I know I said Gandalf would come next, but I'm still not satisfied with what I have of it so far-Legolas it is, then. This one feels a bit different than the others, but it could just be the writer's block cramping my style. Anyway...enjoy!
Legolas had never spared much thought for the trappings of royalty. He knew well enough that he was, by blood, royal. It was the same as knowing upon which shelf a rarely-used text lay; unthought-of and half-forgotten until its contents were required for a most specific purpose, then left again to gather a light film of dust.
Royal blood held less significance to Elves than to Men. Thranduil was the only of his kind to claim the title of King, but Legolas was rarely, if ever, called Prince. His father, Valar protect him, would in all likelihood not leave an untimely emptied throne. Thranduil was a practical Elf though, and valued preparedness. He took it upon himself to make certain that his young son learned the craft of kings even without the expectation of becoming one. Legolas, for his part, took it upon himself to make sure that he learned well. Legolas, like his father, was nothing if not thorough. Nonetheless, it did not take him long to divine that his happiness would not lie in waiting for an empty title.
Looking into the morning mist still settled over Rivendell, he possessions on his back and waiting for the other eight, he is grateful. He can counsel, he can lead, and he can rule, yes. But he can also track, fight, and kill. If he could not rule the home he loved, he reasoned, he would defend it. As the years passed, Legolas the Prince became Legolas the Warrior. Now, among his own kind, he is praised for his battles rather than his blood. And he is glad for it. The Fellowship does not need a prince, it needs a warrior. He will fulfill his duty, the only one his long life has thus far required of him. When this long journey is over, perhaps it will not still be so. Death is not his only craft.