I cannot face him.

Ever since that kiss, that dance, that decision, Estelwen spent the week making cheap excuses to avoid any kind of run-in with Legolas. Though she managed to avoid him, she was not able to stop herself from glancing over her shoulder.

One time, he saw her. It was while she walked through the streets of Meduseld on a crowded afternoon. She could feel his eyes on her, but when she turned to the spot he had been, he was gone. The guilt crept in, but Estelwen ignored it. No one more will die by my enemy.

Later that evening, as the sun began to set, Estelwen lay against a tree with her swords across her lap. It felt wonderful, she realized, to rest, even though it was wrong. She looked at her swords. How much longer before I can do what I need to? A young man in armor passed by without hurry. Estelwen caught his eye as a though came to her. Everything should be mostly healed by now. "Knight, would you care to spar?"

The young man's youthful face was tense. "I saw you fight in the Battle of Helm's Deep. Your skill is far beyond mine. And..." he added in dismay, "I am not a knight."

Estelwen smiled kindly. He was certainly young, maybe seventeen, and was probably only wearing a knight's armor because his father had died. But he is strong, and the only one who looks like he has time to spare. "Please. I have been out of practice since..." she frowned, trying to think of how to word what she had gone through, "...since I was injured."

He thought for a moment, then gave a slight bow. "It would be an honor."

She nodded her thanks and strapped her sheaths to her back. She reached behind her head and touched her hair. Her hand dropped to her side. No, she did not need to tie it back, not since it had been burned and cut.

The young man unsheathed his sword. Estelwen noticed the rise and fall of his chest. She unsheathed both her swords. "I am aware that I outnumber your weapon. Remember that your enemies will often be stronger, faster, or armed better than you." She watched for his response. He needed to relax. She was not going to embarrass him or make him appear helpless. Please, I need you to be able to hit me. I need to test my strength. "What is your name?"

"Tristan, son of Saedon." He met her eyes, ready to begin.

Swords clanged instantly.

Several times, Estelwen touched his left hip with her blade, a spot he often forgot to guard. "You must not only be aware of your enemy, but of your entire body as well," she said.

Tristan, despite his first reluctance to fight, turned out to be eager to learn and eager to please. He quickly lost his fear to hit her and test the limits of his abilities. He raised his sword for a full-powered strike.

Estelwen looked up. This was the hit she had been waiting for. She could easily have darted away, but she raised her left blade instead. When his sword came crashing down, her arm jolted in pain and she let out a cry. Thanks to her years of training, she instinctively twisted in a way that redirected most of the weight of the blow to the side.

Tristan's eyes widened. "Are you alright?"

Estelwen grimaced in pain but nodded. Her left arm was useless. There was no way she could trust it during a battle.

A group of knights had apparently seen her fall, but not her face. One of them chided her. "Boy, leave the blade down! And Tristan, what are you doing? Trying to make yourself better by beating down on a helpless youth? Think better of it!"

Tristan barked, "Silence!" The knights had only seen the end of their duel, not how easily Estelwen had fought him before that. Tristan shook his head. It must have to do with her injury. He opened his mouth, but Estelwen shushed him with a vigorous shake of her head.

"What's that, boy? Speak up!"

Tristan turned to the burly knight that spoke. "I think you are the one who should not be so quick to judge. If you only knew what-"

"You dare disrespect your superiors that way? Foolish tongues like yours have no use on the battlefield." The knight's blond beard wrinkled as he frowned. His eyes did not look so light-hearted, and the knights around him had stopped talking. One of them spoke to Tristan, "You best head home, boy, and stop parading in your father's armor."

Estelwen stiffened. "And who are you to judge who should fight and who should not?" She did not turn around yet.

The burly knight grunted. "'Tis enough of your arrogance, boy. Test me not!" His eyes widened in surprise when her furious blue eyes met his.

"Draw your blade."

The knight did not underestimate her outwardly calm demeanor. He drew his blade. But he had seen her fall. He knew her weak spot. Estelwen used only one sword and this time, it was with her right hand. The knight guessed that if he put a significant amount of pressure on her left arm, she would be forced to withdraw. The duel started with the slightest of nods. After a few seconds, he realized that his blade would never touch her unless she allowed it. The knight never knew that she had been trained by one of the best elven swordsmen. He only knew that her speed and technique outmatched any mortal he knew. Seconds later, he stood empty-handed.

Estelwen let down her guard. "Men, women, younger, older – they all have a right to defend what is rightfully theirs."

He was still trying to catch his breath. "Agree I would, save that the women here cannot wield a sword."

Estelwen looked up to see Éowyn joining the small crowd of spectators. "So you say."

Tristan was still starting at her, unable to believe that she had chosen to duel with him first. Estelwen glanced at him before turning back to the burly knight, who did not seem as thoughtless as she first thought. "Give Tristan a chance. He will carry his father's name worthily."

"That I will do. I will speak for him, but the final say is up to the king."

Estelwen nodded. That was the best she could do for Tristan and the burly knight. However, the other four knights seemed quite unsatisfied. They were sizing her up, believing that they each knew how to defeat her and that her last duel was won only by a mistake perhaps on the burly knight's part. Estelwen gestured to one with her single blade. He eagerly drew his sword. The next half-hour passed in almost an instant for these men. During each fight, Estelwen found the knights' shortcomings and exposed it to them so they would be better prepared for the next battle. When the final knight's blade was flung fifty paces away, the other knights gaped in awe while one or two practically sang her praises. Estelwen smiled but sheathed her sword. She did not want to turn practice into a display for entertainment.

"Your endurance is incredible. Seven duels and you don't even appear to have lifted your sword." Tristan said, facing Estelwen. She smiled, knowing he meant well by his praise.

A voice startled her from behind.

"That is because she has not yet had a real challenge."

Estelwen slowly turned around. Legolas stood where her last opponent stood, eyes flashing and blade drawn. The knights were silent and scuffled back to create more space. Their attention was riveted on the two in the center.

Estelwen's heart beat faster as she slowly slid her blade out of its sheath. Was he angry? She looked into his eyes again. No, he was going to evaluate her blade. He knows I want to fight, but does not believe I am ready.

One strong, direct clash and she would be done for, especially with his strength. She need her speed and all of her wit.

Blades flew.

Estelwen remembered what Aragorn had taught her and trusted her instincts. From the moment their swords met, she gave everything she had. There were no hesitations, no half-ways. They moved with the gracefulness and precision of dancers. They struck with the deadliness of assassins. They were flashes of metal.

Estelwen was running out of time. Legolas was too strong, and his thousands of years of experience was coming into play. He struck again. She tilted her sword as she blocked, causing his to slide down and away. Surprise flashed across his face. She struck at his hip, but he had spun around with incredible swiftness, met her blade, and flung it away. The force from the direct blow caused the sword to fly out of her hands. Estelwen dropped to her knees. She waited for his blade to touch her, the visible sign of her defeat. She felt nothing.

The onlookers were completely silent, and only moved to part the way as Legolas passed through them. Estelwen rose to her feet and ran after him. "Legolas!"

He stopped walking. "Why follow me now?"

Estelwen stood there, all words caught in her throat. Of course he knew she was avoiding him. He was not stupid.

Legolas noticed that they were still within the hearing range of some of the knights. "After midday, I will be in the fields outside of the city walls."

Estelwen looked down at her boots. "Do you wish to be alone?"

"If that is the way you would have it." He stopped himself from speaking any more, lest his emotions take ahold of him. One part wanted to kiss her and hold her, feeling her thoughts unfold like a flower and finding out what was wrong. Another part wanted to tell her bitterly that if she decided not to come, she would at least be getting a chance to properly avoid him for an afternoon. Another part of him – smaller and deeper than the others – said to give her a chance and let her choose.