The Silver Flame (LOTR)

Finding Her Place

Visenya stood at the edge of the training grounds, her silver hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders as she tightened the straps of her bracers. Her armor, though lighter than what she had worn in Winterfell, was strong and well-crafted by the hands of Greenwood's finest smiths. Over the past few weeks, she had begun to find her rhythm in this strange new world. Though much about Middle-earth was foreign to her, the elves had made her feel surprisingly welcome. There was a warmth in Greenwood she hadn't expected—a sense of camaraderie that reminded her of her days in the North, where the bonds forged in battle were as strong as blood ties.

Legolas stood a few paces away, his bright eyes watching her with an expression that was both amused and intrigued. He was, in many ways, unlike the men she had known back in Westeros. Quiet and reserved, much like Jace had been, but with a keen sense of humor that caught her off guard at times. Over the past few days, they had begun sparring together, trading techniques and learning from one another. He had taught her the graceful, fluid movements of the Elves, and in turn, she had shown him the raw, efficient brutality of the combat styles she had mastered in the North.

"Ready?" Legolas asked, his voice light but with a hint of challenge.

Visenya smirked, drawing her sword and giving it a quick flourish. "Always."

They circled each other for a moment, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound in the clearing. The world around them seemed at peace, but Visenya knew better. The darkness that Gandalf had spoken of lingered at the edges, waiting, watching. But for now, she focused on the task at hand—on the prince before her, and the sparring match they had come to enjoy.

Legolas moved first, a swift, fluid strike aimed at her side. Visenya parried easily, their blades clashing with a clear ring that echoed through the trees. He was faster than she expected, his movements almost impossibly graceful, but she had learned to anticipate his style over the past few weeks. She countered with a feint, drawing him in before sweeping his legs out from under him. But he was quicker still, twisting in midair and landing on his feet like a cat.

"You're getting better," he said with a grin, not out of breath in the slightest.

"And you're getting cocky," she teased, stepping back and raising her sword in challenge.

They continued their sparring, the rhythmic dance of their movements creating a harmony between them that Visenya found oddly comforting. The elves who watched from the sidelines—guards, soldiers, and a few friends she had made during her time here—cheered and offered advice, laughing good-naturedly when Visenya gained the upper hand or when Legolas managed to slip past her defenses.

Over time, the training grounds had become a place where Visenya felt she could truly be herself. The elven guards had taken to her quickly, especially after hearing of her battle with the spiders. Though many had initially been wary of her—an outsider, a mortal, a woman from a world beyond their own—their respect for her grew with each passing day. She had learned their names, shared meals with them, and even picked up some basic phrases in Quenya, the ancient tongue of the elves, though it was still a work in progress.

When their sparring session finally ended, both she and Legolas were panting, their faces flushed with exertion. She sheathed her sword and rolled her shoulders, feeling the satisfying ache of a good workout.

"You're a quick learner," Legolas said, offering her a waterskin. "Soon you'll be teaching me more than I can teach you."

Visenya took the waterskin with a grin. "You're too kind, Prince Legolas. But I've still got a lot to learn about your people."

He chuckled softly. "We all have much to learn from one another. You fight like no one I've ever met, Visenya. There's a fire in you that reminds me of the Noldor warriors from the old tales."