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The fire cast shadows across the campsite, abstract shapes dancing about Aniel's linen-clad form. Legolas, seated around the circle, kept his gaze fixed on the flames, though not without significant effort. He tried not to allow his attention to linger on others too openly, and certainly not with the tug of curiosity that pulled at his thoughts.
The fellowship had grown quiet in the last hour, watching the sun gradually disappear as they relaxed. The day's long march was now but a memory, left to fade along with the light.
The quiet of twilight blanketed them in fatigue, interrupted only by the crack of burning wood, or the call of distant birds.
"You're an elf, aren't you?" Frodo asked Aniel, breaking the silence with his voice filled with polite curiosity. She was the newest member of the fellowship, having joined only mere weeks ago during a chance encounter.
"I am," she responded, her tone soft.
"Then... why don't you wear your hair like Legolas?"
Legolas blinked, mildly startled by the shift in the conversation. He glanced at Aniel, awaiting her answer.
She smiled faintly, smoothing out her top. "I never learned the proper way to braid it."
"Your family didn't teach you?" Sam asked from beside Frodo, squinting out at her through the firelight.
"I was raised around Men," She began, her voice calm. "I am only half Elven. My mother was an Avar, but I rarely saw another elf after she passed. There weren't many around to teach me."
Frodo's eyes widened slightly. "You're half-human?"
Gimli snorted from where he sat polishing his axe. "Wouldn't have guessed it."
"Give it time," She joked. "Most Elves don't see me as one of them," she confessed. "I can manage the simplest of braids, but nothing like the styles of the Woodland people."
Her gaze flicked to Legolas. "Yours are beautiful," She added. "You must have had much practice."
Legolas nodded with an air of formality. "From a young age, yes. It is a common tradition among my people."
The light caught in her eyes, and for a moment, Legolas forgot about the fire entirely. He could imagine being so far from his heritage, from the traditions that defined his very people. The mere thought stirred emotions of sorrow in him.
"Well then," Aragorn began, failing to hide a smirk. "You must teach her, Legolas,"
Caught off guard, he looked up quickly. "Teach her?"
Aragorn fought back a laugh at his friend's expense. "Unless you mean to hoard all that sacred cultural knowledge from our newest companion."
Legolas felt his cheeks tinge red at the very thought-- to be so near to someone (especially someone not of his kind) was no small thing. Braiding another's hair was quite an intimate act in Elven culture, reserved usually for family or close bonds.
"There's no need," Aniel said quickly, smiling sheepishly. "Truly, I--"
"I could," Legolas said, gently cutting her off.
Aniel blinked, unsure. "It's alright, really--"
He met her gaze once more. "If you still wish to learn." Though his voice was level, the twitch in his fingers betrayed him.
Aniel smiled tentatively, embarrassed at her initial hesitation. "I would."
"Now may be a good time. Before the fire dies."
Legolas stood up, leading her a short distance from the fire, where the trees concealed their makeshift campsite. A Mallorn tree stood tall in front of them, casting large shadows across the forest.
Frodo cast a glance at Aragorn, who raised a brow but said nothing, the fire illuminating his sly smile.
They sat beneath the tree, just beyond the waning firelight.
"I didn't mean to make things awkward," Aniel said, the light wind rustling her tunic. Her voice was quieter than before.
"You didn't," Legolas replied, his answer coming almost too quickly. He cleared his throat, looking away slightly as his jaw tightened. "Not at all."
The silence that followed wasn't entirely uncomfortable, yet it was heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Legolas looked at her again. Her hair caught the last of the dwindling firelight, casting it a dark copper as it fell over her shoulders in unbraided, wavy tresses. Something about her being human unsettled him, yet not in an unpleasant way. It was simply unfamiliar.
Legolas reached into his pack and retrieved a small rope of twine, most likely meant for an animal trap.
"I'll show you with this first," he said. "It's better to learn the pattern before trying it on your own hair."
"Alright," Aniel nodded, watching closely.
He demonstrated the braid with methodical precision. "Start with three strands," He said softly, "Think of it as a crossroads-- one piece always weaves through the other two."
Aniel leaned in slightly to look at the example cord. "You make it look so effortless,"
"I've had centuries of practice," He said with a faint smile.
She shook her head sarcastically. "Show-off."
When he handed her back the twine, their fingers brushed. Neither of them acknowledged it, at least, not physically.
She tried the braid herself-- messy and uncoordinated at first, yet gradually improving. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and she smiled as her messy loops faded into tight, uniform shapes.
Legolas studied her subconsciously, unintentionally. "You seem to understand more than you know,"
"That's surely all your doing."
He didn't answer; he only held her gaze a moment longer before standing. "Would you mind if I tried? With your hair?"
A bit surprised by the question, yet delighted nonetheless, Aniel smiled. "Of course," she said. "I don't mind."
She knelt before him and turned so he faced her back, steadying herself on the grass. Her hair was long and thick, the kind that many would be envious of. Legolas hesitated before he gently pulled her hair back, sectioning it the way he'd been taught. It felt strange-- braiding another's hair instead of his own.
At one point, as he reached for a strand that had fallen near her cheek, his knuckles brushed lightly against the top of her ear.
She went still. Not completely stiff, yet still.
Legolas paused, too. The contact had been accidental. Yet, he knew the way such a touch resonated among his kind. The tips of the ears were sensitive, intimate. Even the subtlest of touches could elicit strong feelings. It wasn't something done by accident. Not among elves. But she wasn't... was she?
He cleared his throat quietly once more, withdrawing his hand for a moment too long, before resuming with a newfound caution.
"Did I--" He began, unsure how to phrase his thoughts. "I didn't mean to--"
"No, it's alright," Aniel said quickly, reassuring him.
"Do you feel it the same?" Legolas asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"I am an elf, am I not?"
"Forgive me," Legolas said, wondering why he even asked her.
"It's fine. But if you must know, it's the same for us." She confirmed.
The silence felt more aware, yet strangely void of unpleasantness.
Aniel sat perfectly still; her breathing had gone slightly shallow. "You really do braid beautifully," she said quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice softened, a pang of admiration evident.
"It's a tradition I hold dear. My mother originally taught me a long time ago."
Aniel nodded pensively. "I wish I had such memories."
Legolas paused, Aniel's hair resting softly in his hands. "Perhaps... you can have new ones."
The warmth and natural humility of his words settled around her like a comforting presence. She shifted slightly, instinctively leaning into his touch. The faintest blush colored her cheeks.
The sudden closeness felt unfamiliar to Legolas. It was common for elves to take years before getting close to someone, both physically and emotionally. Yet, he couldn't help but welcome whatever the situation had to offer.
"I'm sure I will." She responded after a moment.
Legolas resumed braiding, slower than before, savoring the sensation of connection.
Minutes stretched as the braid took its shape-- intricate, tight, and admittedly perfect.
When Legolas finally drew away from her, he felt a little colder than earlier.
Aniel turned to face him fully, her fingers trailing lightly over the newly woven plait. "Thank you," she said, her voice excited.
Legolas nodded. "It suits you."
She let her hand fall. "It feels strange-- like I'm wearing a costume."
Legolas considered her words. "It isn't a costume. It's yours now, if you choose to embrace it."
She gave a small sigh, looking away. "And if I do not belong entirely to either world?"
"You are not required to," He answered simply. He watched her as she turned slightly toward the dying fire just a moment away. The orange of the light decorated her face, painting her as the anomaly she was-- something in between Men and Elf.
"Most people don't say things like that." She turned her face slightly, half in shadow.
"I only say what is true."
Legolas felt the familiar run of the wind through the trees, the sound of birds vacating a branch, the breaking of bark-- it was all second nature to him, though few others outside Mirkwood heard it.
"Do you miss Mirkwood?" She asked eventually.
"It lives in me. Yet seldom do I find myself longing for it." He responded thoughtfully. "I believe I have answered the call to another path."
"That sounds rather lonely."
"Sometimes. But not tonight." The smell of pine and some herbal oil she'd used filled the air. He'd only just noticed it. "Loneliness is not the same as ache."
She was looking to him for guidance or some semblance of advice. But instead, all that she was left with was longing.
"You make it sound so easy."
"It isn't."
Legolas found his gaze drawn once again to the braid. She'd adopted the distinct look as her own so quickly. "We should rest," He said. "We have much to walk, come dawn."
She looked up at him. "Do elves tire?"
"Rarely." His mouth curved faintly, a brief bout of pride surfacing. It was no secret that elves were among the most capable of creatures. "But the mind requires as much rest as the body."
Aniel followed him back to their campsite. When they reached the edge of camp, Aragorn's eyes flicked between the two of them, his expression speaking a thousand words, yet he vocalized none.
Leaving toward her spot near the hobbits, Aniel draped her cloak near her.
Legolas lingered in place, his gaze locked on the motion of her fingers as they brushed the braid-- slow, and adoring. There was something in the way she touched it-- not vanity. The beginning of a memory, perhaps.
A part of him ached to reach out again, if only to feel her proximity once more. She hadn't flinched when he'd touched her ear. She'd felt it, just as he had. An unnamed connection, yet an equally undeniable one. Legolas could not name what had begun between them; there was no label for such an emotion, for such a moment. Whatever they were, it was only becoming.
And that was enough. For now.