Legolas combed the Deep purposefully, methodically.
'He is here. I am certain of it. He must be! Keep looking. He is here somewhere,' he thought frantically.
He'd caught only a glimpse, nothing more than a flash of eyes. Had he only imagined them? Could he truly be certain?
Legolas's actions grew increasingly frenzied with each Man he found strewn amongst the mangled corpses of the orcs. Every face so far was strange. But would he even know the right one when he saw it? The eyes were what haunted his memory. Many of these eyes were closed; those that were open were dead and dull. Would he recognize them still?
Frustration blossomed into fury. Then, abruptly, he stopped. Closing his eyes, Legolas inhaled deeply and steadied himself. 'You will not find him darting to and fro like a blind spider!'
Taking another slow, soothing breath, Legolas focused his mind and, slowly, comprehension came. It had not been the eyes. He had felt it. It had called to him. He felt its yearning, its need to be reclaimed. Legolas reached out, searching with his heart, and then…
His eyes snapped open. He strode forward resolutely and dropped to his knees beside a body. The man lay face down, but Legolas no longer needed to see the eyes to be certain. He rolled the body over, all the same. The eyes were closed; the face weathered and so old that it hardly resembled the face he remembered, but he did not notice. Legolas saw only the slender silver chain that peeked out from beneath the neckline of a tattered and bloodstained tunic.
He reached out with trembling fingers and yanked the chain free, breaking the clasp in his haste. That did not matter. He did not wish to wear it, and such a thing would be simple enough to fix before he returned it to Naneth. Instead, Legolas fixed his attention on the dangling charm – a silver filigree oak leaf inset with green and white gems. He held it up in the early morning sun, and it glittered, despite the filth of the neck that had worn it for more than two-decades.
Feeling someone approach, Legolas gathered the chain and charm into his palm and closed his hand around it. Then he shut his eyes and drew in another calming breath of air.
"A friend of yours?" Aragorn asked bemusedly.
"Nay, he was no friend of mine," Legolas answered coldly, opening his eyes. His steely gaze flitted over on the corpse before him as he rose to his feet and turned to face his companion. "He once sought to be my murderer; a debt for which he has finally paid."
Legolas did not wait for a response from Aragorn. Striding purposefully toward the keep, he gently tightened his fist, letting the edge of the oak leaf press uncomfortably into his flesh. His adar had given it to her on the day of Legolas's birth; his naneth had lost it the day she had shielded her son from the arrow meant to be his death. It was reclaimed; she was avenged. Legolas smiled.
The End.