Friendship.

Such a strange notion. Why does one even bother? I think this as I again morn the loss of someone that I held dear. I should be used to this by now, shouldn't I? I'm am millennia old and yet… and yet the passing away of loved ones is still such a staggering blow. Why do I bother?

Galadriel said that the world had changed. Ai, could she only see it now! Here, in a world ruled by humans, where metal has replaced wood, and paper is tossed away at whim, I feel truly old. The world has changed. It is early in the two thousandth millennium since Christ's birth, the exact year doesn't matter, but it is 2006. I have lost count of exactly how old I am. I have watched the world be shaped by men and have watched these men grow old and die. I have watched many die.

Just as I watched Aragorn die and Arwen fade. Just as I watched the hobbits die. Just as I have watched so many of those that I had grown to love die. Why do I bother? Illuvater has sent me back to this broken world of men. For a thousand years I have befriended men while they were barely a decade old and returned to keep their deathwatch. Why? Why do I make friends of these humans, only to watch them die? Perhaps this is a foolish question. But I must know!

Is it worth the pain my heart suffers to watch these humans die? Should I steel myself against these people and become a hermit? Is this cowardice?

As I write, I remember. My pen scratching across this parchment becomes barely seen as I remember those that I have loved. My newest friend, a girl of barely seventeen years, suffers a similar problem. She has begun to wonder why she has a deep need for friendship. Why must she find people to love only to be betrayed? Or perhaps she is not betrayed, she only drifts away form those she would place her trust in. She needs to know what point there is in seeking out friendships if they will not last. Her dearest friend for three years simply doesn't have anything to say to her anymore. There was no argument, no falling out, and yet when they meet, they no longer speak. And now she is making a new friend, only to lose her again when the two of them graduate high school and move away to college. She needs my help!

Ai! But how can I help her when I cannot help myself?

Memories of past friendships flood my mind now, and writing has become difficult on account of tears.

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Time has passed; many memories have stayed my hand and halted my pen.

I have an answer.

I cannot shut myself up and lock myself away from the world and humans simply because I know they will die. To refrain from befriending people would kill me as surely as any arrow. Instead, I see now that I will make friends and lose them; I cannot escape that fact. Yet I also now see that friends are there for you while they are yours to comfort your distress, but also when they are gone.

Yes, when they are gone. Friendship has two parts: present and past. The present is what we call a current friendship, the making of memories. Past friendships are the memories that you have made. When alone, lost friends are still there, the memories of better times giving you hope of more good times to come. Even if there is also pain in the memories. Yes, I believe I can help my friend. I will tell her what I have learned in my musings. Thought we only have our friends for a short amount of time, we will have our memories forever. That is the greatest gift of friendship.

It may not help her now, but perhaps it will help me… perhaps I should tell her my truest name. Right now she knows me as Matthew: friend, eccentric, gentle, and wise. It would do my heart good to hear my true name spoken by someone other than myself. I have heard it many times recently, but never directed at me. Perhaps this girl will be angered with me, but it would do wonders in the end, once she believed me.

Yes, I will tell her my name: Legolas Thranduilion.

Perhaps once she believes that I do not jest she will understand that my thoughts on friendship come form nowhere but my heart.

Perhaps then, we may both begin to heal from the losses that we suffer.

-Legolas Thranduilion