Author's Note: Sorry for the really long update.  I really do apologize.  It's just that now that I'm a college graduate and living at home again, it's hard to find some time to get on the computer to write without having to be on the constant job search.  And lately when I have written, it's been for my other work in progress (which the story sorta ran away with me) entitled A King's Ransom.  Oh yeah, that and I lost some work on this that I liked in a major computer crash around Thanksgiving, but this is really the first chance that I've had to rewrite it all.  So, if you haven't given up on me, thank you so much!  (hands out gold Legolas star stickers to everyone)  And oh yeah, I'm not Tolkien.

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I rode Firebrand hard that night, never stopping to look back and never stopping to decide where to go to.  Instead, I gave him free reins, trusting him to bear me far from the horrors that I had seen.  It was a dark night, the timid stars hiding behind thick, protective clouds, as though they were ashamed at the very sight of me.  The air began to smell of an oncoming rain, for it seemed as if the very heavens would shed tears for my family.

I do not know what it was that guided Firebrand that night.  Perhaps it was the familiarity of the road, perhaps it was fate, but long after the storm had broken, I found myself within the city of Minas Tirith.  It was here that I finally took up the reins once more, as we passed the city gate, and I nodded absently at the guards standing by, for they knew me well and did not have to question my presence.  Suddenly feeling the bite of the cold wind, I guided Firebrand to one of the taverns that I knew well and had sometimes come to sit and pass a few hours with Faramir, Gimli, and Aragorn.  After bringing the horse to the attached stable, I headed into the bar.  Smoke from pipes hung thickly in the air at the far end of the bar, but it was warm inside so I pressed on.  There was a mid-sized crowd that night, as was normal for The Soaring Eagle.

Dripping water from my robes and hair, I took a seat at the bar and placed my order with Regond, the owner.  Soon he came back bearing my requested drink.  The liquid was potent and went down like melted fire, warming my insides, though outwardly, I still felt cold.  Regond looked me over and, noting my drenched state, suggested that I move closer to the fire that he kept burning brightly in the hearth at the far end of the room.  I shook my head, wet locks of hair clinging to my face and neck.  I downed the rest of the drink in a single great swallow, though I knew how utterly ungraceful it must have appeared.  At this, Regond scrunched up his brow, deciding that something was amiss.  But he said nothing for the moment and merely took up my glass to silently refill it.  This patter continued for the next ten or fifteen minutes until at last, I could see that he could no longer sit idly by.

Putting a fresh glass before me, a line of concern passed over his face.  "Are you alright, Master Legolas?"

"I do not wish to speak about it," I replied, staring blankly down at the glossy surface of the highly polished bar.  Never before had I spoken of my troubles and feelings to a human, save for Aragorn, and I certainly did not want to start now.

"Alright!" he said.  "I meant no offense by it."

Then he turned from me to service another customer whose mug of mead had become empty.  And so the rest of the night wore on slowly.  Customers came into the tavern and left, though more exited than were replaced.  No one approached me and I knew why.  For even though I was a friend to their king, I was still an elf, a creature unlike them and to be feared to some extent.  These people did not know me that well, though I knew many of the men living in Gondor, and though I lived within the borders of their kingdom.  Men and Elves may have been living in peaceful co-existence, but still the two races stuck mainly to their own kin.  It was a problem that Aragorn and I had been working hard to correct.  Even so, it was thus that I was to pass the time alone and undisturbed with my troubled thoughts.

It was an hour or two before the cold dark hour of midnight when I heard the familiar tramping of heavy boots upon the solid wood of the floor.  From behind me they came, accompanied with a deep, throaty laughter and salutations to Regond.  They were the kind that only a dwarf would use.  Fate, it seemed, had more in store for me, though at the moment, I cursed it, for I did not wish to see anyone, only to forget.  I slumped my shoulders forward and forced myself to stare down once again, sipping another round of the potent wine.  With any luck, Gimli would bypass me without noticing who I was.

"Ah Legolas!  Still in the city, eh?  I guess you changed your mind and decided to stay on for the night.  But you should have told me you were coming here.  I would have arranged to meet you earlier," he cried out joyfully.

I did not turn around.

"Hello?  What's this?  Can't even turn around to greet a friend?" he asked, with the slightest hint of teasing tainting the edges of his words.

Still I said nothing, hoping that he would just leave me be, or think that perhaps he had mistaken my identity for someone else from the back, for he was the last person that I wanted to see.  True, he was my best friend, but some pearl of elvish pride did not wish to see me break emotionally before the eyes and ears of a dwarf, friend or no.  But elvish pride held no sway over Gimli and he climbed into the bar stool next to me, just as Regond came with his usual mug of beer.  Gimli took it up and tasted the contents before turning again to me.

A rough hand was placed lightly on my shoulder.  "Legolas?"

"Please Gimli, leave me be," I asked.

"What is wrong, my friend?  Perhaps I can help you," he pleaded, as his eyes took in my disheveled state of appearance.

"Not this time, Gimli," I replied and drained my cup.  "No one can help me."

I stood to leave and placed money for Regond upon the bar.  At this, Gimli knew my intentions and jumped from his seat, placing himself between myself and the exit.  There he stood defiantly, his legs spread slightly apart, challenging me to try and get passed him, though he knew that I could do so easily if I so wished.  And yet, I did not even attempt to, for I suddenly felt very tired.  I sighed and slumped my shoulders in defeat.

"Please," he tried pleading with me again, "tell me what troubles you so."

I said nothing, but motioned for him to follow me.  He nodded in understanding and I turned on my heel and walked to the seats nearest to the fire.  For it was here that we could be farthest from the half dozen or so other patrons.  Here I sat, Gimli across from me, in thick, oversized chairs covered with leather hides.  Gimli gave a signal to Regond that we were not to be disturbed.

"Now then Master Elf," Gimli said, settling down into his seat, "let us have it or I shall be forced to drag it out of you."

I smiled slightly in spite of myself at his attempt to lighten the mood.  He was doing his best, I could tell, and that could not have been easy for him, for I knew that he'd never seen me in such a somber mood.

"Have you ever bore witness to something that made you stop and reevaluate your life and worth?  Something so overwhelming that the image burns itself into your memory with such force and clarity that it threatens to drive you mad?" I began, choosing my words carefully.

"What are you getting at?  What did you see?"

"Death," I said quietly.

"Death?  Whose?" he asked.  "Someone in Gondor?"

"My family's," I all but whispered.