The Fellowship was resting in Rivendell. They would need to recuperate for the long and perilous journey ahead. Frodo, the Ringbearer, would need the most help, for he had met the Nazgul, the Great and Terrible Ringwraiths, and they had weakened him. Luckily, the Elves of Imladris were always there to help. Which was part of why Legolas loved the refuge. They welcomed all. But it also annoyed him. For a Ranger from Bree-Land was boarded in the room adjacent to his. And he was not one to fool with.
The man was loud, rude, and obnoxious. At banquets and meetings, no one, Elf or Man, would dare approach his tall, silent figure, for he was known to get in quite a temper at the mention of something as innocent as the weather. He was never without his dark hood and cloak; Legolas had never even seen his eyes, though he imagined them to be dark and cruel. At night, he would rage and storm in ancient languages, banging on the walls and screaming violent curses that Legolas couldn't understand. And that wasn't the worst of it. They said he was staying here to help him recover from a poison that had almost killed him. Bitterly, after the third sleepless night, Legolas guiltily wished it had. Rumors spread quickly in Imladris. Some whispered that the silent Ranger had killed his entire family and had gone to live alone in the wilderness, with only the wolves for companionship. They said that it was there he learned his fearsome ways. Legolas didn't know if he believed it. He knew some men were just born that way. But he was strangely curious, wondering about this dark Ranger. He knew he was different. And he wanted to know him, this terrible unnamed Ranger with the dark past. For reasons unknown to even himself.