Wren sat on a stool to the fire, as Nerwen cleaned and stitched the wounds on her head and on her neckline. She barely flinched with pain as she stared deep into the red, curling flames and glowing white-hot coals. Her own emotions simmering.

Her thoughts were focused on the silver haired immortal. How dare he? Who was this elf, who had thrust himself into their lives several months ago?

At first his stoicism had provided some light entertainment for her. But then her friendship with him had grown, perhaps now surpassing that of her relationship with the Elladan and Elrohir. All her life she had felt like something of an outsider in the village. Life was hard for the Dúnedain, their main concerns were about orcs, food, shelter and the next winter. Wren was fascinated by stories of old, battles, folklore, and the rest of Middle Earth and its peoples. Some of the villagers thought her frivolous. Only Strider, Elrohir and Elladan had been able to satiate some of her curiosity. And now, Legolas. An unspoken love for another, had drawn them together in their pain and created something of a kindred spirit. She was coming to the realization that she was mysteriously drawn to him, and had unintentionally developed a bond with the elf prince that she was unable to articulate.

There was knock at the door. Nerwen, too engaged in her needlework to even look up, called out.

"Come in."

The door opened and a figure stepped silently over the hearth. Wren still gazed at the fire. Without raising her eyes, she knew he stood there, watching her. She felt him willing her to look up.

"Master Legolas" Nerwen acknowledged him with a sideways glance. With a slight bow of his head, he nodded in response. A cold silence grew and crept into every corner of the cabin, the fire seemed to lose some of its glow.

Eventually Nerwen, unable to bear the formidable quiet any longer, cleared her throat. "So clearly you both had an eventful day..."

Wren was acutely aware, that her mother knew far more than she intimated.

And yet the two parties continued to resist Nerwen's endeavors at conversation. That was until Nerwen tugged through a stitch she had just sewn, significantly harder than Wren believed necessary.

As she stifled a groan, Wren's head flicked up and she glared at her mother. Nerwen returned her glare with an arched eyebrow and a pointed gesture with her chin in the direction of the elf who was standing stiffly at the door.

Wren slowly turned towards him with a steely gaze. As she saw him standing there, she felt a fresh rage seething through her as she remembered his harsh words in the forest. She chose her words carefully.

"Thank you, elf lord, for your services in the forest. I am sure enough carelessness has been displayed for one day. Your assistance is no longer required here," she said to him with a coldness that she did not recognize in her own voice.

He held her stare with his piercing blue eyes. But as he did so, Wren saw a deep pain contort his face. It hurt her to see it, but she was too angry to soften the blow.

He paused. Then without saying a word bowed his head, closed his fist over his heart, and then extended it to her as he turned and left.

"That went well, I thought," said Nerwen some minutes after the door had closed.

Wren turned her head and continued looking at the fire, but it no longer helped to curb her anger.

Nerwen continued unabated. "I think he came to make peace with you Wren; you should have done him the courtesy of hearing him."

Wren shrugged, feeling reprimanded like a child yet again. All the more exacerbating her feelings towards the elf prince.

"He had no right to chastise me in the forest. The situation was not entirely of my making."

Nerwen sewed a few stitches thoughtfully, as Wren winced.

"Perhaps. And perhaps Legolas's words were poorly chosen at the time," Nerwen said, knowing full well her daughter's penchant for exerting her own independence. As well as knowing that the elf respected and cared deeply for her daughter. In all likelihood, more deeply than either of Wren or Legolas knew.

She finished sewing and began applying a poultice Strider had given her to stem any infection from the filthy orc blade. "You should rise above your own pride and make amends."

"Well then, if my pride is the obstacle, I will remove it and graciously give him every opportunity to apologize. " Wren said, ending the conversation.

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So I may have nicknamed this story several months ago "Pride and Prejudice for Elves"... Hang in there, we are not through the woods yet... ;P

I would love to receive your comments and please VOTE on this chapter if you enjoyed it. Your feedback means a great deal to me! And each vote and comment helps the wider circulation of my story, I really appreciate them!

DEDICATION: To annazeepi for reading and voting on my story, particularly in the early days when your support meant so much!