Prescience, by Linmenel

Disclaimer: I own Lord of the Rings, and every book associated with it, and by that I mean, J.R.R. Tolkien does, and I only wish I do.

A/N: This takes place shortly after the events described in The Hobbit. Most names and events mentioned are taken directly from the book. 

~
 
The elf was deep in thought; his eyes lost in the labyrinth of stars that stretched before his hazel eyes. His thin delicate lips mouthed lovely lyrics written long ago, but if he was aware of this action he did not show it. His mind was far away.

Away in a time of peace, when the road to Imladris was safe for journey, and journey he did, and often. The linden trees were still in bloom in Mirkwood then, singing in the breeze as one passed. Middle Earth was a realm of beauty, the paths were clean and the world was young. He was young.

The thought stirred Legolas. His back straightened and he sat up. He was getting older, and the joyful youth he had once celebrated in was fading before his eyes. Yes, many among the eldar still counted him as young, but he knew that time was no longer on his side.

He felt then, deep in his heart, a great sadness. Much there was, he felt he had to do before he fell into the age of thought and prescience. He wished not for his eyes to become deep pools of wisdom, which would all but drown the passion that had fueled his very being.

The Battle of the Five armies was over. Was that to be his final adventure? The prince fights his first and last battle, then does no more.

"Fights indeed." He sneered. The son of a king does not fight. The son of a king sits idly by his Lord's side, a place deemed 'safe'. His recollection of the battle did not come without animosity.

He wrenched his thought back to more pleasant things, as he relaxed again on the high tree branch. The old oak was sturdy, branching over a small stream. The running water again brought his thoughts to Imladris. How he loved the great city, the Lord and his sons, Elladan and Elrohir. He smiled thinking of adventures he had shared with the young princes when he was too, a boy. His father soon stopped these visits, however. Thranduil was wary of the Lord Elrond. Jealousy spawned fear and a near-hatred. He did not appreciate hearing the musings and consul of one wiser then he. Such was it that removed him from the many counsels held in the fair halls of Rivendell.

Legolas sighed as he thought of the shortcomings of his father as a Lord. He lacked the sagacity of Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. Under his rule his people had been diminshed to a mere tribe. A band of gypsies huddled in darkness, destined to live forever in fear of the terrors that had been allowed to enter. Spiders, orcs, and the terrible Necormancer, of whom little more is known then his name. Mirkwood had become truly that: a dark, dank place where fair things had all but died.

Thus again, he was troubled. He had done his part to mend things. He still visited Imladris, appearing in his father's stead. He had befriended the Lord Elrond, and the one they call Estel. Aragorn son of Arathorn, the hope of Men.

Yes. He thought, remembering also the many adventures he and this ranger had shared. The hope of men.

And then foresight found Legolas, in a surprising wave that he had never before experienced.

Not just for men.

He realized then that he had not grown too old for adventure. Something lay ahead, a path that this ranger shared as well. Legolas prince of Mirkwood would not fall into forgotten lore, as his father surely would. He would make something of his time. And after he did he would lead his people from the darkness that had enveloped them. The wood elves would host a safe haven, and tales and songs and lore would emerge from their firesides, and beauty would again appear.

One day. He thought. One day not far from now.