DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or situations portrayed in this story, and I made no profit from writing it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The song "Anthem" from the musical Chess influenced this story, and it is from that song that the title is taken.
The Northern air was chill and sharp, reminding those who walked that night of the impending harshness of deep winter. Aragorn knew that the further the Fellowship walked beyond Elrond's domain, the more intense the winter would become; he had prepared himself for the dropping temperatures and the angry air. As soon as they had stopped that night, he had put his skills to work, preparing a small fire. They could cook the buck Legolas had shot—and the light comforted the hobbits. Below a deeply black sky unblemished by stars or a moon, a small campfire crackled cheerily. The lingering smell of roast venison floated above the more familiar odor of wood smoke, and the low, sweet voice of an Elf, long absent from the fields and forests of Hollin danced and trickled just below the cooing of drowsing birds. As his song rose above the trees, they danced peacefully without a breeze, and the rustling of the leaves played lulling accompaniment.
Perhaps it was that song which had coaxed the hobbits to sleep. Curled beneath their cloaks on the far side of the fire, away from the smoke but near to the light, they lay lost in the deep sleep of the exhausted traveler. Boromir slept peacefully beside them, and Aragorn felt unsolicited admiration for the old campaigner. He must truly have exhausted himself to be able to sleep on such rocky terrain. Near to them lay Gandalf the Grey, his eyes open but unseeing, his staff laying across his lap. Gimli crouched near the Wizard, his head pillowed by his folded cloak. His derisive snorts punctuated his Elven companion's pulsing song until with a sigh, Legolas abandoned the lay and said, "Perhaps the rest is better saved for a later time—unless you would care to finish it, Aragorn?"
"My rendition would undoubtedly sound base after yours," Aragorn said quietly. His gravely voice did grate on the ear after having heard the fair, tempered voice the Elf. Though to Gimli, who sat between the two companions, Aragorn's voice was more familiar, he had to admit that Legolas's was more soothing to the ear and somehow, to his mind. The Dwarf pressed his hands against his eyes. They burned after hours of exertion, and he was sure that he saw a dim silver light glittering dimly around the Elf beside him. Rumors had said that Elves carried their own lights within them; he had not believed them. However, it seemed that yet another one of his beliefs would be dashed during this journey—no, that was not the fire. Legolas was shining. "You would have me continue?"
"I would gladly finish tomorrow," Legolas said quietly.
"There is another tale I would hear, if you would tell it," Gimli said. He saw the opportunity to ask the question which had been gnawing at his mind for the duration of his journeys in Elvendom. Without the hobbits awake to pester Legolas with questions, this seemed as good a time as any to ask it.
"If I know the tale, I will oblige," Legolas said with a half-mocking, half-polite half-bow to the mortal.
"How do the Elves abandon their former allies now, when we need their aid so desperately?"
Legolas laughed merrily at the Dwarf's audacity. Indeed, Gimli's derision seemed like childish ignorance to the Elf, to be pitied and instructed, and not to incite anger. That was, at least, what his father had said of his dealings with the Men of Laketown. Noticing that Aragorn's hand had fallen to the hilt of Anduril and that he had tensed, prepared for a fight, Legolas said, "I take no offense, Estel. Perhaps the question is a valid one." Aragorn respectfully brushed his fingers across his forehead as Legolas addressed Gimli. "You cannot understand what you have asked me explain."
"Thranduil has scores of hardened warriors at his command. Why can he spare none of them to protect the Eastern borders of the free peoples? Is he so blind to the world outside his domain that he cannot see how we struggle, or is he simply too isolationist to bother with our hardships?"
"I will forgive that because you have not had close dealings with the King and because you are naturally concerned for the well-being of your people. In the future, however, I will ask you to consider your words and your audience before speaking aloud. But to answer your question, the King's warriors are occupied by an evil deeper-seated just as potent as any on this Middle-earth. Dol Guldur tightens our borders; daily, we lose some of these hardened warriors you wish for us to send to certain death on your borders. They die on our own."
Aragorn could suddenly believe that Legolas was related to the Elven warriors of the Last Alliance. Undisguised majesty shone from his grey eyes.
"I should think that if affairs in Mirkwood were so bleak, you would be there now, defending it."
Here was the opportunity for instruction which his father had said would always come in any conversation with a mortal. Legolas seized it, speaking as patiently as he could manage, only barely repressing the frustration bordering on anger which he felt at the Dwarf's razor-edged attack on his loyalty to Mirkwood. "And there, you stumble upon the difference between the Elves and the Dwarves. You believe that I am not at this moment with my people, defending them as best as I am able."
An owl hooted soothingly in the tree above them, and Legolas laughed again. This creature was more sensitive than the Dwarf, who many would purport to be superior in every way the bird. The owl, at least, understood. "My people know that I am always with them. My blood flows through the ground of the Great Wood, son of Gloin, nourishing the ground in which saplings take root. My father's blood, and his father's have fed mighty birches. Compared to the antiquity of the house of Oropher, the house of Gloin labors in anonymity. Do you believe that any of Oropher's house could ever leave his land? No matter where I go, I am there. I am there now."
Legolas's voice was soft and intense, and even Aragorn was startled by the flint in the Elf's voice. Legolas had said very little during the first week of their travels together (Aragorn assumed that it was due to his lack of conversational experience in the Common Tongue), and when he spoke, it was to tell tales to amuse the hobbits. There was nothing amusing about this speech. Aragorn drew away from Legolas as the prince spoke, for the Elf's intensity discomfited even Aragorn's nerves.
"Your nation, the nations of all your mortal kin, may spend the rest of the age slowly ripping themselves to pieces. It is not the concern of my people. My land's roots lie deep in the rich soil of the North, and you will never understand that. You cannot, for your shallow roots are in rock, and rock holds little memory. The ancient trees sing of the glory of the house of Oropher."
Gimli did not know whether he should express his indignation at Legolas's arrogance or his awe at the passion that Legolas obviously held for his land and for his people. Before that moment, Gimli had never believed it was possible for him to feel anything so close to respect for one of the First-born, particularly not one of the house of Thranduil—In one conversation, Legolas had forced him to reconsider every paradigm he had ever held. Yes, this creature was almost laughably proud, and he patronized even the Captain of the Dunedain Rangers. But at that moment, when Gimli looked at him across the fire, there was something so stirring behind the sharp grey eyes, a pride not born of arrogance but of self-confidence and of genuinely high birth, that the Dwarf was forced into silence.