LONG DISCLAIMER, BUT ONE YOU SHOULD PROBABLY READ BEFORE READING MY STORY:

First and foremost, I do not own Legolas, Aragorn, Arwen, the Hobbits, etc. (and I am quite sure you all know whom I do not own – no living thing in Tolkien's work belongs to me). None of the places mentioned belong to me either. I also must admit that I have only read the books in their entirety twice, and have never delved deeper than the Lord of the Rings series. I plan on reading more works by Tolkien (especially The Silmarillion) as soon as I get the time, but for now, I do not know anything not included in the books. Also, it has been about two years since I have read the books, and I cannot be sure that I remember every little detail. The details that bothered me I took the time to research, but I cannot be one hundred percent sure that everything is correct.

I am also aware that some of the characters act differently in my story than they would in Tolkien's – this is my fan fiction, and the characters will thusly bend to my will. Aragorn and Legolas are both quite cheeky, which of course is off, but this story is from my perspective, and the way I portray them is not the way Tolkien did. They are portrayed in this way solely because I love writing them in this way (and hopefully you readers will understand and enjoy the characters from a different perspective, as well).

Also, my Sindarin is horrible, seeing as my only source is that Sindarin online dictionary – the original story was written with many lapses into the language, but this version has none because it was obviously not very well put together—who am I kidding? The Sindarin was horrible. So, my Elves do not speak Sindarin – sorry. I simply though no Sindarin at all would be much better than butchering the language as well as the characters.

Next, yes – I have a sort of "bubble soap" substance in the story that makes bubbles in the bathtub. So, gag me, but I put it in and left it in, and if you disagree with it then perhaps you should either 1) not read my story or 2) jump over that part (though I find it one of the more important scenes, though I am sure you could figure out the gist of things if you skipped it). There may be more things in this story that I am not quire sure they had in Middle-earth, but then again the objects were never addressed so maybe they were there and we just do not know! Also, the wedding – there is an aisle that is walked down, and it has come to my attention that there is actually no walking down the aisle in Middle-earth? Well, there is an aisle in this story, but it really is not a big deal, so… I guess you will just have to deal with that. Okay, bear with me.

Also, I realize Elrond had more children than just Arwen (Elrohir and Elladan, twins, yes I know), but they were not included in my story. Sorry.

If I am correct, a Mary Sue is when someone gets sucked from one world to another (either from this one to ME or from ME to this one, or something like that—I must say I hate these stories with a passion and would never take the time out of my busy life to read one). This is not a Mary Sue, in that case. Yes, it is a Legolas romance, but the female involved is an Elf from Rivendell and she is just…normal, I suppose. Flirtatious. Normal. Whatever.

Also, for the purpose of my story – my character believes that the Elves of Mirkwood hate the Elves of Rivendell and Lórien. I heard a rumor that the Mirkwood Elves do hate the Rivendell Elves, but maybe not the Lórien ones – I have no clue. I have done some research to prove the case either way, but can find nothing on it, so I left it how I imagined it (turns out, in the story, no one really hates anyone…whether that is true or not in Tolkien's Middle-earth, I have no idea).

Yes, I also am aware that after the War of the Ring, Legolas gathered quite a few Elves and set up his own kingdom and finally sailed with Gimli and lived with the Valinor. However, none of this is part of my story. Once again, sorry.

Okay, that clears everything up that I can possibly think of; I really felt I had to touch on everything. I do not want anyone to get upset with me because of the way I wrote my own story – so, if you have a serious pet peeve about any of these things I have mentioned, I would not suggest reading my story.

This is a story about a female Elf and Legolas, and the things that happen to them. The story begins at the wedding of Arwen and Aragorn (and I am not sure how popular that idea is, but it worked for my story). Some parts of the story are funny, some parts are serious – it is just a story. I would appreciate input, but not the insulting kind, for that is never helpful. I would also appreciate any praise (of course!) and anything else you kind readers have to say. With that, let the story begin.

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Finally, wedding day had come. Arwen and Aragorn were to be betrothed, and after all that business in the East, they had returned to Gondor to get married – and here I was, facing the wall in Aragorn's dressing chamber, listening to his tongue-clucking and fast pacing and mumbling about his abhorrence of large ceremonies, especially ones in which he was the focus. I giggled every time I heard the words "pointless" and "embarrassing."

"Aragorn, honestly, shut up about the wedding. You should be excited that you're finally getting hitched! And to an Elf as gorgeous as," I stopped for dramatic effect, "Arwen." Her name rolled off my tongue in an Elvish manner, and Aragorn gave me a wry glare, which only induced more sadistic laughter from me.

"As an Elf of Rivendell," Aragorn retorted nastily, "I would think you would understand the annoyances of large, intricate ceremonies."

"Ah, and the sarcasm returns," I said, smiling.

"If only it were you I was marrying," Aragorn's smile turned sneaky, and he moved close enough to wrap his arms around my body, which sent me into a very out-of-character fit of squeals.

"Well, as it so happens, I'm not the one you're marrying," I replied, wrenching myself free of his grasp and putting on my best scolding face. "And you had better be ready, because--" But before I could finish, an impressive flourish of music met my ears. The Men were playing the horns, announcing the beginning of the ceremony. A look of horror dawned on Aragorn's face.

"Tialyn, I cannot do this!" The look on his face was utter terror, and I could not help but laugh.

"Aragorn, go on, you are getting married and that is all there is to it! You have no choice in the matter anymore," I said, pushing him to the door. "Come on, I'll go with you, but then I have to get my seat or I will not be able to see the famous kiss – and I could not miss that for the world," I winked at him, but the shadow of horror still clung to his clean-shaven face. "Don't be a bonehead, go!" I pushed him out of the door, and he stumbled onto the pavement at the end of the aisle. I suppressed a grin and hurried to my seat in the fifth row among the Halflings of the Shire. They were all whispering amongst themselves—about pipeweed, if my Elf ears were not mistaken—and were barely paying attention to the goings-on of the ceremony.

The horns stopped suddenly, as if for a breath of air, and began again in another tune. I recognized this as the tune routinely played when the bride walks down the aisle, so we all stood and turned to watch Arwen walk towards us.

She looked amazing. Arwen Undomiel, her long, dark hair braided in a single pleat, covered with a sheer white veil that grew with ferocity and stopped 100 feet behind her. She walked down the aisle so gracefully that I could not tell she was moving. I was somewhat entranced by her beauty, as was the entire audience, and I must admit that most of the ceremony was utterly unmemorable simply because we were all staring at Arwen and the glow that radiated from her very existence. The whole ordeal went on as such for the next what felt like eternity until my feet found themselves near a table of food at the reception.

"Tialyn," a vaguely familiar gruff voice said. I looked up from my wine glass to see a handsome now-married man. "I have not seen you since before the ceremony. I was hoping my favorite Elf would find me to assure me that marriage does not necessarily mean celibacy before she began taking advantage of the vast wealth of the Halfelven," Aragorn said, nodding toward the food I had begun inadvertently stuffing into my mouth.

"Argorn," I stumbled. "Aragorn!" I corrected myself. He squinted his eyes at me and broke into hearty laughter.

"How much have you had to drink?" he chortled.

"Drink?" I asked quizzically, hiding the wine glass in my hand what I thought was inconspicuously behind my back, while accidentally spilling half of it down the back of my dress. Thank goodness this was white wine—not usually my taste, but in this case, to my advantage.

"Drink? Enough to intoxicate an Elf," I heard a sweet, soft, yet masculine voice say from behind me, "Which is saying something." I tried to turn around to see my attacker, but my shoe caught on my dress and I realized that I had begun to fall. I felt the ground moving closer to my face and, like an idiot, I was unable to stop myself from falling. Just as I thought I had surely rendered myself unconscious, I felt strong, yet slender arms wrap nimbly around my torso. The ground moved away again, and I regained balance. "Try to be more careful next time," the soft voice joked.

"Well perhaps you should not sneak up behind me," I muttered, idly dusting off my dress.

"Should you not be thanking him, Tia? I am quite sure that if it were not for his Elven reflexes, your face might not be as beautiful as it usually is," Aragorn mused. I furrowed my brow at him as I followed his gaze to my savior. Standing next to me was an Elf, at least half a foot taller than I. His golden blond hair fell past his shoulders to his mid-back. The golden locks that would be in his face were pleated back on either side and met in a small ponytail behind his head. His tunic was silver and shimmering, his shoes a deep green. His arms and legs were thing, but powerful, and his clothes outlined his brawny muscles beautifully. The most prominent characteristic of this beautiful creature, however, were his eyes – an almost honey-brown that stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. Damn, this Elf was gorgeous. A surge of energy passed through my body and I shuddered.

"Nice to meet you," I managed after staring at him for another few minutes. He grinned, spreading his pale, thin lips to reveal perfectly white teeth.

"And you," he replied. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Legolas Greenleaf." He stuck out his hand.

Now, even in my intoxicated state, I realized who this Elf really was. Not only one of the Nine Walkers who helped win numerous battles of which I was not even aware, and who helped, alongside my favorite Man, save Middle Earth – he was also the Prince of Mirkwood, or Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves, as it was now called (but most still referred to it by its older name) – a part, a major part, of a group of Silvan Elves who, up until now, kept to themselves and, rumor had it, hated the Elves of Imladris and Lórien for their splendid buildings (monstrosities) and vast wealth. Well, gag me with a dull arrow but I now anted nothing to do with the gorgeous Elf or his outstretched hand.

"Pleasure," I sneered, turning back to Aragorn. "Perhaps I'll see you later, Lord Aragorn," and I fumbled away, leaving Aragorn and Princey boy in stunned silence.