Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, especially the parts I got wrong.
There are three types of milestones, he decides a few hours into the journey, once all but his horse has slowed enough to permit actual thought. There are the expected ones – marriages and births and reaching majority – events planned and celebrated with gusto, the participants certain that lives will be forever changed. Legolas remembers the day he officially became a warrior –a glorious day! – but knows that, milestone though it may have been, the change itself had been wrought in him long before.
He reaches the edge of the forest more quickly than expected and explodes onto the plains, taking only short breaks to rest his horse. An unerring sense of direction leads him toward the nearest ford of the Anduin, which suddenly seems impossibly far. Surely this flat landscape stretches forever, as singularly uninteresting as his lack of companionship on a journey that is usually longer in time but shorter for laughter.
The river finally shows itself on the horizon; then follows a maddeningly long stretch of time before he reaches the glittering ribbon and splashes across, trying not to remember that this is where it all fell apart.
He and Aragorn have not spoken in over two years; that's the problem. Legolas tries to think back, but the spike of fear inside prevents him from remembering the way the argument began. He knows that it escalated, but cannot recall how.
All he knows clearly is that it was a spurious milestone: unplanned, shattering, ultimately deceptive. Even a week ago he would have denied the notion that friendship could be renewed. Human? he would have said. What human? He could not have pictured himself now, making the long journey to Imladris without sleep.
Funny, he thinks, how a message can change his truth so quickly.
The Misty Mountains are imposing not for their inherent danger, but for the time inevitably lost crossing them. To this end Legolas digests their menace while beginning the climb, grateful that the weather is yet warm – for he could not risk losing more time by leaving his horse behind.
When the sunlight breaks through the clouds, it falls on the snow-capped peaks ahead, dazzling the eye. He pointed it out to his companion, the last time he was here; and Aragorn laughed at him and expressed his own present preference for a warm bed and some ale.
Today this beauty is utterly lost on the elf, who rides straight into the mountains and lets the coruscating snow blind him.
He could not have pictured himself doing this. Why, fifty years ago he could never have seen himself knowing a human at all. And he still isn't sure when his attitude changed: it must have happened when he wasn't paying attention, back in the years when "normal" had little to do with routine, when he and Aragorn seemed to spend most of their time in deep trouble.
He never thought he would miss those days – but it seems he's doing many things he never imagined.
All that matters, at this moment, is getting to Rivendell as soon as possible; and this in itself is an anomaly. Time, as a rule, has little meaning to elves: they all have so very much of it. It takes a tremendous jolt to change this outlook, to identify so strongly with a human.
This third kind of milestone, Legolas thinks, is the only one that really changes lives. People don't see it coming, often they don't notice when it happens, but eventually it transforms. This, this is the kind of deep metamorphosis that reaches his very core and makes him willing to do anything.
Elrohir's eyes narrow when he opens the door, and Legolas cannot blame him. First, it is the middle of the night; second, well – like any older brothers would, both twins have sympathized wholeheartedly with Aragorn. Elrohir lets him in nonetheless, a stern question in his eyes. Legolas promptly explains the letter Elrond sent by messenger bird – an alarming occurrence, made more so by the contents of said letter.
Nodding sleepily, Elrohir waves him towards the staircase, informs him that the state of affairs has, unfortunately, remained the same since Elrond's writing. Legolas, pleasantly surprised at the trust placed in him, takes the steps two at a time, finally stumbles to a halt before the open door to Aragorn's bedchamber.
Of all times to be hesitant! But somehow he cannot cross the threshold. His gaze wanders from the other twin, asleep in an armchair by the fire, to the man, deep in a feverish sleep. Even as he watches, Aragorn shifts, restless, and murmurs his name.
Granted, it is embedded in a string of others including the man's father, brothers, and lady-love – still, it is all the impetus Legolas needs to enter the room.
Once he gets past the doorway it is easy – as easy as this sort of visit ever is. Aragorn moans when the elf's shadow falls across his face, but quiets almost instantly under a familiar hand on his brow. Legolas is struck by the very thought that he has just spent a long journey chasing: that between them, nothing has changed.
"Shh, Estel," he whispers. "Im si."
-finis-
Im si – I am here