ravenhill. Haldir and herself lead their small group of warriors down in Dale in a bow-like way, clearing a pathway. Aside from getting rid of foes, her main goal is to find survivors, get them at least to the side or behind the next wall. It's not ideal, but better than being trampled on. 
From time to time, warriors that had been detached before joining her cohort, most of them probably without knowing anything about the inner-Mirkwood power plays. It suits her well. Thranduil is nowhere in sight, which suits her even better. 
Further down, the dwarves are finally gaining some ground, especially since there are no more commands coming to lead the orc army, a clear sign that whatever Legolas and Tauriel are doing, it is apparently working. 

"Ariel!" Haldir calls out, and she looks over the bleeding orc under her sword towards him.
"What?"
"The tower - the tower just fell over!"

Indeed - one of the Ravenhill Towers has tumbled, bridging the abyss. If she had to guess, she would assume that wasn't an accident at all. 
She has no idea what is happening over there, can only push further in their fight against what still feels like a wall of invaders. Her little army works like a ticking clock, discarding of the bodies, but they are so slow, far too slow.  When she looks up again, she thinks she can see movement in the fallen tower, but she cannot be sure. Desperation fills her, but she feels like stuck in one of these nightmares, the ones you try to wake up from, but cannot. There is no way out. 
The elleth decapacitates an orc shortly before he can get a hit on Haldir, then soldiers on towards their path, as she becomes away of the ... floundering. It's the only way she can describe it. A nervosity in the air, a restlessness. 

"They are getting clueless!" she realizes, "they must have taken out the leaders!"

Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but at least for a moment, they are gaining more ground. If she isn't mistaken, she can see the rest of the elven army coming from the city - well, that's a later-problem. Snow is biting her in her face, a white net on her golden hair. They are getting close enough now so that she can see the figures more clearly. Everything in her screams to run and look for her friends (and preferably kill that horrendous orc that bumped her nose), but there are Mirkwood Elves behind her now who have deserted their king to follow her of all people, so she cannot just run. She knows that, after all, she isn’t dumb. Bratty and spunky maybe, but not stupid. 
She wants to call out to Haldir, to tell him to go and check at the others, but then their eyes meet across the fight. He shakes his head.

"I am not leaving you, meleth nín."
His tone makes clear he won't budge on that.

As they finally reach Ravenhill, Ariel's arm feels heavy, and her head is getting hazy. The elves make quick work of all the earing orcs, efficient and in sync, though the signs of exhaustion are visible everywhere. The snow has stopped falling. Or maybe it hasn’t — maybe it just doesn’t dare disturb the silence that has descended over Ravenhill. Inside the tower, it's almost eerily quiet. Well, not quiet, after all, there is a battle going on, but it feels quiet. Like nobody is breathing. Bodies lie like shadows cast in stone.

Ariel jogs up the stairs as quickly as she dares, sword still in hand, taking care not to slip or stumble on the uneven steps. 

In a short time, the stairway opens up to what must have been a main chamber but now is only an open platform since so much of the walls has broken away.  Then she sees her. On the platform kneels a red-haired person, shoulders bowed over a still, dark shape. Her copper hair seems dulled, probably by dirt and smoke and blood. Legolas is standing off to the side, like a guardian, face strangely void and full of tragic sorrow at the same time. It is peculiar. He nods at her, seeming almost relieved.

Then Tauriel looks up as she hears her approach. Her face is scratched, lips split, and there might be bruises at her throat. But the pain in her eyes is worse. 
Kíli in her arms has his eyes closed, as if in sleep, but the blood on his tunic says otherwise.
Ariel can see she presses something into his hand, the hand she most likely hasn't let go off since she has found him - the rune stone. Then she keeps crying, almost oblivious to the world. 

"I was too late," Legolas tells her, but she shakes her head.

"We all were."

Seeing her friends like that with her love shattered in front of her makes something in Ariel crack - compassion, an emotion she doesn't allow herself very often. They have won, it seems, somehow, in some sense - but maybe they also have not, as she can see right in front of her.
Maybe she should get closer, but instead, she lets Tauriel be, alone with the grief and the ghosts. Maybe that is how it is supposed to be for now, with space to grief, at least for a bit. 

Haldir joins them quietly, more quietly than the wind rushing around them, like a hushed shadow on the gravel. He looks between all of them - her, the frozen elven-prince next to her, Tauriel kneeling on the ground. His jaw sets, he is tense, as if he were still on the battlefield.

“She stayed,” he murmurs. “Even knowing what it would cost.”

“That’s what love does,” Ariel answers quietly, though he hasn't truly talked to her.

He looks at her again - really looks - and something in his face shifts. For a moment, their eyes meet, and she sees desperation, pain, and hurt, that finally settle into what could be acceptance but also resignation. Ariel doesn't quite know yet what it means, only that something between them is changing again.

A bond reforged in shared pain, and in being there, after all.
Forgiveness she probably doesn't deserve, for things he knows about, and things he doesn't fully yet.

"The king will arrive soon," Haldir finally informs them lowly.

Legolas nods. "I will talk to him."

When Ariel wants to object, he cuts her off for the first time. "Let me first, this one time Círui. Believe me."

As he storms down the stairs, Ariel finally moves closer to Tauriel.  The silence between them is heavy with grief.

"I could not safe him," she says finally. It sounds hollow. "Now he is where I cannot follow him."

It hits her like a ton of bricks. Of course she has known it, on a theoretical level - if she were to die, she will go to Mandos, maybe be reborn one day. Never leave this world completely. 
Whereas Jaime, and her children, they are truly gone.
To follow them would mean to choose mortality, or maybe the other way round, it doesn't truly matter. She has always pushed off that decision, happy in the delusion that there is still so much time, fuelled by her youthful body and the different perception of time that immortality brings.
Besides, what would she choose? There are Haldir, and Arwen, and Legolas, and Tauriel. Her brothers. Ada and Nana. Glorfindel.
And yet, her beloved Estel will die. 

She swallows hard. This is not the time. Not for her.

"I want to bury him," Tauriel tells the cold sky, into the air.

"Yes."

He is a prince and a warrior, he deserves a grave, though the dwarves will likely want to have their say about it. She hunches down again.

“I warned myself,” Tauriel says after a long silence and looks up again. “I told myself not to feel too much. Not to hope.”

Well, look how that turned out. 

"And still you loved him."
That's all there is to say about the matter.

“I did.”

“Then he was lucky.”

Her friend turns to look at her and for a heartbeat, her grief cracks — there is a flicker of confusion, of pain, of disbelief.

“It hurts,” she said. “Why does it hurt so much?”

"Because it was real."
She frowns a bit.
"No matter what anyone says, grief him anyway. Other ways it will eat you alive."

As it did my father.

"They don't understand."

"No. But it doesn't matter."

Tauriel breathes out shakily, then rests her forehead against Kíli’s one last time, lips brushing his hair. Ariel gets up, one step, two steps towards Haldir who looks at her with an unreadable expression. There are voices below, Legolas and his father, and she sighs internally. Time to face the music.

She slowly gets up, feels her muscles protest. Even elves get tired at some point, and she has been moving and fighting for days now.

The king is shining like a beacon once she walks down the stairs, glaring up at her, while his son stands a bit apart, arms crossed.

"You defied my orders. You stole my army."

"I am not under your command, your majesty. And I didn't steal anything. I went, and others followed."

"It was not your call."

"And yet, it was necessary!"

"“You forget yourself. You undermined my authority in front of my captains. You led my elves into a slaughter. They died!"

"I remember exactly who I am. And more would have died, had we not fought, had we lost. Because you froze! And you know that too!" She must try hard not to sound too exasperated. 

The king sets his jack, then faces his son.

"And you followed her."

The prince sighs. “Father—”

"Finally, you are choosing her, after all the times you could have but didn't?"

"She saved lives! The lives of our people!"

The king scoffs, then faces the elleth again. 
"Be it as it may. You do not belong to my court. You never have. But I will never tolerate you to command my warriors again. I don't want to see your face around Greenwood in the next couple of centuries either."
He sounds surprisingly crude.

She nods. Fair play. "Understood. If I may settle my affairs in Dale though -"

It's not a real question; he has no authority about that, and he knows it. And there was no apology in her tone. Only steel.
He narrows his eyes at the backhanded dig, then shrugs.

"Suit yourself! Legolas-"

The prince glances towards Ariel, then shakes his head.

"So, you are choosing her, again? 
His father sounds almost incredulous. Then, suddenly something in his eyes shifts.

"There is a boy, in the North, the heir of the kingdom of men. A rumour. If you can't stay, then go and find the boy."

Legolas nods, while Ariel keeps her face as neutral as possible. They don't know about Estel, only rumours, apparently, but it's enough to make her protective instincts kick in. Something to look out for. Then, with a last, almost mournful glance, the king disappears.

The two friends look at each other, the silence heavy. Then she raises an eyebrow.

"Are you truly coming?"

´He gives her a crooked, wonky smile. 
"We both know I can't stay, not now, at least. And I fear Tauriel has to do some sorting out on her own. I always wanted to see your home."

Because Haldir won't follow you either and we will both be alone. Don't leave me alone.

She nods.
"Let's sort out this mess then and get out of here."

Her boots bump against bodies or fallen weapons with every step as they walk through the old tower, when a soft grunt finally pulls her attention. Another orc? Her head snaps around. Haldir behind her has heard it as well and looks just as alarmed. He points towards a pile of bodies, broken and bent. They creep closer. She shoves aside an orc corpse, but her breath catches as she discovers a shock of matted but unmistakably sandy-brown hair.

“Fíli,” she whispers dropping to her knees.

Ariel still doesn't like dwarves, but under these circumstances, every friendly survivor is a victory. Besides, her feelings are telling her Oakenshield is probably dead, which would make this dwarf the King under the Mountain - and she would by far prefer him to the guy on the pig. 

His eyes are closed, and his chest only rises shallowly and obviously painfully. Blood stains the front of his armour, and a jagged wound runs along his temple, maybe from a blow or a fall.

She touches his cheek with careful fingers. “Fíli. Fíli, look at me.”

He groans again, eyelids fluttering gently, too week to open them, but he seems conscious enough to recognize her voice.
“Pretty sure I’m dead, if an elf-girl is fussing over me.”

She snorts. 
"You absolute dickhead."

" I am. I -"

He starts to fade again, but she catches his face. “Stay awake, Fíli. Thorin would have your hide if you died on me now.”

Somewhere behind them, a horn blows. It sounds Elvish. Then a human one follows. Dwarven cheer. The mountain still stands. 

~ o ~

They leave as soon as Ariel thinks she can reasonably leave other people to do the job - maybe it's a bit micromanaging and controlling, but again, she has invested too much to let things to shit now. So, she oversees the killing of the last fires that still ravage the city, then the building of emergency accommodation in Dale, the first attempts of a structure. People slowly starting from thinking about survival to thinking about living. It will take years, most likely, but they will get there. 
Bard gets elected Master of Dale, and he is the right man for this job, she thinks, because he genuinely loves the people, because he genuinely cares. 

Could I have been like that? 
She probably couldn't, because nobody had told her to love selflessly. To love people, you rule over. 

The dwarves bury their king who has indeed fallen in fight with the white orc, a heroic death that makes up for a lot of the mistakes that have happened during his short reign. 
They bury Kíli next to him, the prince to the king, in a tomb of stone, far too far away from Tauriel's tree. She mourns that like she mourns him, but at least they let her be at the funeral, which is more than Ariel has expected.
And then she leaves, as Legolas has predicted, and none of her friends knows where she is going. Ariel doesn't know whether she knows that yet herself. 

Fíli recovers - mostly - he will never be the warrior he once was after what they have done to his lung and chest muscles, but he will be a good king, she thinks. A brave one, but thoughtful, shaped by grief, not heroic glory. Someone she could see as an ally. 
Which is good, since the signs of darkness are still looming on the horizon.

And so, Legolas, Haldir and herself finally leave together with the hobbit, without passing the Halls of the Elven King. It is a strange journey, with strange bonds she cannot quite describe. From time to time, she feels an odd feeling whenever Bilbo is there and cannot explain it, especially not since he is a genuinely nice fellow. It is a push and a push, a yearning and dark whisper at the same time.
As they part ways before the Misty Mountains, Haldir and herself look at each other for a long time. 

"Tell Estel I am sorry. I promised to protect you, and I failed, he has every right to be upset with me."

She smiles slightly. "You did more than you ever should have."

Because he has.

Chapter Text

Elrond had known it, as he tends to know things in that unsettling way of his. Gilraen fears it. And Ariel… Ariel has always understood it, perhaps even before Estel himself does. Perhaps better than anyone. And yet, she shares Gilly's fear.
The events of the Battle of the Five Armies as it was called now are still fresh in her mind. Dragon fire. Orcs. So much pain.
It is a cruel world.
And yet, Rivendell was never meant to keep him. He would outgrow it, in every way possible. 

For now though, Estel is delighted by her return, maybe more than ever someone has been to see her - or at least, more innocently happy. More purely, more genuinely. Without any second thoughts, any plan. Just glad that she is safe. He has grown in the meantime, quite a bit, and it pains her that she has missed it - humans change so fast, even Dúnadain. 
In a strange sense, the boy is proud of her, that she killed a dragon, saved a king, stole an army. But he is also resentful towards Haldir, a least a tad, and she thinks he can somewhat see through the strength she tries to uphold. Ariel isn't broken, but she is tired. So is Legolas, they are very alike in that, and that ties them together.

Estel likes the Greenwood elf, because he is quiet but kind, almost gentle, even though the battles have visibly hardened him. The boy admires the skills, looks up in him almost in awe, it's utterly endearing. Legolas on the opposite gets protective right away, and while Ariel doesn't know whether he connects the dots between a boy raised in Imladris and the lost heir he is supposed to search for, he certainly teaches him well.

The kid is thirteen years old when him and Ariel first set out into the true wilderness together, to go further than a day's ride into the near vicinity of Rivendell —Ariel cloaked in soft grey, with her trusting sword at her hip, the still long hair braided back in a ranger’s knot. Now that she is back home, she can indulge in caring for her appearance again, and yes, she definitely stands out with her frequently changing and finely made outfits. Her favourite cloaks for riding out are her silvery one from Mirkwood and a new one given to her by the Dúnedain, green with a deep red lining. The other greenish one with gold lining that she has had for so long, the one she was wearing when she came to Mirkwood for the first time, it is slowly becoming vaguely flimsy, but she cannot bring herself to get rid of it.

Estel is dressed in quite the same Dúnadain fashion as her, though with a definite Elvish influence, and carries a short sword now, a gift from Elladan. His grey eyes are keen, almost hawkish, in a face that is slowly beginning to outgrow the chubby softness of childhood. 
They first ride into the Weather Hills, a thankfully rather uneventful trip towards mossy ruins and looming old broken statues. It is an adventure for just the two of them, a changing point in his life, and he can't stop bragging about it for days afterwards. It's cute. As is her custom, Ariel tells stories about all the ruins when they pass them, true stories if she knows them, making up some if she doesn't. The boy listens wide-eyed, asking questions with the earnestness of a child and the weight of something older behind his eyes. Maybe it is the shadow of prophecy.

“You speak of them like you knew them,” he says one night, as they camp beside a dwindling fire, a pot of thin stew steaming between them, "even if they were not even real."

Ariel looks at the stars for a long moment.

"Well - I am quite a bit older than you are, tuig nín. And I have met kings before. And their sons. And I have seen the choices they made.”

Legolas, who has started to join them from time to time, snorts from the other side of the fire and she grins at him while the boy frowns. “But you don't think they always choose right, do you?”

She laughs — quiet and bitter-sweet - while the elven prince snorts again. They probably both just remember the same people.

“No. But some did. And when they didn’t… sometimes, others made it right later.”
She tapps the boy's nose affectionately.
"Remember that, Estel. The most important thing is not to be perfect, but to make things right when they are wrong."

Her eyes meet her friends' in the flickering light, he raises an eyebrow at the clear message. She shrugs, and the corner of his lips quirk up. He never mentions what he now knows, but she thinks he guards the boy even more closely in response. 

They travel further as time goes on, in the mountains and into Lindon. Never to the sea though, she doesn't dare to go that far. She is a half-elf, by any definition, so she doesn't know how the water could or would affect her. Everything about her emotions is complicated enough, she can't afford having to worry about sea-longing as well. Same applies to Legolas, the chances that he would be hit with emotions if he were in direct contact with the ocean would be pretty high as well, Sindar-family and all.

~ o ~

Over the years, there are close calls, of course. A nest of goblins in the hills. A river ford almost too deep after spring rains. The occasional orc.
But there is also laughter. Ariel chasing a wild goat through the hills because Estel promises he could tame it. A snowball fight in the high passes of the Misty Mountains that ends with them all half-buried in drifts. Nights spent beneath old stone arches, naming constellations she swears don't exist.

Aside from Estel, she sometimes rides out with the other rangers, but mainly with Glorfindel, Legolas, or her brothers. Then there is also Gilraen, and overall that makes for quite a respectable friend group - in comparison to having none in King's Landing. Legolas still calls her Círui, at least in private, and Estel sometimes adopts that nickname. She never corrects them. 
Still, the elleth misses Haldir like a limb though and she knows Legolas is feeling the same about Tauriel - she sometimes truly wishes she could love him in the way the word wants her to love him, but finds that she still can't.
She misses Arwen though, too, wishes her sister would come home.  But then - that would mean even more feelings, and no, she has too many of those already. 

Nevertheles,, overall, Ariel is happy. Her body has healed to the best it will ever be after the wars she has been through - mostly thanks to her father - and her fea starts to ache less.

Over time, her charge grows into himself. Hits a growth-spurt with fifteen that makes him shoot up like a beanstalk to about her own height. He soon becomes hardened by the elements, a better fighter than any boy that age should be. Like Jaime, she sometimes thinks, though Estel is absolutely nothing like Jaime, thank the Valar. He is uncertain, dark, shadowy. He listens more now. Speaks less. Walks in silence beside her with that quiet patience that she will never have.

"I wish life could always be like that," he tells her one day when it is just the two of them, as they watch the sun set over a ruin wrapped in ivy, colouring the walls in gold.

“Hmm, indeed... Though - You’ll leave me one day,” she replies.

“But I’ll come back,” he says simply. It seems so clear to him.

She doesn’t say no, you won’t.
She doesn’t say and that’s how it should be.
She just reaches out, and pulls the woolen cloak around his shoulders tighter.

"You let him go farther each time,” Gilraen says later. “With each season, he walks longer, rides further. Sees darker things. Should he truly see those things yet?”

Ariel’s voice is soft. “Gilly - you know this world like I know it. He has to know and has to see. And he is no longer a child.”

Robb Stark was only a little bit older when he led an army to war. I was only a bit older when I was sent to Mirkwood, to fend for myself in another king's court.

Gilraen fully turns to Ariel in the twilight, eyes dark and sharp.
“No, he is not. But I still remember - the weight of him in my arms. When he was just born, so small.”

The elleth says nothing. She knows that feeling. Too well. Three children. They are still on her mind. She still misses them, some days, like phantom pains.
Her friend looks away again. 

“You love him.”

“I do.”
There is no shame in it. No explanation. Just truth. Ariel knows she is not his mother, could never take Gilly's place. No, her love is different, still hard to describe. It's evolving, too, as he gets older.

“I fear for him,” Gilraen says finally. “Not just because of what lies ahead—but because of what lies within him. The blood of kings. It's a blood of warriors." She huffs in a very unladylike manner. "It's a blood of doom, and he knows it, too. Even though he doesn't know what he is feeling yet.  But it is in the way he watches the world, he is never content to rest.”

Gilly has a certain gift of forsight, a certain feeling for these thigns. And she is not wrong. Ariel steps beside her, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“Yes - But he is not alone. Not while I live. And certainly not while you do.”

The mother looks at her fully now. “Híriel nín, we are mortal. Out time passes differently than yours. So please, promise me that when I cannot follow… you will.”

Ariel nodds once. No ceremony. No oaths. Just understanding.

“I already do.”

~ o ~

There is an unspoken agreement - if it got too dangerous, they don't tell Gilly. Ariel is pretty sure she knows anyway, a mother has a second sense for these kind of things. Just like she can see from his face what he was up to whenever he leaves to range without her. 
Despite her promise to Gilraen, it is necessary to let him go, she knows. He needs friends, needs to learn to work in different groups. She can't make the same mistake again, holding a boy too tightly, forgetting the bigger picture. He is meant to be a king, and maybe that means getting into brawls with other young rangers when they stop by Imladris instead of being coddled by her.
And yet, she would lie if she said she wouldn't be proud and a little bit smug to still be his favourite partner. They sometimes talk "in the secret language that Ariel made up" - well, in fact she has been teaching him the Common Tongue of Westeros, but nobody needs to know that. Some day, it might come useful to pass on messages. 

Legolas understands it a little as well, he floats in and out of their life like the butterfly he is named after, hunting and ranging and overall being his pleasant self. He can't be kept and honestly, she wouldn't want to either. 
Wherever he is now though, she hopes it's safe and dry, since the sky looks all but inviting. Heady clouds are gathering like dark omens, restless air full of strange hushes, just waiting for the lightning and thunder. Ariel stands barefoot on the stone terrace in front of her appartment in one of the side wings of the main building. She loves this place, it's central enough to make clear that she is in charge and big enough to give her her own space and patio. The door to Elrond’s study suddenly slamms open and she flinches in suprise. Fast footsteps pound down the corridor. A shadow passes through the arch, swift and angry. She knows that silhouette.

"Estel!"

He stopps — even taller than her now, and definitely not lanky anymore. His hair seems to be wind-wild, which is suprising, giving she didn't know he was out at all. But then, there are also mud splashed on his cloak and tunic, and a red line on his cheek — a scratch or a branch strike, hard to tell.
She makes a couple of steps towards him.

"Where were you?"

“Out.”

"That’s not an answer. I can see that myself.”

He stares at her, jaw clenched, defiant. “I rode north. Past the ford.”

"Alone? With a storm coming? Without telling anyone?” she snaps.

“I’m not a child.”

"I ask again, kid: Without telling anyone?"

He doesn't answer, and that's answer enough..
Before he can register what is happening, Ariel has slapped him right over the face, hard. He reels back, obviously shocked.

"I am of the opinion that parents shouldn't hit their children. But thankfully, I am not your mother. And you are being dreadfully stupid. The first thing I ever taught you about ranging is to not go alone, and especially don't just disappear, without telling anyone else. Half Imaldris would have searched for you in a couple of hours, you are not just endangering yourself but everyone else involved!" She hisses.

Estel scoffs and rubbs his cheek, for from surprise than pain. "Lord Elrond - He treats me like I was made from glass."

"He loves you like a son. And he is afraid for you."

"But why? I am nothing special."

If you only knew.

"You are very special to a lot of people. People with very sharp swords. So you better watch your mouth, tuig nín."

Estel sighs, the tension finally draining from his shoulders. “Yeah, i'm sorry. I am trul sorry Ariel. I know it was dumb, but I felt trapped and I wanted - ugh, I jsut wanted to do something for myself, you know?" So, what do I do now?”

She almost chuckles, but then just arches a brow. “I am sure my father will find something nice to do for you. And I would recommend apologizing to your mother.”

He groans.

“Oh - and next time you want to run off,” she adds, her voice quieter now, “take me with you.”

~ o ~

She has wondered how it would go, Estel and romance. He is human, after all, and raised among elves and Dúnadain, both with very different attitudes.

“So,” Ariel says one day, not looking up, “how many hearts have you broken this week?”

Estel nearly chokes on air next to her. “I haven’t—! I mean— That’s not—!”

She finally glances up from her comfortable place on her bridge, grinning. He is eighteen now, even sports a beard, and yet blushes bright red when even thinking about that topic. The two of them look almost the same age now, at least if you don't look too closely. If you do, you'll see something ancient around Ariel, at least that's what Glorfindel says. 

“Oh boy, so there absolutely has been something going on with the two ranger girls. You’ve been avoiding Lúthiel like she has the plague, and Mirelwen nearly decapitated you in sword practice because you were so distracted. So - yes, I take it something happened.”

He groans and heavily drops on the planks beside her, almost onto her light green dress, covering his face with both hands. “I may have... kissed the wrong one.”

“Twice?”

He peeked at her through his fingers. “Once. The other one kissed me.”

“Oh, Estel.” She laughs, the sound light and low. “You’re dangerous already.”

“They both said they didn’t care! And then they cared very much," he almost whines.

Ariel leans back, letting the sunlight dapple across her face. She chuckles to herself.
“Of course they care, they are girls! What do you expect, you turtle!"

"I don't know! They are so different -" he starts.

She sighs.

"Elves are funny about love. We treat love like something sacred, distant, all or nothing. But you’re not an elf, and neither are they. Figure things out without it being a binding soul-oath."

He frowns. “Master Elrond says that love should be—”

“My father is very wise,” she interrupts. “But also very old, and very married, and very... Elrond. And - even more so - married to my mother, the best elleth he could have ever have met, if I say so myself. That's a very specific perspective.”

“And what would you say love should be?”

"I don't know what it should be. I just know what it can be."

"So?"

She sighs again. "Messy. Complicated. Full of mistakes and joy and terrible decisions and moments so beautiful they haunt you forever."

He studies her profile, the way her mouth twists a little at the corners. “You’re talking from experience.”

"Maybe I am."

"But you - you are Firstborn."

She shruggs and know she must be confusing him, but doesn't care to elaborate right then.

"And well - did you?" he goes on, unpertubed. 

She raised an eyebrow. 
"Did I what?"

"Do figure things out."

She snorts and hopes he can't hear the wavering in her voice. "Firstborn, remember. Binding soul-oath and all. But what I can tell you for sure - love often comes at a price."

"So you mean I shouldn't?"

Ariel finds that she doesn't quite know what to tell him, after all, she hasn't figured out anything herself. And yet, she finds herself shaking her head.

“Shouldn't love? No. Don’t let anyone shame you for wanting love. It's what keeps the darkness away, in the end. Just be honest. With them. With yourself.”

“Will I know when it’s real?”

She swallows, thinking about an elven king, about words screamed at Tauriel, whose love was considered unworthy. About her own marriage to Robert, in which nothing was real at all. About the people she loves here, really, truly. Thinks that maybe, loving Jaime was real. Not right, but real. And maybe that's all she needs to know. MAybe that is the answer to the question she has chased for millenia. Ariel feels something pierce in her soul, that splinter dislodge. Bleeding out, another open wound.
She nods.
"You will."
Then, after a pause, whith some more levity: “Also, if you ever write anyone a poem, for the love of the Valar, let me read it first.”

His horrified groan echoed through the trees.

~ 0 ~

Yes, the world had become darker, she has seen it for so long, and still, nothing prepares her for the moment when Sauron suddenly declares himself. He is back, the enemy is truly back, and she doesn't know what to do with that information. At first, Ariel is almost cathatonic. Then, she is a shaking mess, suddenly a little girl in dire need for her father. And he is there, as he has always promised he would be, face pale and drawn but steady. 
Most Eldar will leave, she knows this already, and she doesn't dare to ask her father what he is going to do. Not yet. She can't imagine making a choice, for any world or any life. And yet, the sudden danger makes something in her move. There is people down there in the South, where it happens, her sister, her grandparents, Haldir, they are all in the South. Two human kingdoms.
But there is also a prophecy, or at least the shadow of one, and as much as Ariel hates prophecies, she can indeed see the glimmer of something special in Estel. 

He has grown and developed beyond everything she could have dreamed - as a warrior, as a person. He is talented with a sword and a bow, a great ranger, a good healer. He is enduring, courageous, brave. But he is also so inherently good, with retaining flashes of almost childlike wonder at the world, a gentle strength, humour. 

~ 0~

It's almost weird - she has been preparing that for the last fifteen years or so, and yet she is getting antsy as Estel's 20th birthday comes around. Glorfindel notices and takes her out for training and hunting and throughly knocks her around, but even that doesn't help much.

"He'll be fine," her mentor tells her as he flipps her legs from under her once more. 
She falls to the ground but at least manages to kick his shin and knee. 
"He's pushed on a path he won't be able to get out off," she argues.

Glorfindel only gives her a "you are one to talk"-look. Unfortunately, he is right. 

Her father summons the young man with his mother together with Glorfindel, Erestor and herself - practically the highest-ranking advisors - into his study on the evening of his birthday. The young man stands in the centre of the room, tense and confused, his brow furrowed beneath a curtain of dark hair still damp from training and washing afterwards. He should be celebrating, Ariel thinks, instead of being burdened now. 

“Is something wrong?” Estel asks.

He sounds careful, respectful, but not timid. His eyes flicker first to his mother, then to Ariel, looking for answers. There is a long pause.

“No,” Elrond answers, finally turning from where he had been looking out of the window. “But it is time.”

Estel blinks. “Time for what?”

Elrond steps forward, every movement precise and composed. “You are no longer a child, Estel. And you are no longer a boy playing at swordplay in the woods. The world will soon call you to more than you can yet imagine.”

“I don’t understand, my lord.”

“You are much more than who you think you are.” His voice is calm and measured, but even he sounds tense. “Your mother called you Estel, since you should bring hope to your people. But your true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur — and last of the line of Kings of Gondor and Arnor.”

There is a deafening silence until Aragorn starts to laugh faintly.

“I do not jest,” Elrond says quietly, and the young man starts to look at each member of the small council in turn, confused. 

"Naneth? What -?" he finally asks Gilraen.

"We came here because your father was killed, and I feared that we were explicitly targeted. So, to protect you, I swore everyone to secrecy. You deserved to know when you were ready," she answers quietly.

“Ready?” Aragorn’s voice rises. “You think I was ready to be lied to? My whole life?!”

“No one lied to you,” Elrond argues with terrible patience. “We kept you hidden. Protected. Because, as your mother said, there are those who would kill you for your bloodline alone.”

“You should have told me,” Aragorn answers, voice trembling now. “You— you should have told me!” He turns to Ariel. “You knew? All this time? Is that why you cared? But then - You let me dream of wandering and adventures and—”

"I knew," she confirmes, "and I was appointed to train and - most of all - protect you. But Estel, I would have trained you, played with you, ridden out with you if you had nothing to your name. That wasn't the reason. That had nothing to do with it. We love you for who you are, not for who you could be. And you were a boy, and you weren't ready to carry the weight of an inheritance on your back yet."

His fists clench. “So what now?”

"Now you can walk your path with your eyes open."

Aragorn turns away, pacing, fury and grief bleeding together. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be some myth you raised in secret.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Elrond said, not unkindly. “The world has need of you. And one day, you must choose whether to answer.”

Ariel glares at her father, not even bothering to voice her disapproval. It's clear enough. She steps forward and touches the young man's shoulder. For the first time ever, he flinches from her, and she tries to cover up how much that hurts.

"Come."

He looks at her distrustfully, but as she nodds towards the exit, he follows her, just as when he was little.

Ariel - Her father's voice shoots through her mind.
She grits her teeth against the onslaught, but doesn't turn around.
I believe you did enough.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Erestor step towards them, likely to stop their exit, but Glorfindel clearly pushes in front of him, blocking his path and providing her a free way. As they leave, her mind stays quiet. 

~ 0 ~

Ariel moves ahead of the man, boots silent against the moss and fallen leaves, straight to the exit of Imladris. She says nothing as they knick some daggers on the way - just in case - and then leave Rivendell via a seldomly used path. Estel - Aragorn - doesn't speak either, only follows her quietly until they reach the ridgeline above the Bruinen.  The stars are slowly claiming the sky, cold and sharp and innumerable. It's a steep, exhausting climb and she chooses an almost punishing speed, but she knows he can keep up, if with a bit of effort.

When they stop, he is breathing hard, face red, but more from exhaustion than from anger. 

Ariel points towards the stars above, then sits down on a fallen log, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Go on,” she said. “Yell. Hit something. Curse the Valar if you want.”

Aragorn lets out a sharp breath. “I don’t need to—”

“Yes, you do.”

His jaw tightens, then he starts pacing. Not exactly what she would have chosen, but well, whatever works.

“Estel died today,” he says, bitter and low.

Ariel frowns. "Don't be stupid. You're still here." 

His shoulders sag, just a little.

“I don’t know how to be what you want,” he whispers. Then he turns, voice rising. “What do I do now, Ariel? What am I even supposed to be? A King of Ruins? A shadow of a line no one remembers?”

She stepps forward. “You be you. You are still you! That’s all you’ve ever have to be.”

A long silence. Then, softly: “I don’t want to be a king.”

"I know. That makes you extraordinary. Because here is the thing: You don't want that power. You get an opportunity, vague as it is, handed on a silver platter, and your first instinct is to give it up."

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"I believe it amkes you a very good person."

He breathes out, at least a little. "What would you do?"

"I want that power, Estel, in some sense. I have spent centuries consolidating my place in Middle Earth, trying to maintain my status. You are a much better person than I am."

“I’m not ready,” he says finally.

“No one ever is.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration spilling out in a sharp exhale. “I had a life. A future I wanted. And now it’s…” He gesturs vaguely, then kicks against a rock. “I don’t even know what it is anymore.”

“It’s still yours,” Ariel said. “You’re still the same person you were this morning. The name doesn’t change that.”

He scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say. I feel like everything has shifted and I just want to know myself.”

She smiles, a little ruefully, then scrambles to her feet. “Then stop trying to find him in the wilderness. Start looking here—” Ariel stepps closer to him and tapps his brow. “And here.” She presses his chest lightly.

A beat.

He laughes suddenly, sharp and young and weary all at once. “You always do that. Pull the sword from my hand before I realize I’ve drawn it.”

“That’s because you’re still clumsy with it.” Her smile sharpens slightly. “Metaphorically.”

Aeagoen has to smile, despite everything. “You’re not that much older.”

“I’m ancient compared to you, tuig.”

A long silence stretches between them. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hoots. Aragorn sighs, tilting his head back to look at the stars. She knows he can see mroe in them than most humans do, can read the stories she has written into them for him in all those years, but the relationship is still different thatn the one elves have with the celestial bodies.

“I don’t want to be a king,” he admits again.

“Then don’t be.”

He frowns, a bit confused.

Ariel shruggs. “Be a ranger. Be a warrior. Be a stubborn, reckless fool in the wilderness. The world doesn’t get to decide for you. Take the broken pieces, forge something new, metaphorically and truly. Narsil's shards, they are yours. But you’re not Isildur. You’re not your father. You’re you. You're only you.”

“Elrond seemed to think otherwise.”

She smirks. “My father and I seldomly agree. Elrond always thinks otherwise. He’s very old and very wise, but he’s not you.”

That's the thing about Ariel - she has learned about the greater good, about putting her own wishes behind duty and all of that. And yet, Ariel has also always been difficult, and don't let her get started on Cersei. So, her willingness to sacrifice for the world is relatively restricted. Yes, she knows Aragorn would make a good king - after all, she helped raise that man, she must know. But then, the selfish part in her would see the world burn rather than have him do something that he doesn't want. It's the way she is: SHe sees the bigger picture, acknowledges it, and then sends it to the Seven Hells.

Aragorn hesitates, then leans his head against her shoulder. For a moment, her hand comes to rest on his shoulders in a half-hug. Then, the man suddenly lifts his head.

"We just walked out on my lord," he registers with a vague sense of panic.

Took him quite a while in his anger. 

"Yes, indeed." Ariel's voice is both very dry and very unconcerned.

"But -"

"He'll get over it. Eventually. He probably will blame me for it anyway."

"But - Aren't you sworn to loyalty or something like that?"

She frowns. 
"You had a shitty day, that's the only reason why I let you get away with questioning my loyalty to my father. And what is going to do anyway? Send me to my room? Please! I am running Imladris whenever he is away - sure, he could take that away from me, but that's more trouble than it is worth. Send me to Lórien? That's not a chore. Send me away on a mission? I have people who are trustful and who would come with me in a heartbeat. Don't worry about me, tuig nín. I promised your mother to protect you. You’re not alone in this,” Ariel says quietly. “No matter what path you take, I’ll walk it with you.”

He turns to look at her. A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Even if I become a stubborn, reckless fool in the wilderness?”

She grins. “Especially then.”

Chapter Text

For a bit, life continues as before, if a little bit more tensely, as everyone is trying to figure out what to do with the new knowledge and where they stand, with each other and in the world. Ariel thinks Aragorn is relieved when he notices how little his closest acquaintances care - because they knew anyway. It must sting and help at the same time.
Some of the rangers though, they treat him differently, and it obviously bugs him. Whether the novelty will wear off remains to be seen.

Of course, Ariel worries about him, but she refuses to believe that he will be anything but fine. Too much has happened, he just has to be. Needs to be. She will make sure he will be.

And then, finally, the news: Arwen returns. After years of separation, years of change, she will finally see that sister again, her sister whose necklace she is still wearing day and night, like a good-luck charm and a promise. She just appears, there is not much pomp and circumstance, like the rising evenstar she is named after. Still tender, less timid, with a quiet strength, Arwen has grown up as well. She isn't coloured to much by grief and war, but more by worry, maybe even by a bit of resentment, by being left behind.
When she hugs her sister, the twilight to her morning light, Ariel thinks she won't let her go for at least a century.

She must say though she is vaguely disappointed that it is not Haldir who has brought the Evenstar home from Lórien, but a fully different escort. Friendly, good people, but not who she is longing for. 

"His place is with the Galadhrim now," Arwen tells her gently, "you have your duty, and he has his."

That is probably true, and yet it hasn't stopped him before. Ariel has the feeling Legolas is just as disappointed, which is a bit odd, but then, they all did go through quite a lot together at Erebor. Connecting would have been good for everyone.

Alas, all her wishes fade into the background soon later. She hadn't meant to pry, she is standing on the random little balcony quite on accident, just out of an exhausting meeting with Erestor. They get along, just barely, but he is grating his nerves each and every time. 
Now, she takes a couple of calming breaths from her lookout before trying to decide how to go on - and just like the time when she notices Glorfindel sneaking around, movement captures her attention. She frowns, but relaxes when she notices Arwen between the trees, more a shadow in the twilight. 
Her sister seems to be lost in thought, down there in the gardens, or maybe she is just watching her surroundings, in any case, Ariel is pretty certain she doesn't notice her observation, despite their connection. Any other day, she would have simply gone to her rooms, feeling secure in the knowledge that the borders of Rivendell are well-protected. This evening though, something seems to force her to stay and watch.

Suddenly, there are more sounds, rustling in the leaves, steps, a bird that lifts its wings and takes flight. The golden-haired elleth frowns, because she knows those steps. Then Aragorn stumbles onto the open plain, strangely awkward, far from his usual grace. His legs seem wonky, like the one of a foal - it doesn't need the gift of foresight to realize what she is seeing. The young man is transfixed by Arwen's almost otherworldly beauty - how could he not be -and it certainly makes him act like a bit of an idiot. 
Well, how can he not - he is just a man, after all, and Arwen, Arwen is probably the most beautiful creature alive in Arda. If she didn't love her so much, Ariel would hate her for that. Stars seem to dance on her shadowy hair, like a net of light of a veil, she almost doesn't seem real. If the Maiden had ever needed a face, that is what she should have looked like, not like the cold statures in the septs. 
These two have never met, and now that they do, time seems to stop, as if to make a point.

Ariel's breath catches, as threads seem to pull tight across time, to anchor this moment. From her position above, she can't see the whole scene, but as he moves a bit to the side, she catches a glimpse of his expression: The man looks at Arwen the way Jaime once looked at her, before it all burned down. With awe, with terror, with surrender.
He has never been shy around elves, having been raised among them, but he doesn't dare to approach her. Instead, they stare at each other from across the little clearing. 
Then he calls out to her, he calls her Tinúviel. A reminder, maybe. Also, a heralding. 

The sister feels something cold settle under her ribs. 
No, she can't see the future, but she can read this, she can read where this is going. This is doom, sealed in the shape of love. This is fear, and pain, and destruction. 

Valar, why them, too?
Why do you keep hurting the people I love with love in return?

This would not have a happy outcome, she knows this, even as the two slowly approach, quietly, almost like shadows. The wheels have already started to turn, and she can only watch them, ready to rise like stars, before the slow, inevitable fall. 
She has started to believe love can come with something good, has hold onto that belief despite everything that was shown to her in opposition, just to be proven differently, once again.
No, maybe she was right all along. Maybe love is only sweet poison, and nothing more. 

~ o ~

Maybe it is the coward's way out, but alternatively, she will probably burn Imladris down in frustration, so she leaves before the morning even comes, with only the shortest notes of goodbyes. 
It is a bit unusual for her, but nothing people won't chalk up to eccentricity. 
She doesn't really have a plan where she is going - 'away' is a good start, and North feels somehow like a good choice.
Somewhere, where she can rage, and break down, and figure it out in private, away from prying eyes and questions.

She had known Aragorn would be - was - marked by fate, but she had not expected love to be so cruel.
Wasn't a crown enough?
The images still burn behind her eyes, no matter how fast she runs. Further, she needs to go further. 

Lo and behold, she makes it about half a days' ride on foot as she hears hooves behind her. Familiar ones, one horse.
At first, she curses under her breath. Then, she stops on the side of the road she has been keeping to so far, sitting down on a fallen tree with her legs stretched out in front of her. Hiding would be ridiculous. 

Just in a bit, the silhouette of a white horse indeed shoots around the corner - Asfaloth, as she had expected.

The rider stops in front of her, looking down. The sun is slowly creeping up by now, and the first streaks of sun make his tousled hair glow beautifully golden. He looks ethereal, and yet, the look he levels her with is so absolutely human, so personal. It says more than a full paragraph of words, and most things aren't particularly nice.
But there is also some understanding as he gets down from the horse and approaches her further. 
Ariel still doesn't care to stand up, just stares at Glorfindel defiantly. 

“Are you finished?”

She frowns. "I - what? I’m not going back.”

He snorts. " Yes, I gathered that much. Let's speed this up then."
The elf gracefully starts to take off the saddle bag.

"What?"

"You are not going back, I am not letting you go alone, as I taught you for years now. As you are very well aware. So, I am coming with you."

She flips back her hair. "I am not in the mood for company."

"I don't care what you are in the mood for. I am not in the mood for seeing you dead."

She sets her jaw. "I can take care of myself!"

"Clearly, you can. That is not the point." He looks her up and down. "For a surprise escape, you are very well equipped. But nevertheless, darkness is rising."
He passes an additional bag to Ariel - well, drops it next to her - then whispers at his horse. Asfaloth neighs softly, then turns and starts trotting in the direction they came from. After a while, he falls into a canter and disappears between the trees.

She sighs, annoyed, but also knows when she has lost against him. Glorfindel is persistent, and she knows he will stick to her like a barnacle now, so she might just deal with it.

"Where are you going anyway?"

Ariel shrugs. "I don't know. Need to get away."

"Obviously. Good, let's continue on the road then."
Without further ado, Glorfindel turns to go, and she follows him, vaguely into the direction of the Shire. 
They walk in silence, for a good day, until they speak again, though she feels they have already said quite a bit in the silence.

"I know why you left.”

"How come?"

"I saw a couple of faces and reactions. I know you. It was fairly easy to figure it out."

Her throat tightens.
"He is meant to carry a crown that he doesn't know how to carry, how is he supposed to carry a love like that as well?"

"Are you sure this is actually about him?"

She gives him a dirty look and he sighs.

"There is that look again. You knew it was never going to be easy, and you prepared him well. Now, trust in him. There are no shadows yet on his path."

“I know where this ends, Glorfindel.”

"No, you don't;" he tells her clearly, "whatever you think you know might be thrown over by the smallest pebble. Nothing is certain."

"Some things are certain! I have lived them before!"

His jaw tightens. "You know as well as I do that is no excuse to run. You think you are protecting yourself, but you are only leaving him to face it alone. Him, and your sister, and your father. Because you of all people should know how it feels to care about one's child!”

It's definitely a low blow even though it is true. She flinches, nevertheless.

“You and I both know the weight of prophecy, of destiny," he continues. „And we both know what it is like to care for someone fated to bear it.”

Ariel swallows when the wheels start to turn in her head at his words. "There is a prophecy - about me? Here ... as well?"
She sounds indignant but also horribly uncertain and hates it.

Glorfindel nods. "Indeed."

"Don't tell me!" she rushes out, "please ... don't."

"I was not going to."

"Why did nobody ever tell me?"

"Because then you would have thought about it. Obsessively."

"And instead, you simply decided to withhold it 'for my own good'?" she snaps.

He shrugs. "Well, I see the overthinking is already starting. And you certainly had no time for that while trying not to be eaten by a dragon. And besides, it's not that deep, or presumptuous or mysterious anyway anymore, now that I know you and know what you get up to. Given all your activities, it is simply a description of you. So nothing to worry about. "

"So, you could have told me then?!"

"I could have - but I decided not to." He looks at her seriously. "I didn't want to hurt you with that. But I couldn't risk see you hurt or fade either."

She has known for quite some time that she to him what Aragorn is to her - but he has never spoken to her of those fears. Ariel wants to be furious, and she is, but she understands him so well, would have done the same thing.  Her shoulders sag slightly. 

"I can't face it right now."

It doesn't truly matter whether it is about Estel or herself, fact is she can't go back to Rivendell just yet. Her mentor considers her.

"Alright."

She meets his gaze, reading the silent meaning behind it: She is not alone, has never truly been, ever since she has been reborn in this strange big world.

~ o ~

They are away for days, but even though it feels like it, nothing much is different once they reach Imladris again. Most people probably don't even know about what has happened, about the shifts. Her father is calm and collected and doesn't open the topic, and it feels unnecessarily cruel bringing it up unasked. Legolas on the other side has no such qualms. He corners her as soon as she is back. 

"So?"

"You have heard about it?"

"Hmm." For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

Ariel exhales slowly through her nose, kicking a pebble in front of her. “It had to be her, didn’t it? Everything else was too easy.”

“You disapprove?”

Ariel hesitates, not sure how to explain it.

"You didn't ... you were there for Tauriel. More than I was or could be. Why not now? Why not for them?"
It sounds curious, but also almost like a challenge.

She sighs. "I never approved of it. I knew it would hurt her, and I never wanted that for her. Also, I don't like dwarves, you know that I don't. But I love her more than I hate dwarves, so I was and will be there for her. And from a practical point of view, the damage was relatively minimal. A woodland captain and the spare of the lonely mountain - others would have even called it a wise alliance."

They start walking, perfectly in synch, out of earshot of the other houses. 

"Yes, I hated that she fell in love with a mortal, because that would mean she would have to face the pain of losing him, one way or another," she adds finally, "but she is eternal, and I trusted we wouldn't lose her."

"So, love comes down to calculations?"

She shakes her head. "Certainly not. Love is far too mercurial for that. But it comes with calculations, and with consequences, and we would be fools not to take that into account. After all, that is why we were set up with each other since the beginning."

He acknowledges her point with a short nod. "So would you have tried to stop Estel if you could?"

Ariel sighs. "I am going to lose Estel to life. For Arwen there is death now, wherever she turns, in some way. But trying would have been useless anyway."

"So do you believe it was their fate?"

"Fate, prophecy, determination," she shrugs. "I do believe that there are connections to people, and paths in front of us that may lead us somewhere. But maybe it is on us to decide whether we follow it or not."

"Calculations again."

She snorts. "Calculations, indeed. And hope. But whatever they do, it will change them." A pause." It already has."

Legolas studied her again, his voice quiet. “The choice is not your burden to bear. Both, they are adults. They need you to be their friend, not their mother, not their commander. They will choose, and you will have to live with that. I understood that too late.”

Ariel let out another breath. “I know you are right, and I hate that you are.”

She lets the silence stretch between them, the night settling into their bones.

"What would you do?"

The question takes her aback. "As you are very well aware, him and I do not share, nor have we ever shared that sort of relationship."

"That is not what I meant, excuse me. I rather meant, would you follow love, even if you were not meant to."

Ariel hesitates. "Did you talk to Haldir about this?"

Her friend looks at her slightly confused. "I assure you, I did not."

She huffs. "Hmm, it does sound very much so.. well.... Once, I would have always said yes. Without questioning it. But now - everything has a price. And sometimes the price is too high." There is a pause. "But what do I know - I haven't met that kind of love yet." 
Ariel gives him a sharp look. "Though something tells me your questions doesn't come from nowhere."

Legolas shrugs but doesn't answer further, which only confirms her suspicion, though she cannot by the life of her figure out who might have caught his eye.

~ o ~

To nobody's surprise, Elrond is all but amused about the whole situation.
In a nutshell, no there is definitely no agreement for any kind of union for the time being - as far as Ariel is concerned that is just fair enough, since her sister is as old as a tree and Aragorn just became an adult. He embarks on different adventures into the forests of Eregion, becoming rougher and wilder, even more of a Dúnedain.
Her own time is spread between her family and her friends and running Imladris.
Arwen has definitely been rather sheltered in Lórien with much time to become cultured and less education in being a leader.  Well, should Aragorn ever become king, and should he then marry Arwen - a lot of ifs - she will have to rule, so Ariel grudgingly steps aside a bit to leave more responsibility in Rivendell to her. Elrond doesn't like it, certainly hoping his daughter will never need it, but his youngest tells him in very clear and uncertain terms that he must be aware of long-time effects - for once sounding very much like Tywin talking about playing the long game. The thing is, with his gift of foresight, he can't tell her she is wrong either.

To make up for the loss of her power, she increases her influence otherwise, mostly through external connections.
There are steady letters to Laketown and Erebor, connecting them to Rivendell, and the odd missive to Lórien. She is the one communication gets addressed to (other than her father, of course), and yes, that makes her proud. He might be thinking about leaving Middle Earth already, and sometimes so does she, but she is also to stubborn and ambitious to simply let things be. 

Ranging is mostly concentrated to short and middle range excursions, though that is enough to keep and foster her connections to the humans and even the odd halfling. They are a bit strange and she mostly stays away from them because they don't seem like a huge military advantage, but it is important to know her neighbours and Bree is a crucial trading and meeting place.
 
Overall, it is a calm time, sometimes a bit tense, a bit worries, but really truly untroubled, compared to the times she almost got grilled by a dragon.
Maybe that makes her to uneasy, the feeling that something might happen any minute. The knowledge that Sauron is out there, down in Mordor, in what she has been told is basically a huge fiery pit or something like that.
Or maybe it is some remaining Lannister recklessness that finally makes her go up to her father and declare "- I believe we need some fire of our own, don't you think?"

At first, Elrond is sceptical, and to be honest, so is she. It also takes a lot longer than expected, since she has actually no clue what goes into the original wildfire or how it is made - she just knows it works incredibly well. So, she leaves her father's smiths and alchemists with her reports, orders, and ideas for improvement, because she really can't help with it, and decides to wait.

Of course, she still feeling responsible towards Aragorn, keeps visiting from time to time, and after some bitter complaints has taken Arwen with her as it seems safe. 
There is some reasoning to it - maybe they will find out that they are no fit after all once the fascination wears off, or otherwise, at least they will go into whatever this becomes with eyes open. As much as she does not want this union, she would even more hate for Arwen to stumble into something unknown. Nope, she had enough of that with Robert for a hundred lifetimes, thank you so much. And yes, she might have married off her children, but she had no choice, she tells herself. And didn't she try to get back Myrcella after all? Didn’t she try to be a good mother and protect her daughter from her own fate?
So by the Valar, she will do the same for Arwen.

~ o ~

Only a handful of years later, more the blink of an eye to an elleth, Imladris sees another meeting of the White Council. There is a latent fear as reports tell them of a rising dark tower, but they are also discussing the Rings of Power, especially the One Ring. It makes Ariel slightly queasy and excited at the same time, and also not only a little bit jealous to see the two wizards and two family members more or less openly flaunting their power. She wants this, clearly wants this. No, it is not discussed who actually has the rings and no, they are generally not visible, but given how little changes in both Lothlorien nor Imladris over the times, she would bet good money on the fact that Elrond's and Galadriel's power both get amplified by something else.
She has gotten used to the constant presence of her father’s and Galadriel's rings, but together with the wizards' powers, it feels truly unsettling and makes dark voices in her mind peak up, if only a little. Thank fully only a little, after all, she has no intention to go mad, no thank you. Besides, these are the elven rings, which is not their intent. 

Saruman claims he knows that the One Ring has been lost, and something about it clearly rubs Ariel the wrong way - maybe it's the everlasting condescension and annoyance when all the other members let her join without justifying it, but no, she feels there is something else. As if unhealthy ambition (yes, she knows that about herself) can sniff it out in others. There is a lie hidden somewhere, and she isn't sure yet where.
To herself, it is clear why Mithrandir and her father want her to listen to what they say - she still is considered Aragorn's protector so some extend, so in a messed up way, they make her responsible for humans. To be fair, she also brought that on herself with her continuous engagement and power play.

Speaking of humans, apparently both Gondor and Rohan have just seen a change in leadership, with Gondor having a new Steward in Ecthelion II and Rohan a new king, Thengel. The names don't mean anything to her, but she doesn't miss the glint in Saruman's eyes. Maybe it is finally time to look South, she thinks.
After the council, she leaves Imladris for Lothlorien, a gateway to Rohan, if she so wishes. She can see Legolas wishes to go with her, but expectations finally call him back and he reluctantly parts ways with her. She wonders how that will work out, all the feelings he still harbours towards his father, all the clear wishes to do something else. 
But he is their prince after all, and as prince he has some duties, she understands.

Haldir has become a marchwarden, guarding the boarders, and while they meet from time to time, her grandfather mostly assigns her own party and stretch of the boarder to guard. At first she isn't sure what to think about it - after all, there is no relationship they need to try and break up or anything like that - but maybe this is about something else: Maybe it's about authority, about letting him have space to command while preparing her - for what? She still doesn't know, she only knows that he makes her meet as many guards and elves in general as possible. In short, she decides, he is prepping his people to fight under her command, and given she has partly grown up in Lórien and gained quite a reputation, they accept her rather easily.
In case she ever has to steal an army again, that will be an easy task here. 

The fact that she is smart enough to assimilate by once again copying their style and dialect certainly helps. Back to greens and browns and greys to blend in with the forest, though the browns are different than in Greenwood, if that makes sense. Less woodsy, more starlighty. It's the High Elven influence, certainly. The cut of the tunics is also different, longer and more flowy, though she has hers made to look like a mixture of both. The colour she picks is also more silver than grey and decorated with understated but intricate patterns, a testament that she still intends to stick out. She definitely misses her beautiful dresses, but elaborately decorated tunics make up for it, somewhat. Mostly. 

Her and Haldir never discuss Aragorn and Arwen, in fact, she doesn't think he actually knows about what has happened. Truthfully, she doesn't feel like explaining it to him either, so these things remain unspoken of.
There is a distance, as if there are more things they are not talking off, but she doesn't know how to bring it up without destroying even more. So, it stays a silent issue.
And yet, he wears the red cloak she has brought him, a promise from years back when she first left Lórien, that she would gift him one once she returned. A promise mroe than a century in the making, a sign that whatever they were or where they stood, they would endure. 

~ 0 ~

They say the first meeting between Aragorn and Mithrandir seems like an accident, but Ariel is sure it has been carefully planned: Them, meeting in the North, a place that the young man has made his temporary home. He is there to give the man a push, to send him South - connecting people, crossing boarders, just as Ariel has done. To Rohan at first.

"You need to go, too, Minuial," her grandmother tells her, as direct as ever.

She looks aghast. "Why?"

"Aragorn - he needs you. "

"I thought I was meant to let him go alone," she argues even though she is already mentally calculating where he could be by now and how and where to meet him.

Galadriel sighs. "Yes, but you have seen the shadow that stretches over Rohan from Isengard. It is getting longer. He has become a man, but my heart tells me that even the best of men is stronger if they aren't alone."

Ariel nods. "Then I will go."

Celeborn rolls his eyes fondly. "As if anything would have stopped you."

He is right, nothing would have.

Chapter Text

The wind moves softly through the mallorn leaves, it keeps whispering to her in tongues only the trees and those who had lived long enough can understand. It calls for change, for trouble, for love, for hope. For her to be on guard. And so she is, and so she waits, at the edge of Lórien. If Estel decides to show up, it will be in the next month or so, given her estimation, and in the meantime, she will go about her job as a guard and protector of this Elven realm. She knows that as soon as he will reach the boundaries, someone will find him and alert her.
One day, finally the message comes, just a whisper once again, of a young man that has been picked up further up in the North and who is being led down by a small entourage. She feels them before they reach her, like a compass needle drawn to the North, and then Ariel almost laughs as they come into sight in the shadowy light under the trees. Aragorn and Haldir, both looking vaguely sulky and cross with each other. Her heart clenches at the sight, of these men who she loves so dearly in such different ways.

As she steps out of the shadows, both look at her a little surprised, and maybe with a bit of awe and no uncertain affection.
Whoever else they might adore, she is the one who fought with them, touched death with them. She holds pieces of their hearts in no uncertain terms.
She smiles a little. "You're late."
“I was not aware we’d set a time,” Aragorn retorts.
"Don't try to be smart," she scolds him, but the way she says it betrays her words.
Aragorn looks just - almost - as she remembers him, but he has definitely grown up even more. The jawline is sharper, he holds himself with more certainty, and he definitely looks scruffier.
"You should shave," she comments offhandedly.
Then she looks at Haldir.
"And you, mellon nín, you should sleep more."
He gives her a half smile.
"I will keep it in mind. Though so should you."

The elf turns to Aragorn. He is serious, maybe even a bit worried.
"This time it is you who needs to have her back."
They both know she doesn't need a protector, but that is also not what he is asking the young man to do. He is asking him to take the place he would usually occupy. A warrior's place, to guard another warrior's weaker side. Not that her weaker side is much weaker anymore, mind you.
Ariel can literally see how the young man is biting his tongue, and his eyes widen, and she thinks that maybe that is what they have been arguing about. But then he nods.
"Of course."

There is silence, as if the forest is holding its breath, but then to her utter surprise, Haldir suddenly moves and their hands meet — briefly, a warrior’s clasp. She holds on almost desperately, feels the connection warm between them again, as their foreheads touch. Then the moment breaks, and he nods at her and so does she, and he disappears. The borders of Lórien are quiet again, the elves of her own party nowhere to be seen.

Ariel turns to her new companion who has been watching with fascination.
“Your road leads to Rohan, I assume?” she asks, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Indeed. I am meant to serve the king, to gain experience in the realm of men. And yours?"
“With you,” she answered simply.
"Don't you - I mean, I appreciate your companionship, but don't you have orders here?"
He seems hopeful and confused at the same time.
"I have promised to go with you whenever you need a companion. And that is one of those cases. Stop arguing and wait while I get my bundle."
She has been prepared for weeks, can pull her pack and bow from her storage in a tree in a few minutes. Aragorn is impressed, which tells her she apparently needs to repeat her lessons about preparation.
One deep breath.
"Let's go."

Suddenly, she finds herself in the biggest bear hug with his arms tightly around her. He is taller than she remembers, or perhaps it is simply that he has grown into the man he was meant to become. But she isn't short either, especially with boots on, so she feels his breath on her hair as he exhales. It's like a weight has dropped off him, and she gets it - he has been on the road for weeks, alone, always alert, and for the first time can lean onto someone else for a little. She would feel the same. She knows the elves consider it as odd, the way she accepts physical affection, and yet most have gotten used to seeing it.
Funnily enough, she never was like that in her former life - Cersei would have frowned at public affection. Maybe growing up in a healthy household changed it.

“I've missed you,” he tells her simply. “And Lórien is a beautiful but strange place to pass.”
“And the world beyond its borders is stranger still,” she replies. “But I’m glad you came.”
As she steps away from the trees and towards the open plane, her treacherous heart leaps.
She knows she won't return for a long while.
This is exciting, but also scary, and she would be a fool not to acknowledge that. And fools get killed.

There is a hush in the air as they sets out, a heaviness in the air that has nothing to do with the slight mithril reinforcements in the padding under her tunic - just in case, after all, she doesn't know where the voyage will go exactly.
"I hoped you would come," Aragorn suddenly admits after a mile or so, "though I suspected you’d be wearing something more dramatic.”
Ariel huffs and glances down.
"Fitting in is a skill, as I have tried to teach you. I am saving the drama and effect. We are on the road, not at court."
“Where you do love a grand entrance.”
“That I do indeed. And I learned from the best.”
He gives her a look. “That would be Glorfindel.”
She laughs softly. “Touché. Though King Thranduil would be appalled to hear that.”
Aragorn looks into the distance. "One day I want to travel to Greenwood and see him for myself."
"You will, most likely. But for now, there are other things to do."
"With you."
"With me. Of course, with me."
He glances sideways at her. “I assume you’ll still take the lead half the time.”
“Of course,” she answers. “You get lost in your thoughts too easily. Someone has to make sure we survive.”
He laughs, the sound warming the cool morning. “And if I were to find the right road?”
She tilts her head, smile sly and wistful. “Then perhaps I’ll finally let you lead, tuig.”
But neither believes that.

~ o ~

The road south - if one could even call it a road, it mostly isn't, it's more an almost invisible path - is rough and unkind.
By the third day of travel, the air has turned colder, with clouds pressing in. The plains stretch wide in front of them, only interrupted by hills, and stones and the occasional tree. Aragorn huffs.
"Why again did we not take a boat south on the Anduin?"
"That would have meant crossing Lórien and then reaching the boarders of the Emyn Muil and moving West again to get to Edoras. With you coming from the North-West, it didn't seem sensible," she answers.
"We should get horses though," he argues, "after all, we are in the country of the horse-lords now."
She nods. "We certainly will, at some point."
There is a thought in her mind though, for now, that she doesn't yet share.

It becomes important a couple of days afterwards, when a dark band becomes visible on the horizon. Aragorn frowns.
"Fangorn? I wouldn't have thought we are that far West."
She scoffs. "Well, you should have, instead of simply following me. That might get you killed!"
He scoffs back. "You are always telling me that!"
"Because it is true, and you should learn!"
He sighs, because he knows he can't win that argument. "Do you want to cross it to be on a more direct way to Edoras?"
"No, I think we better make our way around, as closely as possible, but we keep neatly out of it as well as we can!" she explains decisively.

And so, they do, close to the looming trees, so different from Lórien's and even Greenwood's - or Mirkwood's. There is a silence that seems to be coming out of the tree and the ground, not unlike other places where the Eldar have walked, but different, nevertheless. Even the grass seems to falter at the edges, and she thinks it has nothing to do with natural shadows.
The air his heavy, feels full of memory, but neither threatening nor directly dangerous. Sometimes, she feels like she is being watched.
Part of her yearns to stay, to go further into the forest, let it surround her, meet her — to listen, to speak with whoever still lingers there. To meet that presence. But she stays with Aragorn, beyond the perimeter, as they travel on South, and finally cross the Limlight and into the Wold.
It is unlikely they will meet many people that far up, raiding orcs and the occasional Easterlings have pushed people South from what she has heard. It is quite windy, so the trees give some welcome cover and make their travels easier, even though by now, she would adore food other than Elven bread.
One evening, Aragorn suddenly disappears, and as he returns from what apparently was a berry-picking-trip into the forest, he seems a little crazed.
"It is - a living thing," he only mutters.
Ariel looks at the ground around them, tangled with roots, as if the forest has long ago tried to reach out and pull the world into itself.
"It is," she confirms, "Fangorn is one of the last true remnants of the Elder Days. A place where the old magic still stirs. They say the Elves taught the trees to talk, and maybe they still do."
"Have you ever - no, you have never met a talking tree, have you?"
She laughs lowly, her eyes still on the trees.
"Onyalië, or Onodrim, - tree shepherds, that's what they are called. And I have not. Yet, there are rumours, up in the Old Forest in the North, about special trees and strange whispers between them - sometimes I wonder whether it is the Onyalië which people are seeing and yet don't understand that they do."
"What are they like?"
"They care for Yavanna's creation, for the living things. I believe they are likely the oldest beings in Arda. They move slowly, think slowly — but they endure. And they remember. They remember things that even we Eldar have forgotten."
"Would they help, if it came to war?"
"War? What war?"
They both know, somehow. She sighs.
"Perhaps. If they have cause enough. But it would take great wrong to rouse them. A great personal wrong."
"You are like them, a little."
She raises an eyebrow at him.
"Slow and stubborn?"
"It takes a lot to rouse you to battle, to make you believe a cause is worthwhile. But if you think it is, there is no holding you back."
She gives him a small smile.
"Indeed. Though I seem to give my fury more easily to people these days."
When the two of them leave the forest to cross further into the Wold, Ariel glances back one last time and gives the trees a small, respectful bow.
"Another time," she whispers in the old tongue of the Eldar, a promise to the wild old heart of Middle-earth.

~ o ~

"Why again are we here?" Aragorn complains as the rain beats in their faces and wind is howling around their heads and truly, he has a point. This sucks so much.
"Because you are meant to know Arda. And this is the Wold, which you should have seen, at least once," she argues tiredly.

He grumbles something and truly, she can't blame the man. They soldier on, until they finally can see a few thatched cottages clustered together in a valley. They look different than any other house she has seen in Middle Earth so far, that much Ariel can tell even through the rain. Lórien, Imladris and even Mirkwood are elvish, very cultured, with beautiful architecture that nevertheless reflects nature and growing. Dale was made fully from stone with houses much more opulent than this here. Laketown was mostly built on or next to canals and always with water in mind. The houses in the North are built differently, different thatching, different wood. If anything, the houses remind her most of what she has seen in Westeros. She swallows.

"Farm folk," Aragorn mutters.
She nods. "Poor folk, Rohanese, most likely. Let's see if there is some shelter to be found closer to the houses."
Unfortunately, all of the houses seem to be farms of some sorts and no inn is to be found.
"We could knock," Aragorn proposes.
"Neither of us speaks their language," Ariel argues.
A big oversight at her side, she now finds. Why did she never learn? She doesn't know, maybe because three languages, several dialects, and keeping on to the common tongue of Westeros already felt like quite a bit.
She sighs.
"I would still prefer the shelter their buildings give us to the open plain, though."
They advance, in plain sight, though nobody is out there to see them anyway. Unfortunately, the cottages aren't much help against the elements, and both are getting more and more soaked with no sign of betterment.
"Well, let's knock then," Ariel proposes with a sigh. She stops for a moment. "Which name are you going by these days?"
"Thorongil," her companion answers quickly.
"Hm -" Ariel only answers drily, before finally knocking at the door.

Just a moment later, the door is opened by a boy, lanky, maybe twelve summers old. His eyes widen as he spots the two strangers and he calls inside in his still high voice, a mixture between excitement and fear. A short, stocky man appears, pushing the child behind him. His expression is grim, though his eyes widen slightly as Ariel moves back her hood slightly, revealing the golden hair, high cheekbones and pointy ears. He mumbles something that sounds like a greeting - or maybe it is a curse - then stops to the side and beckons them in.
As soon as they step into the cottage, the warmth from a small fire in the chimney seeps into her and she almost lets out a sigh. Instead, she gives the man a small but grateful smile, though her hand is still close to the hilt of her sword. As she looks around, she sees there must be two rooms, a front and a backroom, only separated by a flap of cloth.
A little girl who had been sitting on a rug in front of the fire next to an impressively big dog looks up at her and Aragorn with big eyes and pure fascination and far too little worry for Ariel's taste.
Then, the flap between the rooms moves and a woman enters. She is tall, with flaxen blond hair and a wild sort of beauty, though right now it is marred by a deep frown. However, her eyes widen too when she sees an elf in her house, and she suddenly bows.
So do Ariel and Aragorn, after all, it might be good to be polite. The man points towards himself. "Thorongil."
"Minuial," Ariel adds with a sign towards herself.
While she doesn't think these people have ever truly heard of her, there are enough shadows around for her to rather be careful. Better safe than sorry.

The man asks something, probably what they want at their place. She just points outside.
Fortunately, the boy seems to get it, since he explains something in that know-it-all-voice children love to have. It earns him an annoyed if slightly grateful look from what she assumed is his mother. Then she sighs and finally comes closer. Apparently, she has decided they are acceptable, since she holds out her hand for what Ariel assumes are their cloaks.
They gratefully strip off the wet garments, and - after a pointed look by the older man - also the weapons. It doesn't matter much anyway, both have knives hidden on their bodies. She has also already figured out at least three potential weapons around the room, so she isn't much worried.
"Herefrith," the father explains with a sign towards himself, "Wynhild."
So that's the mother.
The children are apparently called Ceolric and Starwyth, though the girl also points towards the other room with a decided "Hildis", so Ariel assumes there is another daughter.
They are offered bread and some sort of mead, and to be honest, anything that isn't lembas but has any type of texture is welcome at this moment.
The son is understandably fascinated by their weapons - after all, her Gwethchebin is a very pretty thing for a killer-tool.
Unfortunately, they truly speak no language aside from Rohanese, which makes communication difficult. At least the place names seem to be the same, so when they describe "Imaldris - Lórien -Fangorn - Rohan -Edoras", the family understands they are on their way down towards the capital.

Of course, they accept the offer to stay the night - for once, it is still raining, and additionally, Aragorn especially dearly needs sleep. Their packs are still damp, but at least dry enough to make a bed next to the slowly dwindling fire.
Over the whole time, the children keep watching them with eager eyes, but do not yet truly dare to address them - the language barrier is certainly one of the issues. Finally, the mother shoos them into bed before joining her family members in the other room together with her husband.
"That went well," Aragorn finally comments as he lays stretched out on the floor, as close to the fire as possible.
Ariel nods. "Indeed. So far, at least. Sleep now, we will see further in the morning."
"What about you?"
"I'll keep watch."
No way she is going to fully let her guard down in such a situation, friendly welcome or not. Aragorn snorts. "Alright, wake me then in a couple of hours so you can rest."
She hums noncomically, he probably already knows that she won't. As expected, he is out like a light until the brabbling of a child starts in the early hours of the morning. The fire has burnt down, and Ariel hasn't closed her eyes one bit, but she still finds herself rather rested after having laid down for a decent amount of time. She shakes Aragorn awake, just before Herefrith enters the room.
The man gives both a polite nod but then starts building a fire. While Aragorn hastens to help him, Ariel finds herself facing the flaxen-haired girl. The mother has indeed brought another child who refuses to get off her arm, so Ariel helps with preparing food, setting the table, and a couple of other mundane little tasks. It is not what she had planned, but it seems only polite.
Soon, the fire crackles low in the hearth and she sits at the table once more with her hands wrapped around a warm cup of goat’s milk she didn't ask for but was offered regardless.

Ariel can see the girls are both fascinated with her, though the brother gravitates more towards Aragorn. They should leave and let this family in peace, but just before she can bring it up, the middle daughter clears her throat. SHe is probably about eight summers old, Ariel decides, just as pretty as her mother, with slightly wonky braids. Then, the girl points at herself.
"Starwyth."
She looks at Ariel, then points. “Min-oo-yell.”
Ariel chuckles softly. Close enough.
Then the girl points towards the cup in her hand.
“Cuppa,” she exclaims, slow and clear.
The elleth looks down, then nods.
"Ylf."
The girl's pronunciation is atrocious, but she tries. It gets slowly a bit better as she ropes Ariel into telling her more words, by pointing towards random things in the room and declaring their names in the rolling tongue of her people.
She is bright, Ariel has to give her that, when she draws a star-shaped shape onto the tab.
"Steorran." Then she points at herself again. "Star-wyth!"
Ah, so there is a connection between the words somewhere.
"Gil," she explains to the child in geturn, who ponders for a moment. Then she points at Aragorn, who has watched it all with some bemusement.
"Thoron - gil?"
It truly surprises her that she recognizes the words so quickly, but she nods. Then points at the girl. "Gil - wen."

She laughs, delightedly, and scrambles to the hearth to get a piece of coal. Her father and brother have left outside to care for the horses - Ariel thinks - and the mother is busy, and she really should leave, and instead she gets stuck teaching a girl Sindarin words and being taught Rohirric in turn. The girl probably can't even read or write, probably nobody in this family can, and yet she jumps onto words with the hunger of a scholar.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ariel sees the mother move over once, ready to call her back, but then she halts. Her face softens in understanding - yes, she knows it too, that her mind is wasted out here.
After a while, the younger girl also ventures closer. She has something hawkish on her, an attentiveness and carefulness mixed into her shyness that is really endearing and just a little unsettling. Hildis is maybe around three summers old and doesn't say much at first, but then she stars piping up from time to time, especially when her sister is speaking.
It must be afternoon when Ariel thinks that now they really should leave, but as if she had read her thoughts, the mother shakes her head. She points towards her daughters with something akin to hope, and Ariel understands - just a little bit more for them, some more pieces of the world. So, she nods.
The rain finally lessens in the evening as they sit in front of the fire and Aragorn teaches them songs of Imladris and songs of the Dúnedain. They might not be able to write them down, but she would bet they will remember the sung words better than many libraries.

~ o ~

At the end, they stay almost two months, which seems a little ridiculous, but she supposes it doesn't hurt either. They help with the horses and quickly gain respect since both are not only good warriors but also particularly good riders.
Of course, Ariel is still somewhat of a curiosity, but people get used to her rather quickly - maybe because she usually has at least one child bouncing around her. It surprises her how quickly they take to the stranger, but nobody truly bats an eye at her wearing breaches or a sword, and she vaguely resembles their concept of "shieldmaiden", warrior women trained to go to war. Maybe that is why both the older boys, and two teenage girls want to train with them (partly to the parents' chagrin).
He never says, but she assumes Aragorn feels at home with the other young men. Men his age, a bond completely different from the deep tender seriousness they share. It is more what he has with her brothers, or she with Gilly or Legolas and Tauriel.
Starwyth becomes obsessed with wearing her hair as she does, either braided down the back or - even more so - in the braided crown she favours, and Wynhild seems happy if she doesn't have to sort her daughter's hair out in the morning but can leave that to someone else. Sometimes, brushing the long blonde hair reminds her painfully of Myrcella, even though Star is anything but like Myrcella. She didn't think she could get somewhat attached to another child after Estel, but it seems she can, after all.
She learns too, quite a bit, especially about non-Elvish horses. They are quite different from what she is used to, need clearer commands. If she wants to steer them without hands to be free to use her bow, she has to go about it rather differently. But they are happy to show her, and maybe it's a good thing she learned it before reaching Edoras.

~ o ~

"It's autumn, Estel," she tells him one day when it is just the two of them, "the weather will be worse soon. The ride isn't long, but the families have to care for themselves now. We should leave and get settled in Edoras before winter truly hits us."
She doesn't mention how reluctantly she is to leave, neither does Aragorn. This little village has become a strange sort of home, at least temporarily.
They take two horses, two young but reliable ones they already know, and insist on paying the family for the fillies. It is much more than they are worth, but after all, they have done so much over the last couple of weeks. The children are understandably upset - manage to be upset in two languages even - and Ariel’s heart softens.
She prays to the Valar or maybe the Maiden for a full, vibrant life for these young people.
As she mounts her dapple-grey mare, Wynhild catches Ariel’s sleeve briefly. She says something soft and rapid in Rohirric — too fast for Ariel to follow despite her newly acquired knowledge — but the tone is unmistakable: a blessing.
Ariel smiles, giving her thanks once more in a mixture of Rohirric and Sindarin and presses her hand tightly once before letting go.

They ride out onto the Wold once more, the ending in sight and yet still miles away, the grass almost burning red under the low morning sun.
"Do you think we will come back?" Aragorn asks her, suddenly sounding so young - well, maybe just as young as he actually is.
She shrugs. "Who knows. But - it will be different. Time... it's always the change of time."

Chapter Text

It is much more convenient to travel by horse, admittedly, and they make good time - maybe because for once, there is no rain beating into their faces. For the most part, they avoid people, though they do frequent two inns on the way to gather some information before reaching Edoras. It is always better to come prepared than running into a situation blindly. 

They always introduce themselves as Thorongil and Minuial, names that apparently stick to now. After her doings in Laketown, Ariel has become wildly known as 'Dragonkiller', and under her father name. Her mother name - Viryóre - is only known to her innermost family and closest friends, and it will stay like that. She considers, just for a moment, to go by Cersei, but then discards the notion. It simply doesn't seem to fit anymore. Her epesse, Minuial however sounds "Elvish enough" to make it forgettable to humans but is clearly known among the elves among which her status will do her some good. 

Mostly, they find that everyone on the roads agrees that travelling has become much more dangerous. More attacks, by orcs, wargs, and strangers alike. Sometimes even people of Rohan against others, if hunger has made them desperate after fields have been destroyed. More and more people are moving South, because they feel it is safer closer to the Mark and to Edoras.

Interestingly, apparently the main language at court has become Westron - which pleases Ariel, but the country people definitely less so. Some argue the king is more Gondorian than Rohanese, out of touch with his own people. He hasn't been king for long, only four years or so, after the death of his father.
His wife is Gondorian, they find, though that is all the citizens know.
'All better than Fengel, though,' people agree.
The distrust and almost hatred for the late King Fengel is clear everywhere. Even here in the North where messages come slowly, he has been known as greedy, disagreeable, and a bad ruler. Ariel cannot help but wonder whether he resembled Robert. 

While they travel through this empty, beautiful country, she can't escape the thoughts of all the men on war campaigns (though of course they weren't alone), but also herself travelling North to Winterfell, stuck in her litter for days on end. Then there are the thoughts of girls like the Stark wenches who ran and pushed through, mostly alone, by far less trained than she is. It suddenly seems much more impressive, now that she cannot escape thinking about it. It also makes her think of Eddard Stark, as much as she does not want to do that. 

~ o ~

They see Edoras first in the late afternoon, when they are only two shadows in front of golden light themselves as they reach Harrowdale, close to the White Mountains. Both riders are a little tense with so much unknown in front of them, and yet also happy to reach a place to stay for longer. It will be loud and bustling, so different from the Elvish silence they are used to.
Sometimes Ariel things she doesn't remember the concept of a city anymore - it has been quite a while since Laketown.

The Golden Hall of Meduseld is visible even from far away, a golden sheen in the golden light. 

Crossing the Barrowfields around the city feels somewhat solemn, maybe because of the graves of the kings on the side. Well, she knows that they are there at least because she has heard stories. Otherwise, she'd thought they were only green hills, peppered with white flowers.

Two guards meet them at the gate, both fair-haired, with sharp eyes and probably even sharper spears. They look distrustfully at the uneven pair in dusty, plain clothes. While the way her hair is styled covers Ariel's ears today, her features still must raise some curiosity. And if not that, then the swords and bows would do the trick. 

“Halt! Name yourselves and your business in Edoras!”

Aragorn bows his head slightly. “Thorongil of the North, and my companion Lady Minuial of Lórien. I am willing to put my talents in the service of the king.”

He doesn't speak for Ariel - and he better doesn't, if he did, she'd probably have a very stern word with him afterwards. Just the idea of serving a human king makes her belly churn. 
In this life, the only ones she has truly accepted as superiors, leaders who give orders as orders and not as suggestions, are her parents and grandparents. And Glorfindel, maybe, for a time. Certainly no human.
The guard doesn't seem to notice her thinking, he is far too distracted by his curiosity.

“Minuial?” the guard repeats. He glances at her, then back to Aragorn. Still, him and his companion step aside with descriptions - almost orders - of how to get to Meduseld the quickest.

The city is earthy, wooden, it appears just like a bigger version of all of the villages they have passed. Houses and wells are built for use, not ornament. Children chase chickens at the side of the streets while dogs bark and cats meow. Over everything, there is the distinct sound of horses shuffling, moving, neighing, or being cared for. Everywhere, the scents of fire, herbs, and horsehair hang in the air. 
As they ride on, some stare with open curiosity, some with more disapproval, but nobody stops them. Ariel doesn't look down - she never has and won't start now. 

They are led towards the king as soon as they reach the hall, which has probably more to do with her than with Aragorn. He fits in a lot better after all, despite his notable dark hair.
Meduseld is indeed a long hall, an odd sort of multi-functional throne room with the kingly pair at the end. As they get closer, she can see both the king and queen are leaning forward towards them to get a first glimps.

By her first guess, the king must be in his early forties, though his wife is much younger, more somewhat about Aragorn's age. 
They are both rather attractive, though while he looks quite stern, there is something rather reserved in her manners. 

"So, you are the strangers they already talk about," Thengel starts in clear Sindarin.
The pronunciation is good, and Ariel cannot help but be a little impressed. 

Aragorn bows. "I am Thorongil, at your service."

"And what about you?" the king wants to know.
He musters Ariel.

"I am Minuial of Lórien,” she says evenly, not flinching beneath their combined scrutiny, "and I do not serve. I travel at my own choosing."

The answer understandably earns her more than just one furrowed brow.
She feels the other people in the hall understand very little, most probably do not speak a word Sindarin. 

“You call yourself a leader then?” the young queen wants to know.
The woman sounds more curious than insulted.

“No, I do not simply call myself,” Ariel replies. “It is a fact. I have held command, both in peace and in war, and earned loyalty where it mattered.”

“You are bold, stranger,” the king answers, "what is it you search for?"

“I do not yearn for your land,” she tells him plainly. “Nor your horses, nor your crown."
That one is a bit of a lie, she would gladly take any crown that comes her way.
"But I do wish to remain here, to learn your ways, and, if needed, lend what strength I have.”

There is a long silence, but she can see he weighs in whatever he has heard about Elvish talents. Then he nods. A tentative agreement, for now.

~ o ~

They are soon given rooms in a guest house near the barracks. It's spartan, but sufficient, and they don't complain.
There is also enough space for their horses - Mithrellas and Baran - so for now, they are all well cared for.

The next morning, Aragorn is roped into training with the other riders, and of course he excels at it. Rohanese riders might have different weapons, but he still holds his own. He confuses them with his strange distinctive fighting style: It's mostly Elvish, mixed with Dúnedain tricks.
However, as he trains, over the weeks he also learns Rohanese moves which he then loves to integrate. It makes him relatable and rather popular with the other men. 

Ariel on the other hand is mostly invited by the queen. She cannot say she is incredibly surprised.
Meduseld has an upper chamber, far too scented for her taste, and full of women who are speaking in hushed voices. As she enters, she almost rolls her eyes. It is so incredibly conventional, so much what she had to endure in Westeros, over and over again. Women with nothing to do but being wives and living a life in a golden cage.

But Cersei has ruled these cages for years, and there is no point why she shouldn't be able to do that again. She takes a deep breath and schools her face into a neutral expression. Softens her shoulders but keeps herself upright and her head high. 
These women might be pretty locked-up birds - but even pretty birds twitter and tell interesting news from time to time.

When she enters for the first time, they all look slightly intimidated. No wonder, the one dress she has brought falls down her body like a river of blood. It is cut in a rather Elvish fashion, leaving no question of her heritage, but it is made from thicker material than usual to keep her warm. Overall, together with the golden stitching, it looks rather regal. 

Morwen Queen sees her and waves her over to where she is sitting next to her loom.

"Lady Minuial -" she adds the honorific title without questioning it once, "how kind of you to join us. These are my ladies' and mine morning activities. Feel free to join whatever you would like to do."
She bends her head a little to the side. Beautiful, no question, and sticking out just as much as she does with her tall build and dark hair.

Ariel nods. "I shall, Morwen Queen."

The queen bites her lip. "I you have any need for further garments - do let me know. Winter will be upon us soon."

Ariel takes it as what it is - and offer and a remark towards their customs.
The women in the circle glance at each other. One coughs into her sleeve. Another resumes threading gold into blue and then almost stares at her loom.

Morwen just shrugs, mostly unbothered.

“Most here do not know how to receive you. You came in wearing a sword and uttered a challenge, and yet you look like an Elvish princess - or at least what we have told they look like. Nobody knows what to do with you."

"I am aware."

"Good." She still looks at her a bit quizzically. "You are here to influence more so than to understand."

"I do not believe influence is something I must ask for if it is something I do through simply being."

"That indeed sounds like a queen's answer."

Well, she isn't totally wrong, is she now. 

"We seem to agree then."

~ o ~

Ariel becomes one of Morwen’s closest councillors - maybe because the queen is a stranger as well and she still feels a little left out, or maybe because Ariel has no husband whom she has a primary allegiance to. They speak especially in the evening, about politics, about Rohan, about the children. Both have an air of command around them that never goes away, easy to anger and rile up, but usually, there is no true reason to fight. 

"There have been whispers," Morwen mentions offhandedly one day.

"Have there?"

"That you are royalty in exile. You speak and behave like someone raised among nobility - I thought it was simply the way of the Elves, but no, it is more than that, isn't it?”

"I was raised in the courts of Lórien, Imladris, and Greenwood, among rulers and warriors since I can remember," she finally confirms, “but I can promise you, Morwen Queen, that there is no reason I have been exiled for. I am here of my own choosing. Though the Lord and Lady of Lórien have mentioned at some point that some experience outside the elven realms would do me good."

"What about your companion?"

"Thorongil?"

"Indeed."

She gives the queen a withering look. 
"He is a good, trustful man, just like me on the search of knowledge and experience. Thengel King should be glad to have him."

"And you -"

"Are no lovers, have not been lovers, will never be lovers," Ariel tells her, once and for all. "Though I did promise his mother to look out for him."
She nods towards the rooms of her children. "You should understand."

Morwen laughs a little. "I ... I always forgot the Elven folk doesn't age the way we do. But I am sure his mother will sleep better knowing you are near him."

The rumours do not surprise her, but when she moves into the Hall and he starts to travel with the other riders, they mostly die down. Nevertheless, the two catch up whenever he comes back and she manages to make space for her own training once the novelty of her has rubbed off a bit. 

Many of the advisers do not trust the newcomers yet, despite the involvement of the kingly couple. A lot of it has to do with a general fear of influence from the outside, she thinks. Pretty stupid fears, but she has a very good idea who is behind it.
Saruman - the wizard in close proximity, whose actions have rubbed her the wrong way for centuries now. She wouldn't be surprised if he is somehow involved with the whispers.
An ongoing issue is the constant increase of raids, but all that is happening are complaints. 
One day, as the marshals discuss the issue once more, Ariel pushes herself off the side of the hall where she had been leaning.

"Then stop talking and do something. Post men along the ridge. Patrols, 10 riders each at least. Control a safe space around the villages."

The men look at their king and after a while, he finally nods.

"Do it."

Later, Morwen finds her outside, standing alone beneath a pale sunset. She doesn't beat about the bush.

“You know you’re disrupting things, don’t you?”

“I never set out to blend in.”

“No,” Morwen argues, “you set out to matter.”

"So do you, Morwen Steelsheen. Or isn't that why you married the heir of Rohan?"
There is a challenge in her words, and the queen certainly notices.
"I am content," she finally answers, and Ariel wonders how much say she had in the matter at all.

But she truly seems content, with her husband and her children. 
She still only has the three, the heir and two girls. Here in Rohan, the noble girls are trained alongside their brother as shieldmaidens. It is something they could have never had in Gondor, Morwen explains, where things seem to be much more conservative. 
While everyone speaks Westron at court, Thengel and his wife also speak Sindarin and teach their children - Ariel teaches the older two Quenya in addition.
She often things how much Starwyth would enjoy these lessons. 

The children are rather fascinated by her, more fascinated by her stories than the learning, at least.
"You talk like the wind through the trees. Not like mama,” Théodis tells her.
“I speak many tongues,” Ariel only replies, “some older than your kings. Some older than your mountains.”
Théoden's eyes widen.
“Do you know magic?” his sister Théa interrupts.
She is five and other than her siblings, she hardly remembers Lossaranch and has had the easiest time adapting. Théodis and Théoden are still two odd birds sometimes.
“Only the magic of surviving long enough to be asked that question.”
His older sister laughs as Théa pouts. 
“They say you are used to battle,“ the prince argues.
“I am used to war,” she answers plainly. “But not eager for it. Neither should you be. There is nothing pretty about it. And yet, one needs to be prepared.”

He seems happy with the answer, though as the winter moves into spring, there comes a royal request, which sounds far too much like and order to her: Train the noble girls and other high-born daughters. They will have her body shape when they grow, so it makes sense to copy her way of movement. Sure, some mothers have been shieldmaiden, but even in the Rohan society, mothers aren't really expected to fight any more if it can be avoided. 
So suddenly, she finds herself with a gaggle of girls of different ages jumping around, some more talented than others, and no, that is truly not what she signed up for when coming here! 

But it is a harsh world, especially for girls, and apparently, she has far too much heart now for children who cannot protect themselves.
They are soon called the "thanwin", the Elvish shieldmaiden, due to their very specific fighting style. While it becomes a description of skill, it soon also becomes a description of status, since all of the girls come from upper class families, are therefore also literate and speak at least Westron in addition to Rohirric.

"I knew you would be good at teaching," is Aragorn's simple reply. He doesn't seem one bit surprised.

~ o ~

Her own Rohirric only improves as she manages to have a captain allow her to train with his men from time to time between training the girls and politics and chitchat and being a lady once more. These are men of the Mark, they speak the tongue of their land - so the Rohirric she learns is rather rough, the kind of language spoken in armies and on campaigns. Definitely not ladylike.

Funnily, she can express certain concepts in the common tongue of Westeros and in Rohirric now, some things even in Westron after learning them at court by overhearing the men and even sometimes the women talk - but never in Sindarin or Quenya. It's mostly things that have to do with desire - as poetic and beautiful Elvish languages are, they are horribly bad for expressing bodily issues directly. 

The language, especially the songs sung at celebrations, they make her remember the girl who taught her first, she worries about her all the time - so much so that she finally speaks to the queen, and, as she agrees, takes Mithrellas and rides North.
She probably would have done so without the agreement anyway.

Aragorn is on campaign, will be for quite a while, but she feels comfortable doing the trip alone this time. It's summer, the ways are mostly clear, and she can take care of herself. 
Well, if she is honest, she probably also just needs some time alone. Riding over the rolling hills is like breathing deeply, until she finally arrives at the small village in the Wold.

Starwyth and her family are delighted to see her, though her proposal is met with mixed reactions. While her siblings are confused, her father is rather contrary. Her mother though, she understands, and decidedly argues for the plan.

"Will they hate me in Edoras?" Starwyth only asks.

"They will. Until they don’t. And by then, you won’t care,” the elleth tells her seriously.

The girl smiles.

In the end, it is decided. Starwyth comes back with her to Edoras, to join the thanwin in their education.
Ariel knows it won't be easy, but it is more than she will ever have up here. 

~ o ~

Starwyth is nervous as they arrive, her hair plaited once again exactly like Ariel's. The guards look confused, but they know her, so it's still rather friendly.

“Who rides with the Lady Minuial?” one asks.

“A child,” Ariel answers plainly. “With more sense than half your court.”

The girl tries not to giggle.
Ariel gets her settled close to her own rooms as discussed with the queen beforehand. Nevertheless, the next council meeting catches her annoyingly unprepared.

“I was not aware you had taken to collecting maids, my lady,” Lord Cenric says. He is one of the older advisors, a hardliner on most issues. His voice drips with thinly veiled condescension.

"Maids? Lord Cenric -?" Ariel frowns.

"The girl you brought." He smirks.

She feels her hackles rise as some deeply buried motherly instinct comes to the surface.

“This girl has a gift for languages, can carve an arrow shaft from raw wood, and rode through the better part of the Wold to get here. She is smart, and brave, and kind. I would rather speak with her than most of you,” she barks back.

A few gasps ripple through the room.

“She is of peasant stock,” another argues — a younger man, stiff with inherited pride. “Such ones are not meant to sit among the learned. She doesn't even speak Westron, so they say!”

“Then the learned should be ashamed,” Ariel snaps, "and Westron can be learned, whereas character..."

She can hear a couple of suppressed snickers - she knows this cocksure idiot isn't overly popular either. Only he doesn't know that.

A sign from the queen quiets the audience. 
"Lady, I am glad you and your charge are back safely," she tells her, "I am sure my children will learn much by having contact with children from other regions of Rohan."

Fortunately, nobody can argue with that.

~ o ~

She never wanted to stay so long, but now with the girls and Star, she suddenly has a reason to settle. And since Aragorn seems determined to hang around here for a bit longer, too - well, that seems to work out rather nicely, all in all.
Letters from home inform her that Arwen and Gilly and Glorfindel are well and there is no reason for her to worry about Rivendell. Her heart tells her that this is true. Instead, her father asks her about information about Rohan, about raids, about slowly creeping darkness. Her father’s suspiciousness surprises her; she has never heard him like that. Maybe her assumptions about his sweetness have been wrong all along. Maybe he has some secrets on his own. 
The thought is uneasy, and yet she is impressed at the same time.
Sometimes, Ariel thinks her and Aragorn are the only ones who notice the shadows yet, or who want to notice. All the others are still happy to pretend the white wizards in his tower is a friend and his fortifications of the Orthanc are not to be worried about.
She isn't so sure. He might not be an enemy, but there is something. It reminds her of the dragon - greedy, sleeping, waiting.

From time to time, Ariel still clashes with the men on the council, mostly because she refuses to blend in. She is still somewhat special, and that's how she likes it, wears it as a badge of honour. Dressed in red, though the cuts of her dresses resemble Rohanese fashion more and more.
Some call her a witch behind her back, which is fine. 
For some reason, her girls - yes, she has started to think of them as hers, damn the Valar - like her. They look at her with an admiration she knows is owned and still she thinks she doesn't deserve in the slightest. 
But their group changes continuously, with some only staying for a season, some for longer. She hopes that they all learn to hit back if ever someone raises a hand to them.

Star consumes knowledge like other children eat sweets - she learns Westron and Sindarin, and while she has a pretty broad accent in Sindarin, her Westron becomes rather good very quickly. She is quick with a dagger and good with a horse and a bow, though an absolutely helpless case with a sword. Not a chance. 
After a truly rocky start she makes some friends, though she still has a bit of a precarious position - low-born but raised from that station by another outsider. But there is a stubbornness in her, or maybe it is an unshakable optimism, that makes her bounce back from each comment and start anew.

Aragorn serves, not in a glorious way, but as a soldier who quickly makes his way up the ranks due to skill and a good deal of charm and resourcefulness. Ariel thinks he doesn't even know he possesses that, which makes it even more impressive. 
He rides, treats to the sick and injured, breaks up petty conflicts, teaches young men. Everything a king will need, she knows that. He doesn't know it though, she thinks. He just does it because it is asked of him and it is needed.

Two years later, she realises she walks the roads of Edoras as if she had been born here - they aren't strangers anymore. 

It is a mostly quiet time overall, with music and stories. There hadn't been much of that in Westeros, she thinks. Hardly any at all. It reminds her a bit of her childhood in Imladris, in an odd way.

She keeps an eye out for bruises on the queen, just in case, but there are never any. Morwen still seems content, proud and unbend, adapting to culture and customs. They call her Steelsheen because for her elegance and beauty, a title well-earned. The woman loves her children a lot better than her husband, Ariel assumes, and she can truly relate, but there seems to be a companionate peace between the couple.
In 2960, she gets pregnant again.
Like one of her other daughters, the child his dark-haired, and they call the girl Moris.

Théodis becomes more interested in needles than in swords, which is quite alright if even preferable for the oldest daughter, and Théoden carves out a spot for himself in Rohan. 
He might be a good king one day, Ariel thinks, rather earnest, not too reckless.
Him and Starwyth share an odd sort of relationship. In a sense, it seems like sibling rivalry, or friendship. It's odd enough that Ariel starts to worry whether having them close during their language lessons is a good idea and finally sits the girl down and tells her in no uncertain terms that any potential romantic attachment is out of the question.
The king and queen might accept her at court, but even that has its limits when it comes to marriage.

She only looks at her as if she had grown three heads. Ariel isn't sure whether that is so promising.
Nevertheless, she has no intention to sabotage Starwyth's future, so she keeps quiet. Nobody else seems to worry either.

~ o ~

Mainly due to Aragorn and probably also due to her looks, she manages to make some tentative alliances with two Marshalls who trust her enough to let her ride campaigns with them from time to time. As much as she likes (yes, she likes it) training the girls, being among adults for a couple of weeks is a welcome change.
The fact that they are all men - rough, Rohirric, sometimes rude - can be forgiven since nature is so beautiful and the wind in her hair is so much fun. Of course they leer in the beginning, but after beating three of them and threatening four more, they quickly stop and are adorably respectful.

As a result though, the noblemen start sending their boys to her for training as well. It is a nice way to make some coin, and it solidifies her status - moreover, it gives her the opportunity to beat a bit of respect for women into these young cocks. Their future wives will thank her.

A year later, Star returns to her family for a while, which gives Ariel the chance to explore Rohan, to ride more - to the chagrin of the thanwin.
Westmark, Eastmark, Aldburg - she sees it all. She ventures close to Isengard together with Aragorn but remembers her father's words not to provoke. For once, she follows the orders.

"How long do we stay?" he asks her one evening as they stand on a ridge, looking over the plain in front of them.

She shrugs. "We both know it is not time to go - not yet. I feel it in my heart, and so do you."

He snorts. "Are you sure that isn't simple attachment?"

Ariel gives him a dirty look. "I don't do attachment -"

"- sure, you don't."

"Don't interrupt me, Estel! What I mean is, I very well know when I feel ... human things and when it is more of a prophecy."

"Prophecy?"

"Well - call it foresight. Besides, you don't want to leave either."

He hums. "No, I don't. Not truly."

~ o ~

Star will never be a queen, most likely not even a lady, and yet, Ariel teaches her about strategy, about economy, about keeping people in line. Most likely, she will never need it, which is a bit disheartening, but who knows. 
At least, the elleth thinks, with her knowledge she will always have a place as a scribe or secretary or translator at court. 
Her tongue becomes quick, a good addition to her remaining frankness and general easy manners - she laughs louder than etiquette allows, but Morwen Queen continues to approve of her.

“Too many girls in golden halls are taught to lower their eyes,” Morwen said once. “Let this one teach my daughter to lift her chin instead.”
Ariel wonders whether that was what she had been taught down South. 

If she is honest, she expects them to marry their eldest daughter as soon as she flowers - after all, Morwen seems to have married early.
But Théodis hits that time and nothing happens. Two years later, still nothing happens. 

When she asks Morwen, the mother nods, though. "Of course I have been thinking. But her father will hear none of it." She smiles. "Give him a couple more years to get used to the thought."

He almost seems to favour the girls, Ariel sometimes thinks, even though they probably could need a spare to their heir.
Instead, their fourth daughter comes into the world during a spring shower. 
The child is blonde like many of her siblings, and they call her Théodwyn. Ariel knows right away she will be spoilt rotten, beloved by everyone.

~ o ~

The times get more and more dangerous through, more sightings of orcs, more smoke on the boarders.
It is one single even though that gives them a push.
They are on a patrol ride with a small party of riders, Ariel for once with control over the men, to everyone's surprise. Some like it, most probably not, but they also won't risk disrespecting her.  The light is already fading as they hear it — a strange, broken sound carried by the breeze.

She raises her hand, and all pull on their reigns, stopping the horses, swords half-drawn in an instant. 
The sound comes again, a cry, strangled.

There are glances, wordless exchanges, as they ride closer.
It doesn't take long to find the source: A small band of travellers lies in a ditch, literally wrecked to pieces. One certainly beyond saving, two other potentially only unconscious, she thinks. And then a boy, looking up at all the riders with panic-filled eyes.

Aragorn is off his horse in an instant.

"Peace," he says in a voice both commanding and kind. "We mean you no harm."

The boy's eyes flicker over the party, but then he relaxes his crouch a little. The wince tells her that he has been wounded, though where she cannot tell.

"What happened?" her partner asks calmly.

"Bandits, robbers," the child coughs.

There is no reason to doubt him, given the whole situation. 
Some of the riders start checking their surrounding for traces, but with horses on their own the bandits are already far too gone to be hunted down in a reasonable manner. 
But they manage to calm down the boy and tend to one of the men who stubbornly still clings to life. Two others find their graves out here in the wilderness to the song of traditional Rohanese songs.

Ariel can see it bothers Aragorn, and she is remembered each time that even though he has travelled and fought, he hasn’t seen that much death yet.
He was very young when his father died, can probably not even remember all of it. Elves don't die the same way, so travelling with the Dúnadain and the riders is his first true brush with mortality.

"Death, again," he confirms her thoughts as they sit next to a small fire in the evening.

"Indeed, it's happening more and more," she replies in the Common Tongue, more a habit than necessity. After all, the riders around them wouldn't know Sindarin or Quenya either, most do not even speak Westron.

Estel glances at her. "Do you ever regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Choosing to stay," he says, searching her face. "Choosing us. Humans. Seeing death over and over."

She is quiet for a moment, turning a small twig between her fingers. Then Ariel sighs.

"You must have felt this is not my first life,” she finally shares with him, “you are too attentive not to know. And … I was sent here," she finally says, "for reasons and in a way I do not yet fully understand. And I have acquired a certain fondness for humans that I also do not fully understand. But no, I don't regret either. But I do regret that despite a very long life, there never seems to be enough time."
She levels him with a cutting look.
"Which is the main issue between you and my sister."

She can see him swallow - they have never truly addressed the issue.

"I -" he stops, then shrugs a little helplessly. He suddenly looks so young again. She doesn't press it. Whatever it is or will be, he needs to figure that out on his own first. 
She still struggles with the whole situation herself, doesn’t truly know what she would want if she could choose. Maybe that is why she doesn’t push him.

As the fire dies down to embers, Ariel leans back against her pack and gazes up at the endless gleaming stars, feeling the weight of prophecy and choice coiling tighter around them both.

“I did know, somehow,” he finally tells her quietly, “about you, that is. But I didn’t – until now, I didn’t know what it was. Only that something was different. You give me too much credit.”

She knows he is curious, but she doesn’t offer more information. He doesn’t ask either.

~ o ~

The next day, they find a relatively close settlement for the injured to stay in, and yet, despite all of that, the restlessness only grows in Ariel after this event. 

The feeling is increased by slow changes in the Prince of Rohan over the next winter and towards the coming spring - or maybe it just becomes more obvious now. He is still rather serious, almost a man, and yet still somehow a boy, attractive for sure and both his parents' son in looks: The light complexion of the people of the Riddermark, but the tall build and elegance of Gondor inherited from his mother. 
When he looks at Starwyth though, his childhood companion, it isn't with boyish annoyance or childish disdain anymore, though. There is interest, real interest in the pretty brash scholar with the eyes of the colour of cedar wood. She still wears her hair like Ariel, though otherwise she mostly blends in.

Star for her part notices nothing or pretends not to, burying everything under teasing and jokes that keeps them apart and true affection for his sisters who are some of her favourite companions. 
Ariel hopes she keeps the warning in mind.

"Do you think - " Estel asks her, but she shakes her head before he even finishes.

"He will pick one of the marshalls' daughters to marry, or an extended cousin, maybe. Even another Gondorian, though that would be foolish. But not her."

"You seem very convinced."

"I am."

"But..."

"No. Estel, no. He cannot marry beneath his station if he wants to keep peace in his country. And I do not think he would be the kind of man to have a lover besides a wife. Or to take advantage of her."

“Take advantage?”

“Estel, I know you have been raised among the Eldar. But do I – after the time here – really have explain the concept of cheating or seducing and then leaving to you?”

Aragorn blushes like crazy, and if the topic weren’t so serious, it would be beyond funny.

“But what is the benefit of being a king if you cannot chose the woman on your side?”

Ariel snorts. “Good question. One would think it gives you freedom. Actually, that freedom comes with a very high cost. Remember that.”
Her tone doesn't allow any discussion, and he doesn't push further.

The queen herself isn't blind, she can see the problem too and is only too happy to arrange a transfer to Aldburg.
Starwyth doesn't protest, but Ariel can see she takes it hard.

"Why am I sent away like a problem?" she wants to know.

"It is a chance," the elleth explains, "to be someone independent of the court. To see something else, after being in Edoras for six years. To make your own name."

Aldburg is less cosmopolitan than Edoras and greets Ariel and Star with a certain sense of curiosity, but the marshal and his family are rather polite and helpful at getting the girl settled. She is meant to be a translator for those who need and can afford it, and a teacher both of languages and other accomplishments. Overall, a very respectable station. Respectable enough for a good match someday, Ariel hopes. 

~ o ~

Her and Aragorn meet in Edoras again, about a year later while summer caresses the grass.

“I believe it's time we go south,” she tells him in no uncertain terms.

“To Gondor?”

She nods. “Of course, to Gondor. I can feel the stars changing. Names will resurface soon. It's time for you to walk your own land."

It is one of the scarce mentioning of his own role, but he nods.

“And is it also time for an Elven princess to move on?" he asks.

She looks North, where her first home lies far beneath the mountains.

“Yes,” she says. “Let’s begin.

Chapter Text

They arrive in the White City as messengers from Rohan, and Ariel must admit, something has to be said for the city. It's basically - yes, it is King's Landing in white without the sea and smashed into a mountain. At least that is her first impression as they pass ring after ring of walls, always upwards towards the palace. Or citadel. Or whatever they have here.
Banners flutter in the wind, blue with a silver tree and stars on top and happy chatter fills the air all around them. 
Aragorn is dressed like a Rohirrim rider now, though his complexion and looks give away that he is clearly not. While she is wearing mostly Rohanese fashion - after all, not even Elvish clothes hold up everyday training endlessly and their breeches are fantastic for riding - her tunic is still cut in a longer, more flowy style and her grey Lórien cloak falls softly over her shoulders.

Ariel can see straight away that the fashion of the smallfolk around here resembles the Rohanese practical garb, but the higher they ride, the more of a difference is visible. Here, clothes are much more carefully made. She catches glimpses of the same impractical bell sleeves as in Rohanese formal dresses, a sign they are not meant for manual work. However, even just that glimpse gives her the impression that the fabrics are rather quite different and Gondorian ladies lean into an excess of embroidery that would seem unsightly and vain in Rohan. 

People watch them curiously, but it doesn't feel hostile, rather metropolitan and open. She has hoped for a welcome and a smooth transition, maybe they will get that here, she dares to hope. Nevertheless, something already sets her on edge. Perhaps it's her memories, that everything seems so humanly familiar, and she know exactly how much darkness can be covered up by that. If the city is any bit like what she was used to, she will need to be careful.

As envoys from Rohan, they very quickly gain entrance to the steward's palace, though the guards and the gathered nobles certainly regard them with a mixture of curiosity and mistrust, much like in Rohan in the beginning.
They meet the steward in the great hall, a beautiful place, though despite the decent number of people, a certain air of seriousness and concern seems to hang in the air. No women, she notes right away with much displeasure, not that she is surprised. When they walk over the smooth, white marble, she can hear the faint echo coming from the walls because the room is so grand, though she doubts the humans even notice. The thick tapestries on the walls swallow most of the sound. 

She oddly enough wonders how they heat this room in winter, or whether they do not bother and wear thick cloaks. That would look so ridiculous, but she makes a quick calculation, and the cost for the maintenance of this whole building for a mere steward, not a king, is ridiculous.

Echtelion sits on the smaller seat next to the king's throne - a tall man next to an empty chair, awaiting a return.

Estel's place, she thinks.
It is not at all like the iron throne, instead, it is built on top of a flight of stairs so that the king would be able to look down on his subjects and the steward on his left side. It is shiny and bright and white, so different from the menacing swords of the iron throne. 

Lofty, almost aloof.
Apart.
Alone.

It still looks uncomfortable.
A throne isn't meant to be comfortable, is it now?

She doesn't quite know whether that is a lesson she has learnt, a comment someone has made, or a regret. Her memories aren't clear enough anymore. 

The guards on the side straighten as they walk past, even though the two certainly do not present themselves as a threat. Aragorn kneels in front of the steward as is expected, while Ariel gives a comparatively polite nod in the general direction and tries to school her face and not look around too curiously and too annoyedly. Her Estel shouldn't kneel in front of any other man.
Echtelion's dark grey eyes are surprisingly sharp as he motions for the younger man to get up. His hair is already slightly streaked with grey, but he seems as fit as any younger man from what she can tell. With his looks, he definitely did not have issues finding a wife, if he has any kind of decent character to go with it.

"Introduce yourself," he orders curiously.

"Thorongil, Captain of the Rohirrim," Aragorn answers.

The steward's interest seems only to grow.
"We have heard about you and your deeds, even here, beyond Rohan's borders. About your skill with the sword, in battle, and in command. And we have heard about the unusual company you keep."
He looks at Ariel.
"Lady, might I request your name? They call you Thanwen, though much seems to be more rumour than truth."

She smiles a bit cynically.
"That might well be. I am Minuial, and I have been many things, a wanderer, a hunter, and a captain."

A lady. A queen. A dragon killer.

"Where do you hail from?" the steward wants to know. 

"From Imladris and the Golden Forest," she answers truthfully. 

"You carry yourself like royalty," he remarks.
Apparently the man is smarter than she thought.

"I am of the House of Finwë," Ariel settles on, which basically confirms this assumption.

There are some murmurs among the nobles at the sides of the room, and she hopes the information will keep further hassles away. 

"And you are welcome," the steward confirms, "Gondor has need for your swords."

Aragorn smiles. "Then we have come at the right time."

Their message from Thengel is received with more concern though, especially developments around the Orthanc. Maybe the most worrying thing is how easily those news can be believed nowadays - Mordor seems to worry Gondor greatly.
They will have their work cut out here if Echtelion starts to fortify Gondor, Ariel thinks.

~ o ~

And indeed, they have, with Aragorn being put to work right away, back to being a simple soldier. They want to knock him down a peg, she supposes, test him and avoid conflict.
She is annoyed for him, but he just shrugs and takes it with this general positivity of his, and in the end, it doesn't much matter.
He seems to fit in with the people - the people as in small folk and soldiers - and quickly rises through the ranks, only to be stuck at a certain position. The reason is rather simple: While the people he has worked with so far like him, he slowly becomes a perceived threat to the established councillors at court now, something they obviously want to avoid. With those men, he is out of his depth. It's no wonder, as he simply has not haf any true opportunity to practice much of it in Imladris. 

She wants to help, but unfortunately, most of the men like her even less, a mouthy elven stranger. Apparently, that is not the ideal in Gondor. 

But Aragorn soldiers on, and as he does, he connects more and more with the steward. That again definitely puts him at odds with Echtelion's only son, Denethor. Him and Aragorn are about the same age, though very different in character.
Thankfully, the steward accepts her as well, the way that she is, so at least she does not have to train in secret, even though people obviously disapprove. She thinks they are afraid it might spoil their daughters. Well, she won't be deterred,  though; Ariel hasn't lived through millennia for nothing, fought in wars, and commanded men just to be stuck with the ladies, chatting all day - even though she sure enjoys the splendour of the clothing, and the time to have someone else do her hair.

Gondorian women are in many cases sidelined, their access to professions is rather limited - things she has been just too used to. The steward's own wife appears to be rather ornamental, even though he seems to have much affection for her. He also has two daughters, the older one already married and out of the house.

Physically, Denethor reminds her terribly of Eddard Stark, the first time she sees him she almost makes a double take. Same long face, same grey eyes, though nothing of the Northern simplicity. More like if a Northerner had grown up as a Tyrell, maybe. Which, for her, means he has everything she dislikes: He is serious, stuck up, obsessed with honour, but also very suspicious, cunning, and vain. 

She is sure he dislikes her just the same. He keeps watching as she keeps weaving her net, charming people, or threatening them if necessary. It's court politics, but different. Teaching highborn daughters and the odd intelligent son in languages and history certainly helps, those young people are an endless source for gossip. Besides, it never harms to tells some family stories the way you want them to be told, right?
As she rises higher and higher in Echtelion's regard, his disdain grows even more, and yet, there is not much he can do.
Ariel has earned her welcome.

"Of course he dislikes you. It's because you are similar," Aragorn comments when he is a bit drunk one evening, and she almost punches him, "and he probably wants you and knows he can't have you. He also might think you try to get with his father."
Her partner is probably not wrong. She still almost punches him.
The thought of Denethor wanting her, it makes her smug and gag at the same time. The thought about Ecthelion isn't much better.

His sisters are rather nice from what she can tell, but that's it, they are nice. Nothing more. They are happy with their lives as ornaments, baubles, empty decorations for their father and brother and in the case of Rían - the older - her husband.
The younger one, Nimloth, pops up wherever Ariel goes though like a very annoying puppy and she feels they use her to keep track of her doing. Nothing can detain her, no polite suggestion, bribing, or general rudeness. For the love of the Valar, Ariel just wants to train in peace, and there she is, this 20-year-old chit, prattling on about things or simply watching. Sometimes, she would love to just lock her in a storage room or something, but Nimloth reminds her too much of Sansa Stark with her wide-eyed innocence, even though she is much older. It's probably a bad conscience that makes her simply ignore her most days, and the fact that she has something like a bad conscience is very unsettling.

She has just escaped the girl for one evening, enough time for a stroll in the courtyard, when she hears and feels steps behind her. Ariel rolls her eyes before her face turns neutral again - she can classify the steps behind her without turning around.

"Solitude? It doesn't seem like you," a voice starts. Denethor, just as she thought.

She turns around slowly, giving him a once-over. He looks stern, though there is a tiredness behind the eyes he cannot really cover up. There is also just a tiny bit of admiration as his eyes flicker over her wine-red and golden dress, every bit ready for court. 

"Well, I would have much more options for solitude if the little lap dog you call sister wasn't at my heels almost all day."

He bristles.

"Though, I must say, her devotion to the task is admirable."

"Don't mock her!"

"I don't. I truly admire her devotion, misguided as it is. You pretend to know what I am like, Lord Denethor. It's a dangerous gamble."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, just a remark with regard to gambles."
She plays with a strand of her hair. "Maybe you shouldn't gamble."

"But it is true. You go where the people are. Weaving webs, looking for chinks in armours. Don't think I haven't seen how you guard Thorongil's back. And you walk as though this city were yours. Or his - though that doesn't matter, does it?"

She sighs. "I am very sick of people implying us to be lovers. It is a ridiculous assumption, simple nonsense. Though I will admit, I try to keep him safe, something I promised his mother." She looks him up and down. "And apparently a necessity in Gondor, given all the vipers around."

 "Are you questioning my honour?"

"No." She finds she actually believes that. Whatever he is, he is not a traitor, and he is a man of honour. He might keep taps on her, but he'd confront Aragorn heads on if it came to it. 
"I question rather your common sense. You disregard a good man that Gondor desperately needs in these times, just because of your vanity." Ariel steps closer.
"You think I play a game. But I do not command him. I walk besides him, as his companion." A pause. "And if I played a game -" the elleth chuckles to herself at the irony of her speech, "if you play a game of thrones, there is no middle ground. You win, or you die. So, you better be happy I don't play. Because, Lord Denethor, I also don't lose. And that is not a threat, that is an observation. I have lived before your family even existed. And you might think you will inherit a kingdom, but remember, you are nothing, nothing but the son of a steward."

Denethor frowns, though he still doesn't move back.
“Thorongil may trust you. My father does as well, though he does not see what I do. Someone yearning for power.”

"Or maybe you are just blind. I am not scared of you."

Denethor gives a short breath of laughter, humourless and sharp.
"You sure know how to make yourself unpopular."

"Well, so do you."

~ o ~

A year later, Aragorn is sent on a major campaign to Ithilien, this time truly in command. Of course he is a great choice as a leader, and yet she has the feeling Denethor just wants him out of the way.

"The people love you," she tells Aragorn as he is s a year later, "it makes you dangerous."

"Maybe."
He will never admit what he knows to be true.
"Why are you not coming?"

She smiles and leans back against the white reeling of the courtyard.
"Because you don't need me looking over your shoulder while you forge your reputation. This -" she motions around them, "will be yours."
"You don't know that. I still - You said - "
"I know. And yet, I know you will."
"Why?"
"Because you want to marry my sister. If nothing else motivates you, that will," she says flatly.

Aragorn is quiet, turns the words around in her head.
"I love her."
She sighs. "I know that, too."
"I wouldn't want her to throw away her life."
Ariel snorts. "My sister - do you really think you could stop my sister from doing anything if she really wanted? There is a sort of quiet strength in her, if she decides to do something, she won't be moved. By nobody. Not by me, not by you."

She can see him swallow.

"And you?"
"Me?"
"You'd - you seem made for ruling."

 Her eyes flash, then she studies him, the man he has become, carrying weight and prophecy, with so much potential, hope, fear.
"I was a queen. But at first, I didn't rule. And when I did - I do not think people appreciated it."

He looks confused.

"But you -"

"Not an Elvish queen," she clarifies, "a human queen. Another world, beyond Arda. Then I had a choice - and I chose a second life, became what I am now."

Aragorn just nods, takes it in. He lets so many things slide - or not slide, simply be, that's it. He just takes it, and accepts it, because he trusts her in a way she doesn't deserve. 

"So, that's why you care for humans," he reasons quietly. It almost sounds disappointed.

She shakes her head. "Ultimately, I am elven. I have been raised that way. And I remember most humans being pretty awful, present ones excluded. So, from that perspective, I would have no incentive at all."

"Why do you think humans are so bad?"

Ariel flips back her hair.
"Yiu haven't seen war yet. Not truly, not human against human. The things people can do to each other - I lived about the last seven years of my life in a war, or different wars, depending on who you asked, human army against human army. There was only death. And I was married for almost 20 years to a man I learned to despise."

"But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why marry him if you didn't go along?"

Of course, of all of the things, this is what he latches onto.
Her eyes get blank as she remembers it, only hazy, like through a veil.

"There was - there was a war, another one, though I can't remember specifics. I did tell you in Rohan - love his not the main reason in these cases: We married for power, for wealth. For status and stability. He was gorgeous, I think. I thought love would come anyway. But he loved someone else. Such things make people are miserable. They hurt each other, become unfaithful."

"What happened?"
The question is calm but loaded.
She doesn't answer.

"What happened?"
For the first time, he pushes.

Ariel finds she can't look at him.
"He hurt me, and he hurt my pride. I made sure he died."

"You killed your husband?"

"No. A boar killed him, I had nothing to do with the hunt. But I didn't protect him from his own stupidity."
She sighs.

"I am sorry he hurt you."

She turns back towards him. "Don't excuse him, and don't excuse me. Neither of us deserves it." Ariel shakes her head. "Estel, you have been a treasure I do not deserve, that hardly anyone deserves."

Aside from my sister, maybe.

"I don't believe that."

"Well, I blew up a building."
She blurts it out before she can stop herself.

Aragorn looks at her wide-eyed, almost confused. There is something broken in his eyes, as if a fantasy has cracked.

Now you know. Now you see me like they all saw me.

For the first time, he leaves her.

~ o ~

Ariel stays in Minas Tirith, busy and yet waiting for Aragorn to return. Why, she doesn't know - didn't she push him away on purpose?

Some months later, a letter reaches her from Starwyth: She is fine in Aldburg, her brother has his first child now, a little boy names Ceric. 
Gandalf drops in for a surprise visit, happily received by Echtelion, though Denethor seems suspicious of the wizard. The Grey is as concerned about Saruman just as Ariel, and they spend long afternoons discussing the events of Arda. He brings news from Imladris and Dale, knowledge that makes her heart ache.

A year later, Théodis dies in a riding accident and Ariel rides South to pay her respects.
Her presence in Rohan coincides with Aragorn's stay in Minas Tirith, she has the strong suspicion he doesn't want to see her. That thought makes her heart crack more than anything else. 

At the request of her father, she returns to Gondor to have an eye on the developments in the South. She would love to visit Dol Amroth but doesn't trust herself so close to the sea. Maybe that is why Aragorn has been stationed there, she ponders. They meet shortly in 2969, and it is rather business-like, though he cannot quite cover up the pain when he looks at her. 
Denethor is definitely delighted.

Gandalf isn't stupid, he sees that something weighs on her spirits, too, though she won't talk about it. So, when he visits the next time, he brings Starwyth from Aldburg.
She is 22 now, confident and educated and utterly unimpressed by Gondorian finery and snobbishness. For her, all prissy girls are the same.
Unfortunately, she cannot be as highly employed here as she was in Aldburg, and yet, she finds a job: She is ordered to write down all Rohirric tales and legends she can remember, because in Gondor, tales are reported in written and not in spoken form, at least at court. Additionally, she is the one who manages letters with Rohan, if anyone needs a scribe for Rohirric (which doesn't happen often, admittedly). 
When Ariel sees her in her own little solar tucked into the back of the library, or out in the courtyard catching some sun, still laughing loud enough to have Denethor give her dirty looks, or together with herself, riding out on the Fields of Pelennor so she doesn't lose her skill with her bow, she feels proud.
Whatever mess she has done before, she feels she has done right with this one, this thanwen. 

Aragorn and Ariel reach something akin to peace as they go on a mission together, alone for the first time in years. It's awkward at first, but then they slip back into their routine. Nobody mentions what has been revealed so far, and she thinks they are both happier for it. She feels his acceptance maybe has to do with Star, with her seeming as if she cares (and she does).
He is quieter, too, though she isn't quite sure whether it is because of her or whether it is because of the fighting he has gone through. She can finally see age on him, or maybe it is tiredness. Maybe both.

Star doesn't remain in Minas Tirith indefinitely, though.
"They have made me an offer, to write down more stories. But I need collect them, talk to the Elders, hear what they know. There is so much I don't know about them yet. I need to return," she tells Ariel. "I like Gondor, I understand what people might love about it. But Rohan is my land. I need to go home." A grin. "And after three years, I would really like to see my family. My nephew will otherwise grow up thinking he only has one aunt!"

Ariel would have brought her back herself, but she insists she is fine going together with a party of traders who will stop at Edoras shortly after Nimloth's wedding.

"I am honoured that you worry, my Lady," she tells her, "but I will be fine. I think I am going exactly where I am meant to go."

~ o ~

With both sisters married, it takes quite a while before talks of potential unions for Denethor start. Why they have put it off so much is questionable to Ariel, there is basically only one strong contender anyway. It's his cousin, Finduilas, and from what she has heard, he might not be too opposed. At least he spends more time in Dol Amroth, even before anything is announced.

"I hope those two won't hate each other," Aragorn comments offhandedly while they are sharpening their swords and two young soldiers nearby discuss the steward's son's absence.
It's a bit snappy.

"I don't think so, from what I have heard," she answers, "he will rule outside, she will rule him at home. He will definitely be obsessed with having a male heir. And if anything happens to her... the Valar be with us, it won't be good for anyone."

"How do you know that?" Aragorn asks concerned.

"Just a prediction, " she deflects with a laughter she hopes he buys, "it might work out fully different."
Future will tell that it won't, of course.

~ o ~

From what she hears, Star is doing well back in Rohan, living and working now in Edoras. There is a strange little voice in the back of her mind, that something is truly afoot, and she doesn't know what to do about it. After all, it was right when Myrcella left her, right? They did ultimately poison her. If Jaime had only brought her back more quickly...
She catches herself, afraid she is becoming paranoid. After all, there is nothing in the infrequent letters that supposes foul play. 

Guess her surprise then, when one day she comes back from a short campaign to a message from her that makes even the very seasoned warrior gape.
It is written in proper quenya, a clear sign it is not meant to be read by strange eyes.

My Lady,

I don't know how to begin this letter, what to say to you, what to do, where to turn. That alone tells me how much I have changed from the girl you opened the world to, or the woman I thought I was. 
And yet, you know I have never been one to hold my tongue, and words have always been my preferred weapon, so here I try: 

I am with child.

I do not need to tell you who the father is, since I am certain you know that already.
This is what pains me the most. Not him, never him. He is everything I want a man to be, and I love him, as he does love me. But despite everything that has happened, I can see what the world is, and I very clearly  see what you have explained me all along: There is no space for us together, at least not in the sense a woman might hope for. He will not marry me, and I don't have that illusion. 

I have fought for years for my place, but there are certain levels I cannot rise to. 
Now I am afraid I might lose it all in an instant. 

You will call me stupid and blind and selfish, and you are right. Nothing about this is wise. People whisper, of course, but as for now, these are only whispers. But I cannot hide this secret for long anymore.
I am confused, and I am scared. But I would like to see your face and welcome your counsel. I never ignored it out of spite. 

With whatever love I have left in me,
– Starwyth

Ariel puts the letter down, then only narrowly represses the desire to scream into a pillow. The girl - woman, Ariel corrects herself, but for her she still seems like a girl - has become pregnant. Unwed, unpromised.
Apparently by the crown prince of Rohan, if she reads between the lines correctly.  

"Stupid!" she struts through her room, "stupid, stupid!"

Of course, she technically knows she has no metaphorical (or actual) high horse to judge from. 
But at least she is (now) aware of the consequences of children out of wedlock - whether Starwyth is, she is not so sure. Is she truly? Ariel has warned her of this very fate years ago, and apparently, it hasn't stuck.
Wild, and optimistic, and a bit proud, she might overestimate her pull. 

She sighs. It's messed up, and it's somewhat familiar. It's also a young woman who she cannot let face the whole mess alone. 

Aragorn takes it ... well ... it is fair to say he lacks a certain amount of understanding, not that she is surprised.

"Starwyth, with child? And Théoden the father?" he asks for the third time, at least.

"Yes. Or at least I strongly assume he is the father, given her message."

 “But they are not wed.”

She sighs. "Well spotted. And that is where the problem lies."

"Shouldn't they be married?"

She sighs more exasperatedly. "Of course, in a perfect world they would be married, she would be secure, and the child would be the legitimate heir and everyone would be happy. But as I told you, it is not that easy, since she is not considered to be a suitable bride."

He looks away. “I do not judge them. Only… it is complicated. For her. For the child. Why did they -”

"Well, I assume they didn't plan for her to get pregnant," she argues, "though, as you should know, with Men, pregnancy isn't as much of a mindful process as it is for elves. They wanted each other, might even love each other. Do you truly think love always comes in the right shape, at the right time?” Ariel smiles sadly. "You have gotten to known war, more and more. But you haven't yet lived among enough heartbreak. True, bitter heartbreak. Like Tauriel. Like my father."

Like me. 

“But this... this is not what love is meant to be.”

Ariel laughs, bitter and bright. “No, Estel. It’s exactly what love is. Messy. Cruel. Poisonous. Brave. And never, ever simple.”

He ponders that for a moment. "But - wouldn't it be easier to give the child up?"

Aragorn can't even blink, she has already pinned him against the wall, and it's not in the playful sort of sense.

"You have not the inkling of an idea of the love between a mother and her child. Not one bit. It's a love that cannot be avoided, for better or worse. She needs to have a choice." Her eyes narrow. "Like your mother had, when she decided to search help in Rivendell, to protect you. Your mother could have elft you with us, but instead she stuck around, to be there whenever you needed her. Ehy do you think that was?" 

She moves back, and he rightens his tunic. "Do you think he will accept his child then?"

"Who knows. It depends on many factors - Théoden's wife, mostly, because he will marry. Whether they have children. Whether his sisters have legitimate sons. But yes, it can happen." When he waits, she adds. "I have seen it happen. Parents accepting their bastards, unapologetically. Some more covered, some overt."

Aragorn clears his throats. "And I assume you want to ride to Rohan to make sure that he does?"

"No, I want to ride to Rohan because I am afraid of what his potential wife will do."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

As her life revolves around Imladris once more she writes a letter to Edoras and one to Finduilas, where she is now, about what she is doing. That she is faring well, that the North is mainly secure. If you'd told her before she'd go to lengths to send messages to humans, she'd only laughed, but apparently that's who she is now. It's a bit ridiculous.
It takes month before a very exhausted bird finally brings a reply, travel seems to be more difficult, even for birds. The poor thing has been plucked, the plumage ruffled by what Lindir identifies as crow pecks. Well, at least it's a valid excuse, otherwise she would gave been insulted by the wait.
Still, Ariel tries to uphold that connection to the South with letters whenever she is back from ranging. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

The last she hears of Gondor is in 2990, in a long letter from Finduilas that is at the same time heartfelt and worrying. Times have indeed become dark in the South, and the princess feels it, like a star covered by the clouds. 
"I feel I am suffocating here, only the boys are my rays of sunshine in an ever-darkening realm. I long for the seaside and the waves. My husband loves me in every way he can, but what can a man do against the darkness? I hope you are faring better, my friend."
A small, enclosed drawing shows her sons, about 12 and 7 years old. When Ariel first picks up the paper, she almost drops it again - if she thought Denethor had much of a Stark, it is even more obvious in those two boys, if the likenesses are correct, but she supposes they are.
"Boromir is becoming difficult. He is everything his father could wish for, everything he does wish for: He is brave and capable and has a strong sense of justice. He will be a good steward one day. And yet, he won't just take the approval my husband gives so freely. Instead, he challenges him at every corner, breaks his rules, talks back. Thinks he knows everything better; he seems to old for his body sometimes. He has a deeper understanding of fights than a boy his age ought to have, I fear it is because the shadow has also an influence on him. But I don't know what it is, it is hard to describe. And yet, it is still easier for Boromir than for Faramir. My little boy is brave, I know it, but he doesn't like war and fights (neither does his older brother, but he accepts it more readily). Faramir loves books and stories, and that doesn't win his father's favour, I am afraid. Maybe he could live in Dol Amroth for a bit,  I wonder. It might bring some new approaches."

Unfortunately, Ariel can imagine far too well how the younger son of the House of Húrin is feeling. Probably pretty bad - or maybe it will be another Eddard-Stark-situation, with one son wild and careless and obnoxious and the other one sent away and taught to serve and help and never take anything for himself. He should have, she thinks, Stark should have taken that fucking iron throne if he had had any little brain. But his gods-damned honor... ultimately, the way for Cersei to become queen. It didn't matter anyway, in the end. In the end, in death,  they are all just broken bones and dust and regret.
Why she can't shake off the memory of him and his family is one of the mysteries of her very long life. Maybe a curse by Valar or Gods.

News from Rohan also come sparsely, but they do come - Idis is happy being part of the thanwen now and is indeed turning into a fine fighter. Théodwyn - the princess and Théoden's sister - has had a son, a boy called Éomer, after his father Éomund. He is the second one in line to the throne, Ariel reads in Star's neat wavy script and grits her teeth. Idis should be up in that line, not her little boy-cousin. But that's the same old injustice over and over again. Why Théoden doesn't man up and marry Starwyth is beyond her though - by now, it would be foolish to think he'd marry anyone else anyway. 

'Don't be stupid,' she scolds herself a moment later, 'you know how it is. You know why the game is played like this.'

At least they seem happy, a little family with their two children. 

Sometimes, when she packs away another letter in the beautiful ornate box on her desk, Ariel wonders whether she has gotten too soft. It is usually these moments that she goes out and hunts some orcs, just to make sure she is not. It sort of becomes a running gag between her brothers, but unfortunately, they are kind of funny, so as much as she would like to stay mad at their comments, she can't. (Well, not much, at least.) Other than Tyrion, whose sarcasm was always mean and biting, these two tease her light-heartedly and something deep within her knows they wouldn't want to hurt her on purpose. Yes, it has taken her millennia, but by now, she knows. She might even understand humour a little.

~ 0 ~

The one person she maybe should hunt down though is unfortunately the one she cannot find. It's another source of enjoyment for her brothers - because let's be honest, who does not like their siblings' egos taken down a notch?
Eldar are certainly not an exception.
Aragorn meanwhile has apparently decided to avoid Rivendell all together, which makes the whole tracking and finding thing rather difficult. Ariel knows Arwen is waiting, and Aragorn is not getting any younger, even though he is graced with the long life of the Dúnedain. So, she doesn't have too much time to waste, but the North is wide, and he knows it as well as she does. Gandalf and her father aren't much of a help either. Sure, Ariel has friends among his people, but they are loyal, so they don't talk if he doesn't give them permission. So, when one of them finally makes a comment about his whereabouts, she knows they are meant to tip her off. He is giving her a hint - maybe. 

Aragorn is still a hard man to find, but she can finally track him down one evening, already close to dusk. The light is a bluish green between the thick summery leavy trees but it's already getting cooler, especially next to the stream where she is standing. The running water seems to soak the warmth out of the surroundings like a leech.
Aragorn is rummaging around a bit further downstream, ready to set up camp for the night. A little fire is already burning, only the bedrolls and maybe some food are missing. It's a good spot, covered from one side by a big boulder. It's shelter both from the elements and from wild animals. They have camped there before, twenty years ago or so. She wonders whether he remembers it. She certainly does.

With the lightest steps, Ariel jumps down the stones next to the stream, always towards him.
The elleth knows he doesn't hear her, she isn't much more than a shadow in the dusk, not until she steps onto a dry branch on purpose. The crunch fills the silence like the cracking of a whip. His head snaps up, he glances around like a deer, then freezes as he sees her. This time, he doesn't run, but he still looks ready to bolt, his grip white-knuckled around his water-flask.

"You're a hard man to hunt down," she mutters as she comes closer.

He scoffs. "That was the plan."

"And yet, you tipped me off. Or rather, you used your people. Quite smart."

A silence falls as he closes his eyes and breathes out once. She thinks he might need a hug.

I would hug you without question, my Estel. Always.

“You came back,” he murmurs, "and found me."

“Of course, what did you expect? Of course I come find you, I always do,” she says. “And I always will. You know that.”
She motions for him to walk back to his little fire, then without further ado gets ready to sit down next to it with her own things orderly to the side. Despite the relative security, she'd still rather be alert.
After a moment, he cautiously joins her.

"Estel, I only hear that you have been running, running, running. I haven't seen you once, ever since I am back North, and I have been for quite a bit. What's going on, why don't you come home?"

He seems like he wants indeed to run away again, but then his shoulders just slump. She waits him out, a rare moment of patience, until he sighs angrily.

"What do you want to hear? I met Arwen in Lórien. She is ... your sister is the best person I have ever met. She is perfect and wonderful, and I couldn't stay. That's it."

Aragorn presses his lips together.

"Well, why? Why couldn't you stay, why did you vanish? Why did you hurt her? Because you love her?" she argues back. 

"No. And yes - Because I met her, and then in her, with her, I saw the life I wanted, and knew I had no right to it. That I can't have it, because I can never have her!"

Ariel stares at him. “You think she wouldn’t choose you?”

He shrugs helplessly. "What do I know? You Eldar are not for me to understand. When she talked, I thought that maybe - But what if she does and chooses me, against you, her kin and her family? I am not a king, and I still don't want that crown. And above all, I don't want to die for the crown. I want to live, and she makes me want to live most of all. She makes me feel alive."

Ariel looks at him for a long moment, turning around his words in her head. Some things don't really match up.

"Tuig nín, what happened in Gondor? There is something else, isn't there?"

She can see he is trying to keep it in, to hold it back. But the pressure, pain, regret and self-loathing are stronger.

"Ariel, they called me a hero, after... after what I did. But the ships. We knew there was danger in the South, and they could come to Gondor very quickly. I warned the Steward, and he listened. And I still think there was some danger - but what if I was wrong? What ... you know they weren't orcs; they were people. So many people. So many lives. I know we went to protect Gondor, but I see them still, Ariel. It wasn't attacks like in Rohan, where - It was different ... we...  Is that right? It was my orders, I had to, but it doesn't feel right. We burned the ships, all the ships.  Nothing feels right anymore. I wake up choking on screams or on smoke, I don't know. I don’t know how to be here anymore. How - Arwen deserves someone whole, not broken. And she deserves someone good, not someone who burns ships. I shouldn't be king, Ariel, not after what I have done. I don't deserve that, I don't deserve the throne, or my mother's regard or your care.”  

Aragorn is shaking next to her, she can see tear tracks on his cheeks gleaming in the firelight.
She wraps her arms around him for a while, a curtesy she'd not have granted a man in her former life, so focussed on image, strength and status. But this is Aragorn - Estel - and this is just them and suddenly these things don't seem to matter so much. Maybe they never did.
Then, Ariel leans back to stare him down in the firelight. 

"You have no right to decide that for me, are we clear? Neither have you any right to decide for your mother or my sister. Their life is theirs to give to who they want."

She feels the truth about it settle in her bones, maybe for the first time. Funny, it takes the breaking of someone else for her to see more clearly.

"Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"I can't -"

"Exactly," she nods. "There is nothing you can do about what has happened now. You did what you did is right. Was it? - I am not going to tell you yes or no. But it should have told you one very important thing: just because you have orders to burn something does not mean it is the right thing to do. It might be, it might not. Use your own brain!"

"How can you be so calm about this?"

She shrugs.
"As I have tried to tell you before, I have walked these dark paths before. You were just too self-righteous to listen."

Aragorn stares at the ground, thinking about it, then he nods.
"I am sorry. What happened?"

"Are you sure you want to know? Knowing of my list of sins won't you help to understand yourself. Not really."

"But I want to understand you."

Ariel sighs. "Alright." She knew it would come, sooner or later.

"You remember what I said about a land far far to the west, beyond the seas, beyond the edges of the world and the realms of time."

He nods. "Seven Kingdoms."

"Alright. Well, long before I became a queen in this world, whwn I was still a child, there was a king who became mad, a Mad King who developed a taste for burning people. He considered himself a dragon. And then, during the war, when his city had almost fallen, he wanted to burn everything down, so the others couldn't have it. A young knight stabbed him in the back to stop him, one of his guards - after that they judged him, and they called him a traitor. Kingslayer." She scoffs. "I have told you about him before - Lionpaw. The man who found them both, he was one of the wolves of the North, he was the worst of all. The quiet wolf, but definitely not quiet in his disdain. Such a self-righteous prick."

"But Lionpaw saved the city."

"Indeed. By betraying his oath. For the wolf, that was worse."

"So, he would have sacrificed a city for an oath."

"He would have risked war and sacrificed a realm for an oath," Ariel confirms.

Aragorn turns that around in his head. "But if you can't trust a man to stand to his word, what can you trust?"

"Usually, self-interest, power and money are good places to start. Love and desire, too, though they tend to be more fickle."

She would have once dismissed it entirely thinking about how her feelings cooled for Jaime after he lost his hand, but her sibling's devotion to the hand is difficult to disregard. And now - she knows she'd probably do much worse things than burn a couple of ships for Haldir, for Glorfindel, for her twin, for Estel most of all.

"Besides, if you can't trust a man to use his brain - what can you trust?" she argues. "Honour is good in theory, assuming everyone lives by it. But that is not the case. Rulers are generally very interested in themselves. Or they might simply fail." 

"So, what do we do?"

"I can't answer that for you. I tried one way already, to succeed through strength alone. It wasn't enough. I was taught that there is only power, and no true good or bad. No matter what anyone says, power will always play a role. There is some sort of greed in most of us, I am afraid. Maybe all of us. Do you remember the story of the Rings of Power? If there wasn't, Sauron would have never been able to corrupt anyone. And yet, the Eldar like to think they are above it, happily forgetting the Silmarils." She snorts. "My family isn't any better. Kingslayers and kinslayers."

She leans back on her hands. There is a lot on his mind now, she can see how it is all crusging into him. There is no point in saying more.

"How do you keep going like this? When you say you know what you are doing, what is right, but you also might not know?" he questions her.

She shrugs. "I just do. There are things that need to be done, and things I know that are important and right. With the dark one, Estel, that is not a question of morality between men. That is a question between life or eternal night. When it comes to those things, sometimes the choice is very simple. There are dark things out here, all around us, and they are getting stronger. We need to prepare, and we need alliances, because this is just the evening of what can easily become a long, long night."

"I hate to live in times like these."

"Don't we all?" She catches herself almost making a comment about changing seasons, but thinks better of it. "But Estel - my sister is waiting for you, for you to be there for her, to see her, to listen. She doesn't want a king, she wants a man who stands to who he is. And if that is a broken ranger, she will love you like that."
Ariel swallows.
"Being loved like that, Estel, that's precious. But we can only accept thr love we think we deserve. Don't throw all of this away because you are fucking afraid of your own feeling!"

"Did you have it?" he finally asks.

Her first instinct is the "yes" she has always given, the second the more careful "maybe" she had told Haldir.

"In a sense and for a while," she finally settles on, "but nothing like what you could have. It was nothing like that."

She should tell him to love nobody but his children. That it will hurt him only more, like poison. But maybe that is why she doesn't. 

~ o ~

They return, eventually, just to leave on more expeditions. Her own letters from Rohan arrive sparsely, she hears about the birth of Théodwyn's daughter Éowyn only as the girl is already a year old. All the other letters must have gotten lost before. 

There are no more news from Finduilas for a long time, Ariel assumes she has gone to Dol Amroth at last and thebletters won't reach her from so far South. Only later she hears of the princess' death which shakes her suprisingly hard - maybe also out of concern for the country. Proud men without wives to temper them are notoriously fickle and unresponsive to suggestions,  in her experience. (Her father being a happy exception,  but even he shows some signs.) Mithrandir visits the sons from time to time and is always full of praise for the younger one, a studious, quiet, curious boy interested in the world. A bit unassuming, but chatty and less shy than one would expect. He tells her less about the older one, maybe because he sounds so much like the average noble son that there is not much to tell. Apparently a bit of a know-it-all, but also constantly frustrated. Well, with Denethor as father, Ariel would be, too, is her thought each time that is mentioned.

~ 0~

In the meantime, Mithril has born another foal, a colt foal sired by Asfaloth. She calls him Fornathan, North Beacon, which is also the term for the Rohirric place of Halifirien. His legs still seem far too long for the rest of his body, but he is absolutely adorable and already shows an incredibly high intelligence, likely a result of the crossing of Elven horse and Maeras-lines.

Ariel leaves him to grow up in the still mostly calm area around Imladris as she rides out further and further once more. There she meets a man, an odd sort of fellow, called Iarwain Ben-adar. She had only ever heard of him before since he usually sticks to the Old Forest, but now that she meets him, there are a lot of mixed feelings in her chest. The thing that messes with her head the most is the contrast between the power he so obviously has - about the trees, the plants, even the weather it seems - and his total disregard for it. He acknowledges it only as much as one would acknowledge a nice pair of shoes: necessary, but not exceptional. It just is, and he has no wish to increase it. No desire at all.

His wife is much the same, Goldberry is calm and sweet and kind, she is beautiful but soft in a way the Eldar shaped and honed by millennia are not. That is odd, for Ariel would swear Goldberry must be of her own age, if not older. And yet.
She would like to scoff at her quaint passivity, but then, that woman seems happy, content, catered to, and loved. Both her and her husband don't seem to see the urgency, the issues, the troubles of the world, and that is truly frustrating, but also somewhat of a relief, if she is honest.
"Rest, Viryóre," Goldberry always tells her when they meet, "we will keep watch until morning. You have no fights to fight tonight."
She wonders who told them her mother name, and she wonders even more whether they might not know more than they let on in the first place. Fact is, she never sleeps as fully and deeply as she does at their little cottage, a true, deep sleep, closer to a human one and less like the Elvish mental resting space she usually ends up in.

~ 0 ~

She knows how she could get to the Shire from here - not a lot of people do, thankfully, if it is hidden, it cannot be destroyed. A couple of times, she actually plays around with the thought of crossing the border and visiting that hobbit-place, just out of curiosity. But then, she never does. It feels wrong somehow, prohibited, like an area that is not meant to be touched. Ariel only ever rides by, until the outskirts, not entering or disturbing. She knows the Buckland Ferry, and the huge hedge at the corner though, and Bree - of course. Bree is something else, a place she frequents from time to time to collect news about the world. Unfortunately, she is the only elf that will hang around, and Ariel is very much aware how bad that is for her reputation. It makes her look almost common and approachable, especially when paired with brown or green clothing. She so hates being considered one of the common folk, but being flashy has become dangerous as the number of foes increases.
They still call her "Lady" to her face, mostly because they din't know what else to call her - but she is pretty sure they call her Goldilocks behind her back. Glorfindel thinks it's hilarious.

~ o ~

She has just started to break in Fornathan as Gandalf appears again, a bit greyer it seems, a bit wearier. Definitely concerned about Saruman now, and yes, she almost screams "I told you so". Then she continues laying out her containment and emergency plans for Rohan, every cyvasse piece that she has already shifted into place. This is another game of thrones, and she is not playing to lose. 

"And yet, we cannot act too obviously, show too much of our hand, of what we know!" her father argues.

Gandalf nods. "There is too much afoot."

"What do you mean?" the elleth asks sharply.

"He is strong, he has allies, but we don't know whom. Or not all, at least. Birds, for sure. Some humans. Orcs very certainly as well. But beyond that?"

Before she can say anything, Elrond levels her with a look. "Ariel, you are not going down South again. Your place is here, with your kin, do you understand? You were fighting tooth and nail to lead Imladris, so be their lady, be here!"

Unfortunately, he has a point, and yet it feels wrong leaving the South abandoned like that. But there is another issue to consider: Saruman is a danger, yes, but the ultimate danger is coming from Mordor, from even further South. From dark riders, from shadows. From an unnamed threat, and she doesn't yet know what it is, but it is there, she can feel it. She thinks some of the others can, too.

~ o ~

Since she is meant to stay in the North and Aragorn has his own people to look after, it is on Elladan and Elrohir to get Arwen from Lórien back to her father's house. They are away for months, which is not surprising, and only the fact that she can feel nothing - not even pain - through the bond keeps Ariel vaguely calm. Nevertheless, she is incredibly happy as they finally arrive, a bit battered and a bit bruised but overall, quite happy with themselves. So is Arwen, however, there is even more yearning for a man who is (incw again) not there.

Aragorn isn't at Imladris when they first arrive, but he does show up fairly quickly. Say what you will, at least he didn't run again - small mercies. Ariel doesn't know what is being said between him and Arwen, maybe it is nothing much at all. At first, they start with a sort-of awkward co-existence, interrupted by Aragorn’s ranging sprees. This might take some time, Ariel thinks.

"What did you tell him?" she finally asks her sister one evening.

"That I understand that duty is weighing hard on him. That I understand that there are decisions to be made. But that I am not going to sit around doing nothing, just waiting out whether he will run away or not! He did that once, now he has to earn anything I was willing to give to him so easily."

Ariel nodds. "A wise choice."

A year later, she gifts Arwen Fornathan's sibling, a filly called Nimbrethil, "white birch" or "white princess", depending on the interpretation.
She takes her own horse up to the North, to dark places that make him winy and prance around and a couple of times actually throw her off. Yes, she hates these Gods-forsaken areas as well, far too close to what were once halls of stone, and are now rotten by greed. Yes, she hates how he rolls his eyes and fights the reigns because he is scared.
But her horse is half-elvish, pure and good, and if they are ever going to meet something dark (which they hopefully won't), he will need to be used to it. Or rather- they should not be used to it, but he has to have encountered it before, so that he might be scared, but not petrified. 

Arwen seems to feel much the same, if her own increase in training is any sign. It is also a way to spend time with Aragorn in a totally different capacity, not just as a reprieve or a harbour, but as a direct help.

Yes, Ariel is unsurprisingly a little bit (or very much) jealous, though she doesn't quite know of whom. They are like Beren and Luthien, it's so painfully dramatic and poetic.

"You are still my favourite conpanion, though," Aragorn tells her once,"I don't have to worry about you. I always worry about her."

She scoffs. "Small mercies." And yet, she smiles.

~ 0 ~

"I have an order for you," is what her father tells her the next time she returns from a trip with Glorfindel, tired and weary.

Ariel raises an eyebrow, she is suddenly intrigued. This sounds important and worthy of her attention.

"What is it?"

"I want you to take a hobbit to Imladris."

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