The Exile's Daughter

Beginning

Two months had passed since I had pledged myself to Legolas. We walked as if we were in a dream, never far from each other. Every morning, we would walk down to breakfast arm-in-arm, and every evening he would accompany me back to my chambers, kissing me, both longing for the time when we would no longer have to spend the nights alone.

Naturally Aragorn was an insufferable tease, and so were Elladan and Elrohir. Arwen was beside herself with excitement, helping me to prepare for my journey to the Woodland Realm and my position as its lady. The rangers were ecstatic, and would not go a day without insisting they always knew we would end up wed. All of them, of course, would come to the wedding.

It saddened me to think of leaving them all behind. To start another life so soon was daunting, especially as one of Noldorin heritage who would preside over a silvan kingdom, but Legolas' assurance that, once his people knew me, I would gain respect and make friends easily, was comforting. He had far more confidence in me than I did myself, but with his support I knew I would find my place.

On that morning in high summer, Thranduil was to arrive at last. The guards had espied him descending into the valley. We were all arrayed in the courtyard, awaiting the Woodland King. My heart was pounding with nerves.

Legolas wore a silver tunic, slashed with a dusky red, and my dress was the same shade of red to compliment him. Upon his head was a circlet, and upon mine was bound a bright white jewel, a betrothal gift from Arwen.

The moment was fast approaching, for we had been outside for twenty or more minutes and had spied the wood elves riding down into the dell. I beckoned over a servant quietly, nodding in thanks as he took the chair I had been waiting on away.

Legolas held out an arm so I could lean on him. I kissed his cheek. "It'll be alright."

My nerves were trivial in comparison to his. He had been almost frantic, dashing this way and that to make sure everything was perfect. I only hoped to the heavens that Thranduil would not upset him. It had pained him to be away from his people for so long, but he needed to get away from the darkness in Mirkwood before it claimed him entirely.

Behind us were Elrond and his children, Glorfindel and many others of the household. A few of the rangers were in the background, curiosity overtaking them. I could hear Aragorn shifting distractedly from one foot to another, and Arwen soothed him in a whisper. He knew just as much as me about Legolas' troubles.

The clip-clopping of horses came near. Legolas tensed, but I nestled against his shoulder and he kissed my head, nodding resolutely and standing straight again. The time had come.

I had never seen an elf so regal. Lord Elrond, despite his high status among elves and men, did not often dress in finery, but Thranduil seemed to prefer it. Silver robes were draped around his graceful shoulders, and a crown of flowers rested upon his long golden hair, not a single petal damaged by the long journey. His eyes were blue, but had not the warm quality of his son's. They were two chips of ice, long ago frozen, I guessed, by the unhealable wound of loss. He looked at us both and we bowed. Legolas still held my arm, for he knew I was fatigued, and I winced at the scrunching of my scars.

A pair of fine, cream boots touched the ground and came towards us. A hand cupped my chin. "Rise. I will not have you in pain on my account."

I did as I was told, as if the surprisingly calm voice had barked the request. Thranduil almost smiled. "You are fairer than your father ever was, in face, and in heart, I perceive."

"Indeed, I am not my father. Even less my grandfather." I said steadily, choosing my words carefully. Thranduil raised a single eyebrow in humour, looking a little more like his son.