Lord of the Rings 1. Chapter 1-New Begginings

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or anything associated with it.

Chapter One

"I won't do it, Gandalf."

The old wizard did not look at Moriel as she said this, but merely shook his head and continued to blow smoke rings from his pipe. "You cannot cower here in the mountains alone forever, Moriel."

Moriel gave a short, unamused laugh in reply. It was not cowardice to know where one was not wanted. Moriel knew her place, knew that the world thought her different and therefore dangerous, and had made her peace with it long ago. "I am content in my solitude" she said to the wizard with a final tone.

Gandalf suppressed his impatience with her and stood, tending to the tea kettle that Moriel had left to whistle over the fireplace before them. "It is often said that solitude will drive one to madness if indulged in often" he teased as he handed Moriel her cup.

Moriel raised an eyebrow at the wizard's statement. "Then tell me, _Mithrandir, _where were your years of solitude spent?"

The two exchange looks of the utmost seriousness before slowly falling to laughter. Truthfully, Moriel knew Gandalf would never be one to fall to madness. Many knew him to be odd, but she knew him better than most, and was of the opinion that many of the wisest beings Middle Earth could be expected to be odd, or at the very least slightly different. And Gandalf was certainly one of those, but it was not necessarily a bad thing.

Moriel had known Gandalf ever since she was only ninety years, which amounted to the majority of her long lifetime. She was immeasurably fond of the old wizard, and truth be told owed him much. But for him to call upon her to repay it in this fashion was unjust.

"Gandalf, what concern have I for the fate of the race of men, or any other race for that matter? Why should I offer aid to those who have shunned me so?" _Why should I not watch their world burn? _she added silently.

Gandalf turned sharply towards her with and expression that would melt stone. "Because if that world falls, you fall with it! You are not so separate from the world as you would have yourself believe, Moriel. The time for isolation is over."

Moriel rose from her seat, going to stare out the window in the direction of Rivendell. She could still remember the last time she had contact with the elves, and it had not been pleasant. She had sought refuge from her tormentor, and had been refused by reason of suspicion. And so it was with every other race, every other town she had turned to for refuge. They all knew of the deceiver's assassin, and none it seemed had possessed faith enough to take the risk.

Only Gandalf, in the end, had seen her for who she truly was at that time, a frightened young girl, unsure of herself and the world around her. He had taken in Moriel, taught her to hunt animals rather than people, to rely on herself, even aided her in the construction of the small but cozy wooden cottage she still lived in so many years later. And so it was that Gandalf remained the only person she trusted, the one who knew her heart best.

And it seemed to Moriel that he was willing to use this knowledge of her innermost feelings to his advantage. "Is it so wrong to allow yourself companionship?" He questioned her quietly. "You must be lonely in these mountains, with only an old wizard and a horse to talk to."

Moriel turned to face Gandalf, with a small, defeated smile on her face. "You will not let the subject be, will you?"

The wizard responded by blowing another smoke ring, raising his eyebrows as he did so. "When have I ever made a recommendation that was not for your benefit?"

Moriel nodded, knowing the wizard was right. "Alright, Gandalf" she conceded. "I will attend this council in Rivendell."

_I can only pray that it will not be to my detriment._

* * *

A month later, Moriel found herself packing her saddlebags for a journey to The House of Elrond. She found inevitably found herself remembering the last time she had packed for a journey, one which she had never returned from, and shook her head to clear such thoughts from her mind.

_ If I am to convince others I am not who they believe me to be, I must first convince myself._

Moriel went to the pantry, pulling two small loaves of bread for the journey. She ran through a list in her head, remembering suddenly that she had almost forgotten one very important thing. She placed her saddlebags on the table and went to her room, to the small chest at the foot of her bed that housed her few valuable possessions, opening it as she had not for over a thousand years.

Moriel gazed upon the beautifully crafted twin blades housed in the chest. These blades were a given to her by Gandalf long ago, when their friendship was in its infancy. He had stated that they made far better weapons than her "rubbish orc blades" .They were shorter than a sword yet still slightly longer than a knife, and had a slight curve to the blade. The hilt of the blades was simple enough but for a luminous green stone in each one, which closely matched her own eyes.

Moriel had been reluctant to accept them at first, as she had only ever fought with her cruelly crafted blades from Mordor. In the end she kept them merely because they looked to be a kingly gift, and she dared not refuse Gandalf's act of kindness. However, she had grown fond of them over the years, seeing them as a fresh slate, these blades that had never stolen an innocent life.

Turning her mind once again from such dark thoughts, Moriel belted the sheathed weapons around her waist. She shut the chest and left her room, gazing around her comfortable cottage with a wistful sigh. Picking up her saddlebags, she headed for the door, stopping just before she left to look around one last time.

"With luck, I will not be gone long." She assured both the empty house and herself. Moriel could not help but feel in the pit of her stomach, however, that this may not be the case.

* * *

Wildfire seemed infinitely happier than his mistress to be leaving, if only for a short time. His enthusiasm somewhat surprised Moriel- it seemed the chestnut stallion had grown bored with the terrain surrounding home which they normally rode. Despite herself, Moriel found herself enjoying the new sights as well. If nothing else came out of this council, at least she had gotten the chance to ride a new landscape.

As Moriel followed the road, letting Wildfire do most of the navigating, she remembered when she had first gotten the stallion. He had been a year old at the most, turned out by his former masters into the wild. The memory still made her smile.

_The sky darkened, and despite her shortage of any real game to speak of- two rabbits amounted to little more than tonight's stew- Moriel knew she had to return home for the night. Orcs had become increasingly common at night over the past century, and she didn't particularly want to meet them. _

_ Suddenly, Moriel heard a twig snap and quickly ducked behind a tree. She silently cursed herself for not going inside sooner, now she was about to be caught defenseless by orcs. _

_ 'Well, maybe not defenseless,' she thought to herself. She picked up a fist-sized rock near her foot. A rudimentary weapon at best, but it was better than her bare hands. Moriel gave a loud war cry and jumped out from her hiding place, and saw something she never would have expected. _

_ A beautiful chestnut colt looked up at her from the patch of grass that was his dinner, with an almost defiant look in his eyes. Moriel knew horses fairly well, having owned quite a few in her long life, and could guess that this colt was about a year old. She took a step forward, meaning to get a closer look, and was surprised when he took a defensive posture. His ears went flat against his head, and he grunted warning noises. Moriel could not help but notice also three long scars on his rump, which looked distinctly as if they had been man-made. _

_ "Such cruelty to have endured at such a young age. Who did this to you, little one?" She whispered to herself. The colt's ears perked up slightly at her deliberately gentle tone of voice, but he did not move closer. She smiled, tossing him an apple she had in her pack. "You may come when you are ready, master horse."_

After seeing him in the wild several times, Moriel eventually earned enough trust from the yearling to coax him into a corral, one that had been empty since the death of her last horse two years before. The two misfits formed a strong bond, and to this day Wildfire would trust no other except his mistress.

The steady change in daylight caught Moriel's attention, and she made the decision to stop for rest at a small creek not too far from the path. She left Wildfire to drink and graze, knowing he would never dare wander too far from his mistress, and took a look around.

The creek she had stopped at ran for a good ways beside the road, and she guessed it was a tributary of the Bruinen River that protected the western road to Rivendell. A solitary willow tree stood not far from the creek, in an area that was mostly fields, with the occasional tree here or there. Moriel thought the area was overall easy enough to protect from the ever possible orc raid, which made it decent enough for her.

Moriel found herself once again lost in her thoughts as she prepared the fire, remembering the first time she laid eyes on Gandalf.

_The rain was particularly cruel that night, coming down hard and fast in fat droplets that stung as they struck her face. Thunder shook the very ground beneath her feet, and she felt as if the heavens themselves were striking out against her, as so many others had. _

_ Moriel could feel her strength waning. The food she stole from her master before she escaped had long since run out, and she knew that she had not the skills nor strength necessary to hunt animals, who were much more careful in their movements than humans. It was in this miserable state, curled in a ball under the trees, that he found her. _

_ The wizard too had been caught out in this ghastly weather, and was also taking shelter under the trees when he had heard the sound of utter despair, a sobbing cry which obviously belonged to someone who had given up all hope. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and despite the rain the wizard found himself looking for the source of this sobbing. Not even fifteen feet away, he found what he sought. _

_ The crying came from a girl, of the race of men, who looked to be no more than twenty years of age. Though she was lying curled in on herself, he knew she could be no more than five feet and three inches in height. As lightening cracked the sky, he got a better glimpse of her appearance. Her face was covered by sopping mass of long, fiery red hair. When he cleared his throat to announce his presence, she stared up at him with wide, green eyes and a smattering of freckles on her pale cheeks and nose. _

_ The wizard chose not to comment on her disheveled state. "Well, my dear," he called over the thundering rain. "it seems as though you could do with something warm to eat."_

Moriel smiled at the memory. It always reminded her of one of the things she adored most about Gandalf, which was that no matter what others thought, he always chose to make his own judgments. Where others had scorned her for her strange and dangerous past, Gandalf found her better for it, and for that she was grateful.

Moriel took one of the loaves of bread from her saddlebags, tying Wildfire's reins loosely to a low lying branch as she did so. While she ate, she gazed through the gaps in the tree branches to the now darkened sky, the height of the moon telling her that it was high time she attempt to get some rest. She propped herself up against the trunk of the tree and settled in for the night.

Her last thought as she dozed off was of a certain old wizard, and wondering how right about this journey to Rivendell he might actually be.

* * *

The next day, sometime in the late afternoon, Moriel caught sight of tracks belonging to what she suspected was a company of three or four riders. She halted Wildfire, jumping down from the saddle to examine the prints. Upon closer inspection, she determined these riders could not be more than a few hours ahead of her. Another sign which she could not ignore made her heart sink in dismay.

"Elves!" She spat. Moriel was not truly friendly with any of the races of Middle Earth, and the elves were no exception. She could still remember when King Thranduil, who was still brand new to the title of 'King' at the time, had laughed in her face and had her thrown (quite literally) out of his kingdom, forbidden to return.

She turned to mount Wildfire. "We may have to go around, my friend. I do not fancy coming across a camp of Eldar this evening."

"Oh it's far too late for that." Moriel whirled at the voice, only to encounter two arrows pointed directly at her face. She silently cursed herself for not having noticed them before now.

The source of the voice came forward. He was a tall elf with pale blonde hair and eyes the color of a cloudless sky that seemed as if they missed nothing. And as an elf, Moriel had to remind herself, that was probably the case. She also did not fail to notice he wore a green tunic embroidered in silver, the colors of Mirkwood. He was undeniably beautiful, all elves were, but she thought he seemed to be the sort that knew he was handsome.

The two stood silent for a moment, sizing each other up. He noted the way the sun glinted off of her long red curls, the wind blowing it into a tangled mess. Her eyes stared unflinchingly, defiantly into his. He immediately surmised that she was the type of female to be incessantly stubborn. The serious expression, however, was somewhat diminished by her youthful, innocent face. He believed her to be no more than eighteen years, and silently wondered what this human girl was doing out alone so close to sunset.

Moriel was the first to break the silence. "If you're not going to kill me, would you mind terribly instructing your companions to get their blasted arrows out of my face?" The elf appeared to consider this for a moment, then signaled for them to do as she had asked. Moriel breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but did not let down her guard.

"I do not intend to cavort with elves of Mirkwood, so I suggest you allow me to leave, master elf." She continued. He looked slightly surprised at her acknowledging of his home.

"It will be dark soon," he stated. "My companions and I would have you tell us what a human girl is doing on the road this close to sunset, where most would be indoors with their parents." To his great surprise, the girl laughed at this.

"I am not so defenseless as you would believe, and I am no fool. You wish me to stay so that you may keep a watch over me and thus avoid the possibility of being slaughtered in the night."

One of the archers behind him coughed to hide a laugh. This stranger was more observant than their prince gave her credit for.

The blonde elf gave a small, crooked smile. "The thought may have crossed my mind." He conceded.

Moriel nodded. "And I would keep you close by as to avoid the same mistake. So, Master elf, it seems as though we make camp together." She took a step forward, offering her hand to the elf. "My name is Moriel."

He took it. "I am Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm. These are my guard, Amaron and Eledhel. To where do you travel, my lady?"

She considered the elf for a moment. "To Rivendell". All the while, Moriel was silently cursing at her wretched luck.

* * *

**Hi all! Thanks so much for reading! I'm new to the fanfiction universe, but I was pretty pleased with how this first chapter turned out. Please review and let me know what you thought, constructive criticism is welcome, praise is even more welcome! ;) I will try my best to update on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, but hey, reviews might make me update faster! :)**


	2. Chapter 2-The Elves

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Unfortunately.

Chapter Two

None of the company had yet fallen asleep, though they had all been feigning it for an hour. And so it was that Moriel was startled from her star gazing by the sound of poorly masked breathing. She sat up, her hands going to the blades at her sides.

"Did you hear that?"

Legolas nodded grimly as he pulled his bow from his back. "The sound of someone who does not wish to be heard."

No sooner had he said this than they were surrounded by a small band of orcs, screaming in their own foul language. The elves were already firing off arrow after arrow in quick succession as Moriel unsheathed her twin blades.

"Do your worst," she taunted the orc before her. He grinned back through rotten teeth, brandishing his own cruel orcish blade.

"Come taste your own blood, whore!" He gave another loud cry and swung his blade over her head, only to be met by her own crossed blades.

Moriel had not fought in many years, but her body still remembered the skill as if she had never stopped. She brandished her blades as extensions of her own body, and was graceful in her movements, as if she were performing a deadly dance. And it could not be said that she was not efficient, either, for it did not take long before, with a twirl and a sweep of her foot, the orc was on his back with her blades crossed at his neck. The final expression on the orc's face as she lopped of its head was one of utter surprise.

And he was not the only one. Amaron and Eledhel both stared at her with identical looks of shock on their faces. Legolas, on the other hand, was more interested in something else.

"Where does a human woman learn to fight with such skill?" He inquired with suspicion.

Moriel noticeably stiffened at the question, making Legolas all the more suspicious of this woman's past. Her answer did nothing to put him at ease. "In times like these, everyone must be capable of protecting themselves."

After a rather awkward pause, Amaron spoke up. "I suggest we get some rest, and set off again in the morning. We are journeying to Rivendell as well, Moriel, I suggest we accompany each other."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes in disgust.

* * *

Wildfire seemed just as irritated as she was at the elves presence. He was not used to being around other horses, or anyone besides Moriel for that matter, so the unwelcome company around them had him racing ahead of the other horses.

"Your horse seems aggravated by our presence," Legolas commented in an amused tone.

"Yes, and he is not the only one," Moriel muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Wildfire has little trust of other living things. It took me two years to coax him to allow me to ride him. Not only does he have little trust, but little experience around others as well." Moriel sighed, thinking of her solitary cottage in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. "I do not often venture this far from home, and this is the first time I have done so in the five years since I first found him." She glanced at the blonde elf. "You would do well not to let your horse so close to him. He will not hesitate to attack if he feels you are too close."

Legolas took this into consideration and moved his own dapple gray farther from Wildfire. "You seem to know much of horses, Lady Moriel."

She nodded in agreement. "I have owned over a hundred of them, I ought to know something by now."

The elf coughed loudly in surprise. "Over a hundred, my lady? How does one so young own a hundred horses?"

Moriel smiled despite herself, as if she had a great secret to share. "You do not look to be one calling me young. How old are you, Lord Prince?"

"Many times your age, I would guess. I am two thousand, nine hundred and thirty one years old, my lady."

Moriel nodded with a small smile. In elven terms, he was still quite young, and she supposed to some she was too. However, she still took great satisfaction from informing this elf of his ignorance. "I am only slightly older than you, for I am three thousand, one hundred and eight years old."

Legolas was astounded to say the least. "How? How does a human achieve the immortality of the elves?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "We all have our secrets, don't we?"

* * *

The four of them arrived in Rivendell around noon, and Moriel was pleased to encounter Gandalf when they arrived, dismounting his own horse. She jumped down from Wildfire, and was greatly startled when she saw that the wizard had dried blood on his face.

She chose to make light of the situation, knowing the wizard would tell her what happened if he saw fit to do so. "You've been making new friends I see." She greeted him in a sarcastic tone.

Gandalf glanced behind her at the three elves that had accompanied her. "As have you. Mirkwood elves? This is no small surprise coming from you."

She rolled her eyes and followed Gandalf to the stables. "I was hardly befriending them. We encountered each other on the road and they determined I was a threat that needed watching." She snorted in disgust. "Leave it to Mirkwood to look out for themselves and no one else." Feeling assured that Wildfire was sufficiently cared for, she bid the stallion goodbye, once again following Gandalf.

"You are not one to speak of matters of trust, my dear." The wizard replied bluntly. "Come, you must meet with Lord Elrond. I shall take you to him, but then I must leave you. I have a hobbit to attend to."

* * *

If one thing could be said of Lord Elrond, it was that he was a most intimidating figure. Though Moriel had a general distrust of others, she could respect someone who knew how to use intimidation to their advantage, and if this did not immediately warm her to him, it at least somewhat softened her dislike.

Lord Elrond examined this small human before him. Gandalf had informed him that he would attempt to persuade her to attend the Council, and he had to admit he was surprised Moriel had come at all. Even from the distance between them, he could feel the discomfort radiating from her, how she ached to be anywhere but here.

"I will not attempt to understand why Gandalf feels it necessary for you to be present tomorrow, but I can only assume he sees something in you which others do not."

Moriel pulled her gaze from her feet, feeling a bit like a child about to be scolded despite herself. "I believe he hopes to save me from being driven mad by solitude." She choked out.

If Lord Elrond were given to laughter, he would have then. As he was not, he gave her a small, amused smile. Perhaps this strange woman was not so closed in on herself as Gandalf would have him believe. "I will permit you to be present at the Council. For now, my daughter Arwen will show you to your room."

* * *

The Lady Arwen was truly as beautiful as Gandalf had made her out to be in his tales, if not more so. She was all long, dark hair and fair skin with gray eyes that seemed to take in all light around her and reflect it back thousand fold. Her voice was a gentle and sweet as her appearance.

"The evening meal is not for another three hours. There is usually music afterwards. Will you join us?" Arwen opened a door and gestured to the room intended for her use. Her guest room was of an average size, and Moriel found it to be well decorated but rather feminine. The window directly opposite from the door was hung with white, gossamer curtains that fell just to the floor, and a large white mirror decorated with hand painted pink flowers stood in a corner just to the right. The bed was of a size just barely large enough for two, and was decorated similarly to the mirror. A vanity table with a pitcher and washbasin stood on the same wall as the door.

Moriel thought over Arwen's inquiry while examining the room. "You can expect me at dinner, I am not so sure about music, though. I suppose we shall see."

Arwen nodded. "If you find yourself in need of something suitable to wear this evening, I can gladly loan you something of mine." She said this with a discreet glance at what the other girl was wearing presently.

Moriel glanced down at her travelling clothes. She still wore the same clothes she had left home in, a white tunic, black leather vest, and black cotton leggings, complete with her worn riding boots. "Loath as I am to wear dresses, I suppose I cannot very well attend dinner wearing this can I?" Arwen shook her head with a small smile. "Something more suitable would be very much appreciated."

* * *

About two hours later, Moriel found herself standing in front of the mirror in her borrowed room in a pale green dress with long, bell sleeves. Freshly bathed and clothed in her borrowed finery, she looked vastly different from the other Moriel, the one who roamed the wilds in tunics and leggings, face smudged with dirt and hair wild from the wind. This Moriel was a familiar stranger, as if gazing upon a memory. The scooping neckline of the dress revealed just enough of pale, lightly freckled skin below her neck to be becoming without revealing more than necessary. The pale green of the dress contrasted nicely with her shock of red curls. Moriel wasn't fond of the vulnerable state she was in whilst wearing it, especially upon remembering the last time she had donned a dress, but she had to admit Lady Arwen had good taste.

"My," She said to her reflection. "you could almost pass for a lady." As soon as she said it, Moriel could not help but give a short, sarcastic laugh at the idea. People might mistake her for many things, but a lady would never be one of them.

With a bit of time before dinner was to be held, Moriel decided she would rest for a bit. Laying down over top of the bed coverings, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. To her great irritation, she found her thoughts wandering to thoughts of the Prince of Mirkwood. Moriel thought he gave the first impression of being exceedingly arrogant, though he likely had little cause to do so. True, he possessed great skill with a bow, but he carried himself as one who had seen very few battles and was mostly innocent to the ways of war. In addition, she remembered his father for being intolerably rude and narrow minded, a trait which no doubt father passed down to son.

The problem with many races, Moriel believed, was their penchant for categorizing things as either good or evil, black or white. In reality, she held the belief that there was no such thing as simply black or white, rather, things were black, white, or gray somewhere in between the two. Moriel supposed she fell somewhere in the 'gray' category. And in Rivendell, this place where there was not a shadow to be found, she felt similar to a dark stain on an otherwise pure white cloth. Beauty was to be found in every corner of this elven safe haven, whether it be among the peace and quiet of the gardens, or the shear splendor of the house of Elrond itself. One would never be found wanting for things to admire.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door startled Moriel out of her thoughts. She got up and opened it to find Gandalf standing there, a look of irritation etched on his features. "The meal is to begin in a few moments, and you are not yet present. I did not think you would be so rude as to refuse the hospitality of Lord Elrond."

Moriel closed the door behind her and followed Gandalf. "Forgive me, I was merely lost in thought. I would not put on a dress if I did not intend to be present." Gandalf chuckled at the truth in that statement.

Upon arrival at the dining area, Moriel was surprised to see that most of the free races of Middle Earth were represented at this dinner, making her wonder if she had been coerced into involvement in something far more important than she had originally suspected. Even the Dwarves, who typically had little to do with elves, were present. Moriel found herself seated between two halflings, who seemed to have an ever curious nature about them. One was slightly taller and blonde, and obviously intelligent but he seemed to have a mischievous nature. The other was darker haired and appeared to be the younger (and perhaps more naïve) of the two. They introduced themselves to her as 'The Brave Masters' Merry and Pippin of the Shire.

Moriel spent the majority of the meal listening to the two halflings describe a Tavern in their homeland called The Green Dragon. According to them, it was the 'grandest establishment in the whole of Middle Earth'. She caught Gandalf's eye from down the table and subtly rolled her eyes, to which he chuckled softly. It wasn't that she disliked the hobbits, on the contrary, she found them rather amusing. But she had found that they tended towards talking too much at times.

Arwen approached Moriel at the conclusion of the meal. She looked truly radiant in a gown that was made of the purest white, and seemed to take in the light around her and reflect it back a thousand fold. She was arm in arm with a man Moriel knew to be a ranger, who looked to her rather unassuming, though kindly. She could only guess he was truly special to be in the company of Lord Elrond's beautiful daughter.

"I was right!" Arwen clasped her hands together with a smile. "You look lovely in that color. I trust you enjoyed the meal?"

Moriel had to smile at her enthusiasm. "I had the pleasure of being entertained by two very loquacious young hobbits and their tales of 'the finest ale in all of Hobbiton'."

The man standing next to Arwen gave a hearty chuckle. "So you met Merry and Pippin then?"

The three shared a good natured laugh as they began walking towards the gardens, Arwen introducing the man as Aragorn, son of Arathorn.

"Will you join us in a walk through my father's gardens, Moriel?" Arwen inquired.

Moriel considered the offer briefly in her head, but in the end all she desired at the moment was solitude. "No, but thank you. I had actually wondered, could you point me in the direction of the training grounds?"

* * *

He hadn't even been here a day, and already, Legolas was bored beyond measure.

When his father, King Thranduil, had given him a 'mission of the utmost importance', a diplomatic trip to Rivendell was not at the head of his list of possible destinations. His father had never truly given a real reason for the trip, either. All in all, the lack of answers as to why he was in Rivendell in the first place, other than Thranduil shouting "Because I'm your father and your King and I said so!", left him under the impression he wanted nothing more than to avoid attending this meeting himself.

Truthfully, Legolas did not blame his father for avoiding yet another diplomatic council. The Elven King had a notoriously bad reputation for offending dignitaries of all sorts at these meetings. Where Legolas kept his emotions concealed under a façade of calm, Thranduil was known for being ill tempered. Especially where dwarves were concerned. Though the prince had to admit he was no better at times.

Which was why he was on his way to the archery range at that moment, fully intent on venting his frustration on something that wasn't the head of a dwarven nobleman.

When he arrived, however, he was surprised to find the red haired human girl, Moriel, in a rather amusing argument with her bow.

"Why does this blasted thing never work right? I think you're doing it on purpose! I've mastered every style of blade ever made! If a damned elf can do it, I should be able to master it as well!"

Legolas could not help but grin. This human woman, it seemed, had quite a temper. He continued to watch her struggle from his hiding place behind a tree, firing arrow after arrow only to have them land two feet in front of her. She proceeded to throw the bow on the ground, stomping on it like a child as she did so.

Finally stepping out from his hiding place, Legolas notched an arrow of his own and let it fly, hitting the same target she had been failing at for the last hour. Within ten seconds, he had hit the target five times, each arrow landing dead center and splitting the one before it. This action earned him a scowl from Moriel.

"Is there something I can do for you, Lord Prince?" She spat at him. Legolas approached her with a smile that she thought was a bit too smug for her liking.

"Not at all, I was just enjoying watching your performance. Tell me, do you often argue with inanimate objects?" Her cheeks reddened at this. "And in any case, your stance was all wrong." He picked up the offending bow, wrapping her hand around it in the correct spot. "You were holding it too high, and too tightly." He then, much to her chagrin, put his hands on her hips and spun her so that her back was to him. "Your feet should be a shoulders length apart, and you must pull the string back so that it rests just at the corner of your mouth. And you shouldn't go fast when you are learning, or of course you will miss." Satisfied with his work, the Prince stepped back and gave her a nod.

Legolas thought that he could hold her irritation at him in his hands when the arrow actually hit the target. "See?" he teased. "Believe it or not, we 'damned elves' do know a thing or two."

* * *

The nerve! To spy on her, laugh at her, and then force her about as if she were an animal! 'Two can play at this game, elf,' she thought to herself. She would make him regret his arrogance.

"You may know a thing or two about archery, but I can guarantee you would be no match whatsoever against my knives." She challenged, feeling satisfied when he stood.

"Do you think so?" Legolas countered sarcastically.

Moriel responded by drawing both her blades from where she kept them sheathed under her tunic. "I know so."

He raised his eyebrows, but drew his own long white knives. The two began a dangerous dance, circling around one another, waiting for one to make the first move. Moriel noted that he was careful in his movements, always making sure he knew where she was before he stepped. There was no doubt that he had the grace typical of all elves, but she thought his stance just a bit too relaxed, too confident. 'That tactic might work on a mindless orc, but I am too smart for it,' she assured herself. Finally, she grew impatient toying with him. With a sudden, ferocious war cry that seemed to startle him, she charged him, the steel of her blades clanging loudly as they connected with his own, crossed just in front of his neck.

And then the fight began. Were an outsider to gaze upon them in that moment, they would note how the pair appeared to be dancing rather than fighting. Legolas fought with a relaxed, yet undoubtedly deadly grace, while Moriel's movements were fast and precise, yet somehow still just as graceful as his. Moriel knew he was the physically stronger of the two, and knew to use that to her advantage. As he made a jab at her left, she side stepped, counting on his overuse of force to send him stumbling. She seized the opportunity, giving him a nudge that sent him sprawling in the dirt, losing one of his knives in the process. When he rose to retrieve it, she was blocking his path, and he had no choice but to abandon the weapon for the moment.

Growing bored, and somewhat tired, Moriel decided it was time to bring the fight to a close. She faked attacking him from the side, putting him off balance long enough for her to deliver a hard kick to his stomach, putting him on his back with her blades crossed at his neck.

"Surrender, for you are defeated." She ordered with no small amount of pleasure in her voice. To her surprise, Legolas laughed.

"Am I?" His gaze drew her own to something she had not noticed before; his own blade, poised dangerously at the back of her neck.

She gave an annoyed sigh. "Shall we call it a tie then?"

He nodded with mirth. "Aye, a tie." Both withdrew their blades, and she offered him a hand up. "I must say, Lady Moriel, you are a truly gifted fighter. And you still have not told me where you learned your skill," he hinted.

His tone was joking, but Moriel knew he was genuinely curious of her talent. She knew she could not deflect his questions forever, but that did not mean she could not try. "Everyone must learn to defend themselves in this world," she stated with finality. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she said with a glance at the darkening sky, "I thank you for your time, but I would like to be off to bed now. Good evening, Prince Legolas."

And as Legolas watched her retreating form, he could not fight the growing suspicion that there was something very wrong about her past. And he needed to discover what it was.

* * *

Moriel discovered the next morning as she made her way to Lord Elrond's council, that for the first time in quite a while, her muscles were actually sore from her fight with Legolas the previous night. What made it worse was the unforgiving hard wood of the chair she sat in. Gandalf noticed her discomfort and chuckled from beside her.

"Don't get comfortable just yet," he joked. "We have not yet begun."

Moriel gave an inelegant snort in reply. "Believe me, Mithrandir, comfort is the last thing on my mind at the moment."

The group grew suddenly quiet as Lord Elrond rose. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." Moriel noted looks of surprise from a few, and looks of fear from others. "Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." The stern elf paused, appearing to prepare himself to say his next words. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

A dark haired halfling stepped forward, reaching into his coat pocket as he approached a stone pedestal in the center of the circle. On it, he placed a small, unassuming gold ring. One she recognized instantly as her former master's greatest treasure. It was just as she remembered it, not as pretty as the rings gifted to the dwarves, men, or elves, but emanating with a malice that spoke of terror and bloodshed. She hated it.

"So it is true…" a voice whispered. It belonged to a proud looking Gondorian man she would later learn was the son of the steward. His gaze stayed glued to the ring. "In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark," he stood and began making his way towards the ring, "in the west a pale light lingered. A voice was crying 'your doom is near at hand, Isildur's Bane is found.'" Lord Elrond appeared alarmed at his actions as he began reaching out towards the ring. "Isildur's Bane."

"Boromir!" Lord Elrond shouted. Suddenly the sky grew dark and thunderous, and Gandalf rose, speaking in the Black Speech.

"Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!" As he ended, the sky once again lightened.

"Never before has anyone uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!" He threw a glare at Gandalf, then her as she fought back laughter. Only Mithrandir.

"I do not ask your pardon Master Elrond for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil!"

"It is a gift!" Boromir rose again. "A gift to the foes of Mordor! Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people, are your lands kept safe!" Aragorn looked at him as if silently scolding a naïve child, but he took no notice. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him."

Aragorn interjected. "You cannot wield it! None of us can. The one ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master." Moriel felt that she could personally vouch for the validity of that statement. But Boromir seemed to view these words with condescension.

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?"

To her surprise, Legolas rose, and in his anger, she could not help but notice that he looked astonishingly like King Thranduil. "This is no mere Ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn….This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor!"

Aragorn appeared to desire to deflect the attention away from himself, which Moriel thought was a true credit to his character. "Havo dad, Legolas." (Sit down, Legolas)

"Gondor has no king," Boromir said with a mean look at Aragorn. "Gondor needs no King."

After a brief, awkward pause, Legolas sat down, and Gandalf spoke once again. "Aragorn is right, we cannot use it."

Moriel could not help but add in her own opinion. "Fools."

"You have only one choice," Lord Elrond spoke up, "The Ring must be destroyed."

A fat, red haired dwarf stood up, brandishing an axe. "Well what are we waiting for?" he growled, swinging it over his head before anyone could stop him and bringing it down on The Ring, only to have his ax shatter into pieces. Moriel snorted at the incredulous look on his face, earning her another glare from Elrond.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there, can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this." At this he looked around the room.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir spoke. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful." Moriel shuddered at this. "It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, and ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond just said?" Legolas said angrily. "The ring must be destroyed!"

Suddenly, the tension began slowly escalating until all in the council were standing in the middle, shouting and arguing with one another. Moriel stayed seated, feeling slightly nauseated at the subject matter. She knew firsthand what Mordor was like, having spent most of her childhood there. Glancing around at the people in the circle, she found she could not picture any one of them in the evil land that was her childhood home. Nor did she think it fair to ask it of them. This was a task better put forth as punishment than as a task of great import.

Just as suddenly as the argument began, it dissipated as a small voice spoke up from the other side of Gandalf's chair. It was Frodo, the halfling who had earlier brought forth The Ring. "I will take The Ring to Mordor!" Everyone present appeared dumbfounded. "Though," he added, "I do not know the way."

"I will help you to bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." Gandalf assured him with a hand on his shoulder. Then the others began to step forward.

"If by my life, or death, I can protect you, I will." Aragorn stepped forward. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," added Legolas. Not to be outdone by an elf, Gimli stepped forward as well.

"And my ax!" 'Though it has just been destroyed,' Moriel thought with amusement.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," Boromir mused. "If this is indeed the will of the council…then Gondor will see it done."

A sudden shout from the bushes caused the group to turn as a blonde, portly halfling ran forward to stand at Frodo's side. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!"

Lord Elrond appeared amused. "Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is invited to a secret council and you are not."

"Oi! We're coming too!" This voice belonged to Merry, and he and Pippin ran forward from behind two pillars to stand with the other hobbits.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission….quest….thing." Pippin said proudly.

"Well that rules you out, Pip."

"Nine companions…" Lord Elrond said quietly. At this moment, Gandalf turned to her with a glare and a 'harrumph'. When she did nothing, he jammed his staff into her toe.

"Ouch!" she shrieked. "Alright, I've got it!" she limped forward to stand with the others. "It appears my service has been volunteered for me, Master Baggins." She glared at Gandalf as she said this.

"So be it," Elrond said finally. "You shall be The Fellowship of The Ring!"

"Right..." Pippin said hesitantly. "Where are we going?"

* * *

**Chapter Two! Yay! This one was kind of slow because of the council (at least I thought so) but hey, this stuff has to happen. Follow, Favorite, Review, et cetera! Love love love! :)**


	3. Chapter 3- The Journey Begins

**Yay! New Chapter! I feel like it took me forever to get this one up, between volunteering at the rescue squad (yeah, I drive the boo boo truck), work, and life, things just went really slowly. I hope you guys like it! As always, Favorite, Follow, and REVIEW! :) Much love!**

* * *

Disclaimer: If Tolkien's marvelous work belonged to me, I can assure you Legolas would have had his own love interest. Poor guy.

Chapter Three

It had been quite long since Moriel found herself adventuring across Middle Earth, and she was displeased that this time, instead of fleeing Mordor, she was going towards it. The quest had her remembering her past with a pained heart and queasy stomach. It was in this uncomfortable state of remembrance that Gandalf found her, and perched himself on the rock next to her.

"I would guess," he said thoughtfully, "that you presently find yourself thinking of past misdeeds. Am I correct?"

Moriel sighed. "I feel as if I am a dog, running home to an owner who will whip me upon return."

Gandalf nodded. "The problem with having a past is that one tends to dwell over it when they should be looking towards the future. We are all dealt a certain lot in life, and must find a way to do the best we can with it." The old wizard took a long drag from his pipe before continuing. "You spent ninety years doing His bidding before you escaped, which amounts to little more than a blink in your lifetime. Why dwell on a blink?" He looked at her with eyebrows raised in question as he said this.

Moriel supposed he was right. The problem was she found herself, time and time again, returning to one dead face that would not leave her thoughts.

_The wind whipped fiercely in the night, blowing her hair about her face and making it rather difficult to stay perched on her ledge. She scooted closer to the open window of her targets bedroom, mentally preparing herself for a moment she always hated. _

_ Even the sky seemed to berate her for her actions, the stars winking down at her from over Pelenor Fields, as if angrily shouting 'Monster! Monster!' And they were right, she supposed. But few could understand her situation. Those closest in Sauron's council were his true prisoners. _

_ She finally worked her way to the window, and stood in it, watching her victim for a moment. A man and his son slept in a room together. The man was recently widowed, and neither wanted to be alone. He was a nobleman in the court of Gondor, perhaps an advisor to The King or a treasurer. Their home was grand, speaking of extreme wealth for it was closer to the top than any other noble household. This bedroom had a brilliant view of Osgiliath below. _

_ Moriel could imagine what it must be like to grow up in a normal home, with a family, a human life that didn't drag on for ages like her own. In this home, she might've been Moriel, the beautiful, soft spoken daughter of The King's most trusted advisor. Or perhaps she would have been Moriel, the passionate, rebellious, politically active nobleman's daughter who never obeyed rules. _

_ But that was a life lost to time. _

_ Clearing such thoughts from her head with a shudder, she climbed down from the window sill, standing over her victim. One last time, she gazed at his handsome face, soft brown hair, eyes that she imagined were as blue as the Anduin or as green as clover. She took a deep breath, positioning her blade above his throat. _

_ And she killed the son._

She had never been given a reason for that boy's death, and at the time, it had not seemed important to ask. She had been as mindless as an orc, merely executing orders. After her escape from Mordor, she realized that was a question she desperately wanted someone to answer.

Moriel was shaken from her thoughts with a cry of "Crebain from Dunland!" from Legolas. Flustered, she gathered up her things and quickly aided the others in disguising their campsite. With just enough time to spare, she ducked under the rock she had perched on just moments before.

* * *

The next evening The Fellowship had changed course, deciding to go over the pass of Caradhras. They were presently camped at the base of the mountain, and would begin the climb in the morning.

Legolas stood watch as usual, which gave him ample time to mull over his thoughts. And he could not help but once again find them drifting towards Moriel. After overhearing her conversation with Gandalf the previous day, his suspicions were all but confirmed. Mithrandir had spoken of 'past misdeeds' and 'ninety years doing his bidding.' Over and over again, his fears drew him to a tale his father had told him once.

_"When I was just beginning my reign over Mirkwood, long ago, I was approached by a most unlikely person, asking for my shelter and protection from, as she put it, 'her tormentor'. Now, let this serve as a lesson to you, young Legolas, for if I were not King I might've taken her into my household. But I am, and a King must always think of more than just himself. _

_ She had hair the color of autumn leaves and bright green eyes. At first glance she appeared to me as little more than a child run away from home, until she spoke. It was then that I realized this was the human assassin Sauron had taken so much pride in distorting from an innocent child, into a weapon for his own uses. I knew she could only draw trouble, so I had her taken from the Kingdom, never to return. And she has despised Mirkwood for it ever since."_

His father had gone on to tell of a rather unpleasant altercation that took place as a result of his refusal. The girl had fought with two blades of a cruel orcish make. After Mithrandir had informed King Thranduil that he had taken the same girl under his wing as a ward of sorts, he decided it was only fitting that she have a more suitable pair of blades. But of course, the mighty, unbreakable Thranduil could never let it be known that he was the one who commissioned those weapons.

Legolas had heard the tale many times as a child. He never understood the reason for his father's small display of compassion, despite removing her from his kingdom. Legolas felt as if he was the only one who saw what she really was, and now it made his blood boil to think that this same dangerous weapon was among the Fellowship. Had Gandalf gone mad? Did he not realize the danger he was putting them in?

He went to Aragorn for his opinion on the matter, viewing him as both a wise man and a close friend. Legolas was, however, stunned by the answer he received.

Aragorn stared at the night sky in contemplation as he thought over Legolas's words. "Have you considered," he said after a moment, "the circumstances of her childhood?"

Legolas raised his eyebrows in question.

"If she is who you say she is, she may very well have been kidnapped at a young age, and raised to believe in the wrong things. Not only that, but did Gandalf not say she escaped? To me, that shows that she possesses a conscience."

"Yes, but…"

"Gandalf seems to trust her, _mellon nin, _and I believe you should too."

Overall, this conversation left Legolas feeling rather dissatisfied. Was he the only one who could see the danger she posed to the group? What if she determined Sauron's was the only logical side to choose? She could destroy their mission, and the world as they knew it, in a day.

"I must confront her myself," he decided.

* * *

Caradhras was a cold, unforgiving place. Moriel wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, and continued to shiver against the wind. Gandalf stood at the front, fighting a way through the snow with his staff. Moriel stood not far behind him, aiding the hobbits, while Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir were at the rear of the group. Legolas, of course, felt the need to show off by walking on top of the snow, scouting up ahead.

"Blasted elf," She muttered.

An "oof, oof!" from one of the hobbits caused the group to turn back and find that Frodo had slid back down the mountain, in front of Aragorn. He put his hand to his neck frantically, and Moriel quickly realized that The Ring had fallen from his neck during the tumble. "Boromir! Give the ring to Frodo." Aragorn shouted, with his hand discreetly placed on the hilt of his sword.

He relaxed his grip only when Boromir had returned the ring to Frodo. Moriel turned back to Gandalf.

"Mithrandir, I do not trust him around Frodo."

Gandalf continued forcing his way through the snow. "For all his faults, Boromir is a good man. There are few who can resist the pull of The Ring." The wizard glanced back at the two men accompanying their small group. "Men least of all."

Moriel mulled over this statement as the group continued to fight the ever growing fierceness of the snowstorm. It was true that the race of men was naturally weak-minded, and she supposed that included her as well. Had she not been easily brainwashed by Sauron? She recalled how easy it had been until the end, just to let the orders wash over her. They were not people she killed, not really. They were obstacles, things that kept her master from achieving his goals. Naturally, obstacles must be removed.

Another shiver in the harsh Caradhras cold shook her from her thoughts. She looked up to see that Legolas was once again ahead of the group, on top of the snow, looking as if he was listening intently to something she could not hear. The hobbits clung to Aragorn and Boromir as if their very lives depended on it. And truthfully, in the unforgiving blizzard they faced, that was likely the case.

Gandalf kept shoving forward stubbornly through the snow. He had already been beseeched by the rest of the group (save the elf, who didn't feel cold), to turn back. Moriel knew he would be hard pressed to do so, for that left Moria as their only other option for passing the mountains. However, he was brought to a halt when Legolas turned to him and said (rather loudly) through the howling wind, "There is a fell voice on the air!"

Moriel felt her eyes grow wide as Gandalf spoke. "It's Saruman!"

Aragorn spoke. "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"

Gandalf continued to stubbornly refuse, shouting back his own chants in a vain attempt to cease the conjured snow storm. Soon enough, with a loud crack and a shudder of the mountain, a small avalanche came crashing down upon them from above, covering the group in a very cold blanket of snow.

"We must get off the mountain, make for The Gap of Rohan, and take the west road to my city!" Boromir repeated. Aragorn was quickly shaking his head in disagreement.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!"

Gimli spoke up. "We cannot pass over a mountain! Let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

"And get ourselves killed in the process…" Moriel muttered under her breath. She was surprised when Legolas gave a small chuckle at her statement.

Gandalf was silent for a moment, and she knew he was recalling the evil that lurked in Moria. A result of the overzealous and greedy nature of the dwarves who mined it. She could hardly fault the wizard for being hesitant to take that path. "Let the ring bearer decide."

The shivering hobbit's eyes went wide, and he seemed to think on it for a moment. Boromir spoke up again. "We cannot stay here! This will be the death of the hobbits!" Indeed, the four of them were already shivering violently, clinging to the two men who carried them up the mountain.

Gandalf was awaiting an answer. "Frodo?"

Frodo took a breath before he spoke with a final tone, "We will go through the mines."

"So be it."

* * *

After the long trek back down the mountain, Gandalf determined that they should "rest and recover strength" before setting out for Moria. Moriel could not help but notice that their current campsite was not far from her small home. The thought had her slightly homesick, and wanting for the company of her horse, whom she had trusted in the care of the elves, with a warning for his nasty temper.

The others, however, just seemed glad for the campfire and lack of blizzards. Frodo, Merry, and Pippin huddled closely to the fire while Sam was hunched over that night's meal. Legolas was somehow managing to maintain a rather heated discussion with Gimli over race superiority, while simultaneously standing guard. Gandalf and Aragorn were engaged in a more subdued conversation, while she was left to sit in awkward silence with Boromir. Not being fond of awkward silences, Moriel was the first to break it.

"I saw you dueling with the hobbits the other day." She commented. Boromir chuckled quietly at this.

"If you could call it that. It felt more as if I was fighting two young boys with wooden practice swords."

Moriel smiled. "I've never been to the Shire, but I cannot help but think that it must be nice there, not having to live in fear. Being blissfully ignorant enough to have never held a sword." Her hand went subconsciously to her side, where her twin blades remained sheathed. "Their innocence is precious."

Boromir nodded. "You have your own weapons, I see. May I have a look?" She unsheathed the blades and handed them over, noticing how a change almost immediately overcame his face as he studied her blades. He had gone from amiable nobleman to skilled warrior almost instantly. A flash of recognition shown in his eye. Handing the blades back to her, he spoke in surprise. "You fight with elvish knives?"

Moriel's face showed that she was just as surprised as him. "You can so easily tell that? I never really wondered at their make. They were a gift, and I had assumed they were made by men."

The man shook his head. "Elvish weapons are far more graceful in style than those made by men." He gave her a smirk. "We aim for effective, they aim for aesthetics."

Moriel huffed in frustration. "It would be like Gandalf to gift me with weapons made by those I despise." Boromir raised an eyebrow in question, but she shook her head, stomping off to be by herself.

Moriel had never found herself quite so put out with Gandalf as she was at that moment. How dare he? For ages she had treasured those blades, seeing them as a blank canvas. Now she merely felt like a fool. Examining them now she could see it was all too obvious they were elvish blades, for though they had no elvish writing, the tell-tale curvature of the blades and rich looking green jewels on the hilt were not something men would see fit to add to a weapon. She threw them to the ground in frustration, only to sigh and pick them back up again.

She supposed it was not about who made the blades so much as it was about who gave them to her. In fact, she could still remember the day she received them.

_ Gandalf was late. He had told Moriel she could expect him at her doorstep that morning. It was now a very wet and windy night, and there was still no sign of him. She gave up on the window, turning to tend to the tea kettle that had been whistling for at least a minute. _

_ Moriel supposed she should be used to the erratic way of her favorite wizard by now. Many times she had expected him in the summer, only to have him turn up in September with no explanation at all for his extreme lateness. He was very fond of saying "a wizard is never late, nor early, but arrives precisely when he means to."_

_ "He could perhaps try and mean to arrive on time." She grumbled into her tea._

_ A sudden, harsh knock on her door startled Moriel from her favorite chair beside the fire. Rushing to open the door, she found Gandalf, looking thoroughly soaked and rather grumpy. She raised an eyebrow at him. _

_ "I'll have none of your complaints about my lateness tonight, Moriel! You will be nothing but grateful and you will enjoy it!" _

_ "But I didn't-" she was stopped as Gandalf roughly thrust something wrapped in a cloth into her arms, taking the chair beside hers and stealing her tea as he did so. Inside the cloth was a pair of fine knives, exactly the style she used for fighting._

Moriel was broken from her reverie as a hand roughly picked her up from where she sat underneath a tree. She found herself pinned to the tree underneath a pair of strong arms. A smooth, masculine voice spoke angrily in her ear.

"Tell me who you are."


End file.

Lord of the Rings, Adventure, Romance