Created By

rosiegirl24

Rate this Story

Embed

Chapter Two…………..THE STRANGER

            There were hushed rumors floating about Rivendell. The most prominent of these was the one that claimed a new evil had been awakened.

Impossible, it was said. Sauron and his forces had been defeated years ago. What were left of his army were goblins and orcs that had been driven far into the Mountains. But not all were convinced of this.

Failariël of Dorthonion especially.

She was the cousin of the Evenstar of her people, Arwen Undomiel, but people seldom heard of her. She was tall and fair, as all Elves, but she was a graceful as a willow, and extremely adept at wielding a bow, even for an Elf. Her eyes were a piecing, deep blue, and her hair a glossy chestnut color. She resided in Rivendell, a commoner among the Elves.

Once her uncle Elrond had left for the Grey Havens, Rivendell fell under the protection of the King Elessar and the Evenstar. At the return of the King, Failariël had become a nobody again. Her companion, Elilian, was a comfort, but she was now busy in other affairs, and Failariël rarely saw her now.

She had her heart set on adventures; she longed to travel outside of the Valley, to journey like the others of her kin. She had especially admired the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Greenleaf. Her cousin spoke of him in high regards, and he had accompanied the Quest of the Fellowship. She figured his bowsmanship was nearly as good as hers.

Later that night, she crept from her room and went out to the high balconies to gaze upon the stars. However, the night sky was far too cloudy to view any glimmer of light. The moon hung like a soft pastel lamp in the infinite darkness. Feeling rather put-out, she paced along the balconies, absently running her hand along the smooth, wooden railings. When she was young, she adored the marvelous view that the balconies beheld, but now, the wonder was old to her.

Why was that? She wondered.

                She leapt lightly onto the spindly railing, balancing delicately on the finely crafted wood. She breathed in deeply; the night air was cold and alerted her senses.

                “Excuse me,”

A voice interrupted her, and she nearly fell. She landed on the planks of the balcony as nimbly as a cat, swiftly regaining her composure. She asked sharply, “Who is there?”

                The stranger stepped from the shadows, bathed in the pale glow of moonlight. The soft light addressed his well defined features, and the easy smile he gave as he stepped forward to greet her.

Failariël felt her heart skip a beat.

It was the Prince of Mirkwood.

                “I’m sorry – I startled you,” he said apologetically.

                “No, it’s alright,” breathed Failariël, her mind racing. Her ears were ringing with the quiet, melodious sound of his voice. What was he doing here, of all places?

Legolas extended his hand, and she took it.

                “My name is Legolas Greenleaf, of the Woodland Realm.”

As if she didn’t know.

                “I’m Failariël of Dorthonion,” she replied, shaking his hand weakly. His smile broadened.

                “You are Arwen’s younger cousin!” he exclaimed.

                “Yes,”

                “It is an honor to meet you,”

                “No sir, the honor is all mine,” she answered meekly.

So…She was not a nobody. At least, not to him…

This made her smile timidly, and she felt a bit more confident. Legolas glanced down, and chuckled.

                “You can let go of my hand now,” he said quietly, still grinning. His eyes were laughing - good-naturedly.

                “Oh!” Embarrassed, Failariël’s arm, as though electrocuted, shot obediently to her side. “I’m very sorry,”

                “That’s alright,”

She looked at him, and he smiled gently.

                “You have a very nice hand – I felt your calluses. Are you a bowman?”

                “Yes,” said she, and her head lifted a bit.

                “Do you belong to the League?”
At this question, her spirits fell. The League of Elites was a gathering of the finest bowmen – no doubt he would be there – but women were not permitted. Legolas’s smile faded.

                “I’m sorry. That was a foolish question,” he faltered. “I think women should be admitted into the League, but alas! The choice is not mine to make.”

Failariël smiled shyly at him.

                “I wish that too,” she said in her soft and graceful voice. Legolas nodded slowly.

The moonlight turned his pale hair silver, and it gleamed in the faint glow. Failariël found herself gazing at it, and thinking how lovely it looked.

She then realized that she was staring, and quickly looked away.

                “So, why are you in Rivendell?” she mumbled, feeling the blood hot in her cheeks.

                “Sorry?”
                “I – I just wondered why you came to Rivendell,” she said.

                “Oh,” Legolas brightened. “We are having a get-together. I supposed that’s what you can call it – the King and the Evenstar are coming later, and the hobbits Samwise, Meriadoc and Peregrin plan to come here with a group of their younger kin. Gimli the Dwarf swore that he was coming, too. He wouldn’t have some pointy-ear beating him to Rivendell.”

He smiled.

                “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” he added.

                “No!” she blurted out, and then blushed deeply. “No…I mean, you aren’t a bother at all…”

                “That’s good,” replied Legolas. “I was walking about to get some fresh air, and I was remembering everything that has been done in this Valley. Much of it I will never forget. Then I saw you, and you looked strangely familiar. My curiosity was piqued. Forgive me,” He said, and his blue eyes roamed her flushed face, and softened. “But you do look like Arwen,”

A million adjectives to describe him piled up in her mind – angelic and benevolent among them – but she managed to bite her tongue.

“May I inquire as to what you were doing?” asked Legolas.

“I…I like to get out at night,” she admitted. “Ever since I was very little, this has been my comfort-spot. I love to watch the stars wheel overhead, but,” she waved her hand at the dark heavens. “They are not out tonight,”

“No,” he agreed, and sighed. “They are not. I sense something evil has awoken. I have even heard whispers of an unnamed fear in the Valley. There is a fell chill in the air,”

Failariël nodded. The night was unseasonably cold.

Both grew silent.

After a long pause, Legolas said,

                “Well, I must be going,”

He examined her face carefully, and smiled his gentle smile.

                “Farewell – perhaps I shall see you soon again.”

                “I hope so,” she whispered. He inclined his head slightly.

                “Good night,”

                “Good night,”

There was a slight breeze, and he stepped past her on the dark balcony. She blinked, and he was gone.