"Mithrandir, I will be in need of your leadership and guidance again".
The wizard looked up, amused at his young companion. He blew a series of perfect smoke rings before answering.
"Aragorn, you have no need of any assistance in terms of leadership skills-those you have had all your life".
"That may be so, but I am still glad of your presence on this journey, Mithrandir".
Gandalf chuckled at the respect in the man's voice. Since they had arrived in Rivendell, Aragorn had slipped into addressing him by the name the Elves gave him, and a tone of reverence and admiration was noticeable whenever he uttered it. The wizard looked kindly at the lean figure of the Ranger sitting opposite him. They had often sat like this, many times over the long years, and the man had gained much knowledge, patience and wisdom from their companionship. Gandalf had noted that already Aragorn had the bearing and demeanour of a just and rightful king. So it should be, he thought, for the lands are in need of a wise and honourable ruler, a man to unify all men. Aragorn was such a man.
The wizard rubbed a friendly hand on the Ranger's muscular shoulder, leaning back into the chair to continue smoking his long pipe while they conversed.
"I will always be there to advise and help you, my friend, even if I am not present, you must know that I am with you in spirit and mind".
Aragorn looked at the old face of his friend with gratitude. It had never ceased to amaze him how the wizard was still as hale as one in the prime of youth, despite his ancient body and slightly stooped frame. He could not begin to imagine the weight of Gandalf's responsibilities, the worry and toil of many, many lifetimes. However, he shared in the dead weight of their joint burden; to lead those with them to safety and to victory. He leant forward , allowing the wizard to light his pipe for him before relaxing back into the arms of the chair, reluctantly loosening his tense frame and musing of a time that seemed long ago, when he did not have the cares that he carried now.
From Gandalf's throat came a sound of appreciation.
"This is indeed excellent pipe-weed. I must congratulate Merry on his taste and his ample stock".
The quiet room rang with the sound of their laughter.
•••••••
Legolas felt the evening approaching as the skies stole a soft violet veil over their expanse. He had spent the afternoon conversing, he thought with a disbelieving smile, with, of all things, a Dwarf. Gimli and he had discovered their mutual love of adventure and challenge, along with their sincere, if grudging, admiration for the other race's mastery of certain skills, not least the forming of beautiful things. The Dwarf had quietly admired the fine carving on the small knife that Legolas carried in the top of his boot, a gift from his father, and he in turn had gazed in wonder at the small band of mithril that Gimli wore under his tunic, around the wrist of his stronger axe arm.
Legolas smiled happily. It had been another idyllic day, and one with many surprises. He thought of the reaction of his brethren if they had found him sitting comfortably with a dwarf overlooking the falls, sharing memories and experiences shyly at first, but then with a gradual freedom.
Perhaps this situation of Elf and Dwarf remaining in close quarters would not be as antagonistic as he had expected.
The Elf closed his fine dark eyes in contentment and hummed a few strands of music he had set to Bilbo and Aragorn's song of Eärendil the Mariner. His melodious hum resonated in the stillness of the evening air. He turned his head towards the stairs without opening his eyes and addressed his visitor.
"You are restless again, son of Gondor".
Boromir looked abashed. He cleared his throat gruffly.
"I did not mean to intrude on your song, Legolas".
The Elf beamed pleasantly, and lightly leapt off the rail he had been perched elegantly on.
"Ah, I see that a lady has brought you here to me. Though it would seem more usual for you to remain in her company, not mine", he jokingly observed.
Boromir noted the Elf's face as he smiled. There was no doubting that Legolas Greenleaf was one of the most fair of the immortal folk he had seen. A striking face, dark thinking eyes, luxurious hair and the tall stature of his people; in short, a perfect being. Boromir winced at his own inadequacy. There was no competing against an immortal, particularly one so fair and of such high lineage. He had heard that Legolas too was a prince among his people, and this did not surprise him. Legolas was an Elf. And he was only a man.
"I am facing a - a strange dilemma, Legolas".
The Elf blinked, not understanding.
"What dilemma is this, Captain of Gondor, that you cannot face?"
Boromir shifted his feet uncomfortably, not sure of how to begin.
"The Lady Lasmenel-" he began before stopping to clear his throat.
"Ah", the Elf exclaimed in realisation, "you are in love with her".
Boromir looked up in surprise at the accuracy of Legolas' guess.
"Is it so plain to the eye?"
Legolas smiled, "To mine, yes, for I can see for many miles into the distance. And yet it does not take the eyes of an immortal to see that you love the lady you speak of".
Boromir nearly blushed in embarrassment. He had had no idea that his emotions were so visible.
"I am at a loss, Legolas. This has never happened to me, for all my experience. I find myself unable to yield completely to her, to cast aside my defences for more than a passing moment. I am in darkness without her. Am I so weak a Man that I cannot stop fighting, not even for her?"
The look of despair and frustration on the man's face moved the Elf. He placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder and spoke encouragingly.
"Boromir, if you love Lasmenel, you will lay down your sword yourself, without any assistance from others. If you love her, you will find the words to say and, if you allow yourself to do so, you will cast aside your battle familiar self and show her the man she so plainly wants to love. If she returns your love, then she will lead you out of darkness and walk with you in the light. And most of all, Boromir", and here the Elf smilingly dropped his hand and resumed his perch on the railing, "if you love her, you will not come to me with your words of love and a look of one who has spent too much time gazing at the moon, but go to your maiden and tell her of your choice. No doubt she will give you a warmer reception than I", he dryly added.
Boromir straightened at this and, casting a look of thanks back over his shoulder at the Elf, strode quickly away to find Lasmenel, his heart racing as he felt the enormity of what he would admit to her.
Legolas smiled to himself. The lives of Men were brief, too brief to waste the time they had
living without another's love. He himself had all the ages of the world to find his own, and even he did not wish to waste a single moment once he had found love. He turned once more to the evening sky and hummed another strand of his haunting melody.