Hello community!

Thank you so much to all who are still with me on this fic, especially our generous reviewers kind enough to share their time, insights and connection with me. The latter isn= particularly important now, as more and more of our world is plunged into isolation given the virus situation. I was going to post this later, but I will post now, in my own humble effort of trying to keep people at home and amused :)

Some housekeeping: The Epilogue, shaping up to be at around 50 pages, has my usual 3 Interludes. Only the first is posted below. I am also posting part of my Afterword. I hope you enjoy the reading as much as I enjoy the writing. As always, C&C's are heartily welcome, and Best Wishes and Good Health to everyone at this tough time!

Without further ado:

# # #

Epilogue

# # #

Interlude 1/3: Accounting for A Hundred Years

T.A. 2951, 10 Years After The Battle of the Five Armies

# # #

Every step brought him closer until he was suddenly, almost simply there...

The breakneck speed of the heavy-footed warhorse and the mad clatter of its hooves against the paved entry into Imladris, had Glorfindel vaunting down balconies and running down the halls in his haste to meet the urgent new arrival.

The Household was not expecting anyone.

But the warhorse was bearing two riders, both wearing weather-worn cloaks. One was unconscious and held by the other in his arms. Behind them was a small contingent of horse-borne Imladrian guards who had apparently been outran by the strangers here – a feat of fine horsemanship, Glorfindel reflected, or a sign of the rider's desperation.

He raised a hand at the guards in peace as they dismounted, armed, while he hurriedly walked to the intruders. He realized quickly who the unconscious person was.

"Estel!" Glorfindel exclaimed in alarm.

"Take him, quick!" the cloaked being holding the adan exclaimed breathlessly, and Glorfindel at once raised his arms to receive the injured young man. Estel was a beloved and central figure in Elrond's home, though he hasn't been by much since he left a couple of years ago to chase his fate out in the wilds with the last of the Dunedain.

As Glorfindel reached for Estel and the stranger holding him leaned to gently hand the precious burden down, the hood of the unknown rider's cloak fell to his shoulders – revealing a fine, achingly familiar countenance.

Glorfindel recognized him right away. But if the other elf felt the same recognition or the same jarring pang from it, his grim expression revealed nothing.

"Strider was shot with a poisoned arrow on the arm a day or so ago," Legolas said urgently as he dismounted his horse. He swayed but steadied quickly, and Glorfindel suspected they must've been traveling non-stop.

Legolas planted two pieces of rolled parchment atop Estel's chest and against Glorfindel's, who carried him.

"A dispatch from the Rangers on the status of the fight," he explained quickly. "The other is the field healer's notes on Strider's damage and how he has been treated so far. The wound itself is negligible but the toxin is aggressive and unknown to us. Before Strider lost consciousness he indicated that if there was a remedy, Imladris and its lord would have it. Take him to Elrond – hurry."

"Are you well?" Glorfindel asked as he adjusted his grip on Estel, preparing for a run to the Halls of Healing.

"Yes, please just go!"

Glorfindel nodded and shot forward. Behind him, he could hear the wood-elf asking for a fresh horse and commandeering the patrol that had initially meant to capture him for escaping their guard. Legolas wanted them as reinforcements for the Rangers, who were fighting off orcs a day's ride away.

He was going to leave in three minutes, he barked out with utmost princely authority, and anyone who wasn't ready by then would be left behind.

# # #

There were rooms deeper into the Halls of Healing set apart from the busy main corridors, where delicate procedures were conducted.

Glorfindel headed straight for one of them with the beloved Estel cradled in his arms. Stunned healers trailed in his wake and immediately proceeded with their examinations after he laid Estel gently upon a bed.

Moments later the master of the household came along himself, having been fetched by someone. Elrond was in the company of his twin sons, and all three set to tending Estel immediately. They worked in concert, needing few quiet words amongst themselves, as if they were performing an old dance.

"If you don't mind, my lord," Elrond murmured to Glorfindel, handing him the letters from Estel's chest while he continued working on his ailing, adopted son.

Glorfindel rattled off the healer's notes first, reading it aloud verbatim. Elrond absorbed the words thoughtfully, barely slowing down as he digested the information. Glorfindel turned to the battle report next. The military missive he was more confident about scanning quickly and summarizing in his own words.

"The Rangers defend a village a day's ride from here," he said. "It's become somewhat of a siege with enemies closing in and cutting off exit or supplies. An elf who had recently joined their company - Greenleaf as they call him – is their best soldier and the one tasked with breaking through the blockade with Strider to bring him here and request aid."

Greenleaf, Glorfindel repeated in his mind, as his gaze slid over the letters spelling them on the page. Estel, in his few letters to Imoadris, has written of him before: this mysterious despondent blond who one day came to offer his services and has since become indispensable to them. Glorfindel never for a moment thought it would be Legolas. He never thought anything could part him from the Woodland.

"Kindly see that the request for immediate aid is met," Elrond said distractedly.

"The rest of the letter contains tactical information," Glorfindel said. "I will deal with this situation as you care for Estel."

Elrond's twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan, were exchanging glances in that wordless, conspiring way of theirs. They were torn, Glorfindel knew, by their desire to care for their brother and assist their father, and their need to avenge Estel and unleash their own hungry violence. They weighed where their expertise and responsibilities best lay.

"Stay my sons," Elrond implored them quietly. "I may need your voices to call him home to us."

Glorfindel winced; the situation was that grave. But he had every faith in this family's healing prowess, in Estel's stubborn hardiness, and in all their love for each other. Estel would heed their call, they would bring him back to health, and Glorfindel had his own job to do.

# # #

Legolas, with the dozen or so soldiers he had wrangled into sudden service, was long gone by the time Glorfindel and his own squad of well-armed fighters started moving out.

It didn't matter, for Glorfindel found he knew exactly where to go.

He sought out the other elf's fea, like an old habit even if it has long gone unrewarded. This day though, he found it aflame, as if it was aching to be seen. It also helped that Legolas physically marked their path forward; there were nicks on a few obliging trees along the way, made by slim, sharp white knives.

# # #

The elves rode hard, almost merciless against the horses and against their own bodies. There may be regrets about it later, but they arrived at the besieged village in just the nick of time.

Legolas and his group had already engaged with the enemy, but there was plenty left for Glorfindel and his soldiers. The number of the orcs were startling – times have really changed since the end of the Watchful Peace.

What did not change was Glorfindel's ability to dispatch his enemies efficiently – and the same could be said of Legolas. From the corner of his eye he could see the wood-elf prince fighting in that light, kinetic way of his.

There was a slight change in the technique though, and a very curious one: a slightly heavier touch, some newly-acquired brawn that powered his elegance.

He really has been spending time with the Dunedain.

They had a lot to talk about, indeed. One more thing to add to the accounting of a hundred years.

# # #

It was a decisive victory for the elves and men.

But in its immediate aftermath, there were few celebrations to be made. Estel's status was uncertain, and the Rangers worried for the young man. There were wounds to tend, bodies to bury. There were enemy corpses to burn, security perimeters to establish and maintain. There were homes to repair, families and soldiers to feed... three days' destruction was at least thirty to rebuild.

Legolas, who was apparently firmly entrenched in the Rangers' company, vanished into all the work. Glorfindel and the Imladrians did their part too and cooperated with the miscellany of tasks, one of which was the night watch.

Glorfindel huddled in his cloak and assumed a post at one of the elven camps set up strategically around the village, watching over it as it finally settled for a night's rest. To have a good vantage point, he kept some distance from the human and elven soldiers either mulling around quietly or getting some sleep. It was a peaceful sight, considering what carnage transpired there just a few hours ago.

His personal peace, though, was quickly disturbed by the whisper-soft arrival of a specter of the past: Legolas.

The last time they saw each other was in 2851.

A hundred years, Glorfindel thought, the blink of an eye in the life of an elf. Less in the life of the world. And even less than a hundred years? A scant few weeks of friendship and a few cumulative hours of confessed affection.

Was that why Legolas did not seem to have recognized him in Imladris? Glorfindel wondered if he'd been forgotten, and subsequently let himself wonder if that was for the better.

"Are you real?" Legolas asked suddenly, confusing the ancient warlord.

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed at the strange and unexpected line of questioning. The younger elf before him looked exhausted and asleep on his feet, but seemed otherwise unharmed. He sat an arm across from Glorfindel on the ground, knees pressed to his chest and elbows resting on top of them. He clasped his hands together as he pondered Glorfindel with a slightly tilted head and a hard stare.

"Yes..." Glorfindel answered warily, unsure where the conversation was headed. "Last I checked."

Legolas nodded, a grim expression on his face. "I see." He gracefully unfolded, and let himself lie stretched across the ground. He sighed in contentment.

"I think of you often," he murmured drowsily in explanation. "I am so weary I can't see straight. It's hard to tell. It could have gone either way."

Glorfindel's heart thundered in his chest, and he ached for the exchange to continue while he knew it – again – had to wait.

"Go to sleep, Legolas," he coaxed the other gently, as if the younger elf needed much encouraging. Legolas was well on his way, but he bucked against the weariness one more time and tried to steady his stubborn, glazing gaze.

"You won't just... leave again this time, will you?"

Glorfindel winced. It was hurtful but fair and also, brutally honest. The ernil must have been truly exhausted to let his guard down thus.

"I will be here when you wake – meleth."

It was good enough for the prince, who smiled sleepily and quickly chased after oblivion.

# # #

He was more in possession of himself come the morning, especially after Glorfinel brought him a bite of Lembas, a cup of thin broth, and a sip of miruvor.

"Thank you my lord," Legolas said stiffly, partaking of the nourishment he knew he needed for the long day ahead.

Glorfindel sat with him in their little corner at the edge of camp but he himself did not eat; he was full and functional, and there was still some shortage of provisions while the village's situation was being sorted out.

As Legolas ate quietly, Glorfijdel tried not to revel too much in the long-denied, tender pleasure of watching him do so. They broke bread together many times long ago... it was such a small thing. Easy to neglect in the happening, but intimate in afterthought.

"Have you been with the Rangers all this time?" Glorfindel asked.

Legolas frowned. "All this time?"

"You've been unaccounted for, for a decade," Glorfindel said, keeping the memory of his anguish beneath the surface. "Ever since the Quest of Erebor and the Battle of the Five Armies."

"Is that what they call it nowadays?" Legolas scoffed. "From our end, it was a dwarven disaster that left a pile of shite on my door. I've not had occasion to thank you and your vaunted White Council for that misadventure, by the way."

"The misadventure that prevented a dragon living east of you from aligning with Sauron to your South and Gundabad to your northwest?" Glorfindel pointed out. "The misadventure that effectively stopped our common enemies from hemming in your kingdom, and ultimately banishing the Necromancer from Dol Guldur?"

"Yes," snarled Legolas. "That misadventure. Some word would have been nice between supposed allies. What you sent instead were dwarves that kept their silence save for disrespecting my father and our home, who created a chain of events that led dozens of my people into an untimely death in a distant battlefield. But then again, leaving word is perhaps not your strong suit."

Legolas was also referring to having been left behind injured and unconscious at a Woodmen settlement by the ellon who supposedly loved him, Glorfindel realized. It was a good barb, he conceded. Efficient in hitting two birds with one stone. Maybe even deserved.

He really is one heck of a marksman...

Glorfindel sighed. "My personal behavior I will be accountable for. But on behalf of Imladris and the White Council I think my defenses have merit. The chain of events happened mostly independently of us through the machinations of Mithrandir and the dwarves. They also unfolded quickly, and given our limited military assets, there was not much we could do on the battlefield. Our biggest strength lay with the power of our leaders, who eventually headed to Dol Guldur to battle the enemy there. Word was sent to your adar, Legolas, through various means. But your kingdom had closed, our messenger birds waylaid by invasive and unseasonal predators that have been increasing in number... I believe by the time our message arrived, Thranduil had already gone to the front. We assembled a troop to assist, but by the time we got there, we were needed only in the healing, cleaning and rebuilding."

"You were there?"

"Yes," Glorfindel said, with a slight tremble in his voice. For he had indeed gone to the so-called Battle of the Five Armies, and been desperate about it. "I was there. I kept hearing your name. They said you were remarkable. But I couldn't – I couldn't find you."

And how he had searched. By his body and his soul he had searched. But Legolas' fea had been closed to him since Silon, and it was a light he did not feel until yesterday in the forest, when Legolas wanted to be found and followed.

"You were there," Legolas repeated in a whisper.

"But you were not," Glorfindel said.

"I settled my people as much as I could... stand," Legolas admitted. "And then I left."

"My mind was barely eased when I finally pried a few words out of Thranduil," Glorfindel shared. "He said he had sent you on a mission of utmost secrecy."

"That is kind of him to say," Legolas said quietly. "But I asked to leave. He gave me purpose and direction, otherwise it would have just been... abandonment. One I am ashamed to admit I was almost willing to do."

"I never thought anything could take you from your Woodland," Glorfindel said worriedly. "Especially since the banishment of the so-called Necromancer is giving your home some much needed reprieve."

"I've been drowning in futile sacrifices for a long time I suppose," Legolas said. "Erebor gave me one more blow than I could stand. Adar understood – I needed to fight a different front."

"I am sorry for all that you and your people had to go through," Glorfindel told Legolas sincerely.

"But are you really?" Legolas asked, skeptically. Increasingly snidely. "Are you really, my lord? Why should you be, when you are apparently blameless in all of it? Aren't you always? Blameless, that is - for effects directly caused by your actions. Blameless-"

He cut himself off. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was calmer when he opened them, and he just looked monumentally unhappy.

"I am sorry," Legolas said. "That is... undeserved. An old habit of mine, I'm afraid. I'd gotten so used to believing much of it, you see. Silon..." he winced. "You were right not to have apologized for what happened to him, and I should never have blamed you. I was angry at myself, I think. I know this now. And maybe your people are not... solely... to blame for Erebor either."

"But sometimes anger becomes a habit," Glorfindel murmured in understanding.

Legolas shook his head in disappointment at himself.

"I hope you have also lost it, the anger with yourself," Glorfindel told him. "For that is undeserved too."

Legolas sighed, and it deflated his bitterness. "I would call it more a work-in-progress," he admitted. He paused to gather his thoughts, and Glorfindel gave him the time he needed.

"I will say this though," Legolas went on, "about the time you left me a century ago. You had to leave when you did, I understand that. And the past hundred years have occupied us in each our ends of the world, with much danger to keep us where we were and divide us in between. But the truth is: it would have been trite, but you could have left me a letter." He gave Glorfindel a slight, ironic smile.

"I considered it," Glorfindel confided. "But words failed me. I couldn't ask forgiveness, for I could never be sorry for playing a part in keeping you alive. I could have explained why I was leaving the way that I did, but as a commander I think you would have already understood that. I could have said I love you but you must know that, too. There was nothing to say. But perhaps more than that... I held you. I do not know if anyone's said it. I held you often, and that last night I just couldn't seem to let you go. Not for pen or paper, not for air or a drink of water - not for anything other than the dawn that marked the time I had to go away."

Legolas hand drifted loosely to the side of his head. "I remember nothing of those days," he murmured. "Nothing much, that is. There was pain and darkness, and... and..." he tried to find the words. "I don't know - pinpricks of light."

Glorfindel's heart sped in his chest. He'd come to think of them as little sparks, all the memory and longing he had sent down into the deep well that had become of Legolas' lost soul when he was on the brink of death. Glorfindel had hoped they would reach him, and now he knew that they did.

Legolas shook his head and took a deep breath, ready to move on. "At any rate here we are. None the worse for wear – so far." He chewed his lip in thought. "It could have been worse. It almost certainly will be worse, actually. This recent orc incursion is part of a noticeable pattern. There is a rise in the enemy's capabilities and brazenness. The skirmishes I've been in with Strider and the Rangers have escalated these last few years."

"You've been traveling with Strider that long?" Glorfindel asked, adjusting to the name Legolas called Estel by. But Legolas did not miss the omission.

"A few years," Legolas answered vaguely. "Long enough to know he is not like other men. Long enough to know he was raised amongst elves in Imladris. You called him Estel, when you saw him. I've heard others call him this on occasion too. Why?"

He does not know, Glorfindel thought.

"What importance does that hold?" Glorfindel asked back carefully.

"Aran-nin told me he could be a great man one day," Legolas answered. "When he sent me to seek out Strider, he told me I should find out his real name for myself."

Glorfindel's brows rose, and marveled at Thranduil's perception - either he had some foreboding, or an impressive intelligence network. He wouldn't put either beyond the formidable Elvenking.

"Estel, is it?" Legolas said thoughtfully. "'Hope.' Interesting."

Glorfindel wanted to reveal who Strider really was, but that wasn't his story to tell.

"It's fitting," Legolas said with grim satisfaction. "You cannot know what he's come to mean to me."

Glorfindel tilted his head at Legolas inquiringly. Inextricably, he wondered if he had been replaced, but he did not feel it was his place to push.

"Does he know who you are?" he asked instead.

The elven prince shrugged. "He goes by identities of his own choosing and so do I. The Rangers know me by 'Greenleaf.' Estel is clever though, and had grown up among the eldar. It is possible he has come to his own determinations. But if he has, he is keeping them to himself. It does not make us less of friends."

He stared off into the distance longingly.

"He is still alive," Glorfindel promised Legolas. He knew, for Estel was in sight of his fea. He reached out to the adan in spirit.

"I know," Legolas said with a weighty exhale. "He promised me, and he's never let me down before."

Glorfindel gave him a smile, but his senses were still so stretched out that a change in the wind struck him like a bolt of lightning hitting a tree and splitting it half.

He heard himself cry out, and his clawed hands went to his head at the staggering blow. Suddenly the air felt unbearably thick, unbreathable. He gasped and heaved it in hungrily nonetheless, taking in its cloying foulness, because there was nothing else. He breathed in ash and was blinded by magnificent flame, and then the light was shut in the rest of the world save for an unholy fire borne by a dark tower.

He came to himself lying on his back on the ground, and somehow between one moment and another, he was waking up to a new and unwelcome existence.

The song changed.

It had become – suddenly, jarringly - discordant. Like a taut string had snapped in the orchestra but the off-key tone played on, sounding wrong and vaguely, increasingly malevolent.

He opened his eyes to find Legolas' worried face hovering inches from his own.

"One more like that, please," he was saying, and his voice was muffled, the sight of him tunneling. "Breathe."

Glorfindel did as he was bid, and he forced his aching chest to rise and fall, rise and fall. Every breath was dizzied and hard-won, but his head and senses duly started to clear.

A visibly relieved Legolas backed away, but only slightly. He started palpating Glorfindel's body, looking for injury.

"Did you get hurt in the fight?" he asked urgently. "Come now, my lord – does anything hurt? Does anything feel wrong?"

Everything felt – and was – wrong. Glorfindel shivered, which Legolas caught. He did not know what ailed the older elf, but this was a problem he could remedy. He hurriedly divested himself of his cloaks, and blanketed Glorfindel with it.

"I will fetch a healer – "

"No..." Glorfindel finally managed to speak, in a weak, hoarse voice but a forceful tone. He shifted to rise, but Legolas kept a firm hand over his chest.

"This isn't wise..."

But Glorfindel still had to do it. Sighing, Legolas helped him instead, and kept Glorfindel held in his arms while the older elf steadied. Legolas fussed with the cloak, and rubbed at Glorfindel's arms to infuse him with warmth.

"What ails you?" he asked earnestly, peering at the ancient warlord's face. "How can I help?"

Glorfindel looked blearily up at the morning sky. Everything looked the same, and yet everything had changed. He knew this day would come. Everyone in the White Council did. He just did not think it would come today, or it would feel this way. The air was so, so sickeningly thick.

"Mount Doom is stirred alive," Glorfindel murmured of the visions – either gods-given or sensed by his soul in the suddenly altered world – that had assailed him. "I see fire... a dark tower rising. And cloaked black riders taking to the skies at the impatient command of a master who has finally awakened."

Legolas' grip jerked tightly at Glorfindel's arms, and the older elf turned to him sadly. They both knew Glorfindel spoke of the Nazgul.

"You need to return home, ernil," he told Legolas. "They come I think, for the fortress that was lost to them. Your people have desperate need of you again. I am sorry you only had ten years in the wilds to find some solace."

Legolas shook his head at Glorfindel in confusion and disbelief. "I don't understand..."

"I think the Dark Lord has finally declared himself," Glorfindel tried to explain. "I think plans long brewing are coming to fruition. You noted this yourself – the enemy has increased in courage and capacity. They are ready, and we must be too. You must go home." He winced, as he removed Legolas' cloak from his body and returned it to the archer.

"I must go, too. I will be needed in Imladris. Elrond would have felt that more."

"But you are unwell-"

"Then help me," Glorfindel grunted and Legolas, long sharing in his understanding of the primacy of duty, helped him to his feet. He slung one of Glorfindel's arms over his shoulders to aid in the walking. Together, they headed toward the other members of their company.

"I hesitate to leave the Rangers with Strider gone and the men at this state so soon after a battle," Legolas said under his breath as they walked.

Every assisted step made Glorfindel steadier, and he carried more and more of his weight. But he kept Legolas' guide – and gentle proximity.

"They are capable," Glorfindel said with certainty. "And we are both needed elsewhere."

They walked quietly, and it was Legolas who broke it with a bewildered murmur. "Present tense."

"Hm?"

"You had said it, of love."

"I haven't changed," Glorfindel said, plainly. He did not even broach the topic, because for him it was simply assumed, a constant. This was the lens by which he lived his world. It lined everything. He did not need to say it, anymore than he needed to remind himself to breathe.

I love you, and it was just a consequence – and necessity - of living.

Their return to proper camp was spotted, and Glorfindel half-carried by Legolas was a startling enough sight that his soldiers stalked toward them quickly. Their time together was coming to an end.

Legolas' grip on Glorfindel tightened, and Glorfindel felt his own hold doing the same. The world was dealing them another hand of goodbye, for another indefinite period of time.

I can't seem to let you go. Not for pen or paper, not for air or a drink of water, not for anything other than the dawn that marks the time I have to go away...

"No matter what," Legolas told him quickly, "No matter when or where: you will always have my love."

He released a startled Glorfindel to his own people, with the exact words Glorfindel had used to release him before...

... unknowingly remembering and now echoing, the tender sentiment of this pinprick of light.

# # #

INTERLUDE 2, set in Rivendell around the Council of Elrond, WILL BE POSTED IN A FEW DAYS. Stay at home and stay safe, friends!

In the meantime, AN AFTERWORD ON THE TIMELINES

How does Your Light in the Dark fit in with the events of the books and movies?

I am kind of loose on this because I am hardly an expert on canon, and sometimes I prefer vagueness because sometimes the more you say the more you're prone to error. But some grounding doesn't just make the fic feel more organic, it is also inspiring for me to read and research. So for the curious, these are the few canon details that I kept in my head as I wrote:

(1) Glorfindel's return to Middle Earth around the Second Age

(2) The establishment of Dol Guldur by "The Necromancer" / Sauron sometime after Third Age 1000. This marks the beginning of the darkening of Eryn Galen, and the diminishing of their territory such that they had to move ever northwards.

(3) The formation of the White Council in TA 2463, and their conflicting views on how to deal with The Necromancer in Dol Guldur in TA 2851. This became the impetus for me to send Glorfindel to Mirkwood in Your Light in the Dark. What he discovered from Thranduil's kingdom was not conclusive though, and we return to canon into TA 2941, when the White Council finally went after the Necromancer in the old fortress while everyone else was busy in and around the Quest of Erebor.

(4) In movie canon, the Battle of the Five Armies ends with Legolas' departure and seeking out "Strider" and the Dunedain. I have no concrete position on Aragorn's precise age and accomplishments at this time (a sore issue for some fans who note that going by Aragorn's book birth year he would have just been a child). I also have no concrete position on when precisely Legolas locates and joins them... that is why I will be deliberately vague on this hahaha.

Personally though, I reconcile the seeming contradictions this way: maybe as a child "Estel" was allowed to ride with the Rangers on occasion, for his training and to keep touch with that side of his lineage. I imagine he must have had occasion to show some valor even as a young boy (not unheard of), or at the very least, potential. Thranduil's intelligence network must have picked up some chatter, enough that he could send Legolas there. I like thinking Legolas meets Aragorn a bit older though, like if Legolas took his time searching and ended up meeting Aragorn in his mid-teens.

(5) This gives them a few years to bond before the epilogue of Your Light in The Dark, set in TA 2951, a very eventful year. In my fic, Legolas brings an injured Strider back to Imladris. This gives an opportunity for canon events that occurred the same year – Estel's real identity is revealed to him and he meets Arwen, and then he goes to the Rangers to be their Chieftain in the wild. This aligns with my fic, because where he was just riding with them before, he can return as their leader.

TA 2951 is also when Sauron declares himself openly again, and when he sends Nazgul to retake Dol Guldur. These two canon events sunder Glorfindel and Legolas in my fic: Glorfindel is needed back at work in Imladris and for the White Council. Legolas on the other hand is needed back home in Mirkwood to defend again against the re-emergent Dol Guldur. This is also why he wasn't with Aragorn and the Rangers leading up to the events of The Fellowship of the Ring, and why he was back in Mirkwood by the time Gollum was left with them.

Whew! I don't even know if that makes sense to anyone else :)

Anyway, thank you for your time and 'til the next post!