The Last Rites for Souls on Fire

Faelwen didn't sleep. As her companions nodded off one by one, she stayed awake, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew Legolas was still awake but counted herself as being alone. She hadn't meant what she said earlier. She hadn't meant to hurt Haldir.
"Faelwen, I'm sorry. Please-" Legolas sounded almost as broken as the other Elf had.
"No, Legolas," She still refused to look at him, "I'm old, Pin Cuan. Can't you attempt to comprehend what it's like to spend 6,380 years in loneliness?" (Little Prince)
She turned to him, hours after she had first turned away, "I spend my life killing my own kin. I destroyed the kingdom of my parents to claim it as my own. Whether I act with warmth or coldness, I can only burn."

Faelwen looked down at her pale hands, sorrow in her pink eyes and down turned lips. Legolas mind suddenly went into over-time, remembering the burning-cold touch of her hand in the mine. He softly muttered 'Fainauriel', realization on his features. A living fire, cold as ice and hot as the insides of Mount Doom. The Elves of Lorien had not given her the name to praise or exalt her, as Legolas first thought, but as a reminder that she was nothing more than a tool for destruction. Anger spread through him. Haldir had called her that and she still held him in high regards. (White Fire)
"Why do you not tell them to stop? To call you by your name instead?" He let his questions out calmly, despite wanting desperately to hit a specific Marchwarden.
A sad, tight-lipped smile spread across her face, "You have a poor memory, mallen-finnel. When we met, I told you that I do not like to think of my other names. If I acknowledge what I am known as, then I have to face what I am." (Golden-Braids)
"You are Faelwen. A fair and beautiful Elf-maiden. What else?" Legolas replied sincerely.
"No. I am a slowly darkening Mornedhel, doomed to ill-fate from my birth. You can't think of me as an ordinary Elf, Legolas. Such thoughts have proven fatal before."
She stood, slowly, the once-bright light that emanated from her still dim. Picking up her long sword, she walked away, her pale dress lingering behind her. Legolas tried his hardest to stay awake, waiting for her to return. He failed, soon sleeping restlessly, deaf to the faint sobbing in the distance, accompanied by the sound of a blade slicing the air.

The next morning, Legolas woke to find Faelwen, her hair still braided, dressed in her normal tunic, vest and leggings; the body that he unintentionally eyed whilst in the dress now hidden. Though, he noticed, if he looked carefully, he could still make out the lines of her curves through the more masculine clothing. She raised an eyebrow at him, an amused smile gently lining her lips. He turned away, with a similar smile to hers accompanied by a pale blush. Aragorn and Boromir, the only other two that were awake, pretended not to notice the Elves.
"At least they aren't yelling at each other again," Boromir whispered to Aragorn, a grin on his face.

Once they'd packed their own belongings, the four woke the Hobbits and the Dwarf, who grumbled loudly about "Annoying Elves cutting his dream short."
"That's not the only thing around here that's short," Legolas muttered as he watched Gimli get up and join the Hobbits in cooking breakfast instead of packing.
Faelwen chuckled slightly, though when Legolas looked, he could still see the dejection in her eyes. Her small smile slowly turned into a pained frown. She turned away from his gaze, moving instead, to pack up Merry's spare clothes, which had somehow ended up strewn over the entire campsite.
"Faelwen, you don't have to pack my things," Merry said happily, his mouth half full of food.
She smiled weakly, continuing to pick up his clothes, "I do when your things are the biggest part of packing up our camp."
"Oh," Merry conceded, "Well, let me help at least."
He moved to stand up but Faelwen shook her head at him, "Don't worry. I've come to know you Hobbits. If you miss one of your seven meals, you'll say you're starving for days."
Slowly, the camp was packed away and turned back into the pristine woodland that it was before they arrived.

Light footsteps approached the Fellowship, a fake cough piercing the still air as they came to a halt. Almost every face turned to see Haldir, eyes panning the group and lingering on Faelwen. Legolas, instead of looking at the Elf, glared at the tree opposite him, resisting the urge to act out at him.
"The Lady of Lorien calls upon you all," Haldir's voice was barely any less broken than it had been the night before.
His eyes were still resting on Faelwen as Legolas spoke, a slight edge to his voice, "Where shall we meet with the Lady, Haldir?"
Haldir could see the lack of light from the strange Elf-Maiden, the sorrow in her eyes and the down turned corners of her pale lips. He'd watched her last night, practicing with her sword. Tears had streaked her face as she moved faster and more gracefully than any Elf he'd seen. The moonlight glinting off her intricate sword, off her pale skin and snowy hair, had been beautiful beyond even Galadriel. And then in an instant, her skin turned a mottled purple, her eyes burned a bloody red and she swung the sword with incredible ferocity. Every tree in front of her bore a burnt slash, like a deep black scar. Her skin faded back to milky white, her eyes back to the colour of pale pink roses. She had fallen, then, slowly to her knees, her sword before her, painful sobs tearing from her throat.

For a brief moment, Faelwen had been truly terrifying. For a brief moment she allowed herself to be part of the darkness that was her heritage. Haldir looked at her now, having seen her so beautiful, so strong, so petrifying and so weak, and knowing that they were soon to part, found himself unable to look away.
"Haldir, Legolas asked where we are to meet the Lady of Lorien," Aragorn said firmly, startling the Elf from his thoughts and drawing his eyes from the incredible woman.
"Follow me."