Right Side of Justice
Chapter 6 – The Elf and the Gathering of the Seven

"'Legolas'?" echoed Scott, eyebrows rocketing hairline-ward. "So that's your last name, eh? I'll be, that's an odd name."

"Mateo is not my true name."

Poor Scott stood confused, a muddled expression quirking his features. Bryne looked from one to the other, understanding Scott's confusion no more than Scott understood Mateo's – Legolas' – identity change. "Not your true name? Dern blasted, what do mean 'not your true name'? 'Course it's your true name, you said it was!"

Legolas frowned, meeting Scott's frustrated gaze. "I could not tell you at the time. I probably should not have told you now, but what is said, has been said, and will remain said."

"But you could tell him right off?" Scott threw a flippant gesture toward Bryne.

"You take it the wrong way, Scott."

"Really?" The younger huffed sarcastically, his jaw audibly popping as it tended to do when he was rating higher on the disgruntlement scale. 

The newcomer's eyebrows dipped down to meet their counterpart. "Have I missed something here?"

An ill-tempered stomp caught up a cloud of red dust. "Stay out of it, Bryne. This is a family matter and you are not part of this family."

Honestly, Legolas hadn't expected quite this sort of aftermath. A family matter? "Scott, I should, for your own dignity, inform that you are not making a shred of sense. "

"Sense ain't got nothing to do with it!" the jaw continued to pop. "Frankly, I'm feeling a bit put out here. You go and tell this unshaven hulk right off the wagon, but I, your first outlaw partner, don't get told until you've confided in him first? That's not supposed to smart a bit?"

Legolas leveled him with a severe look, "We will continue this later, Scott. Now is not the time."

With one last complaint of his jaw, Scott settled for the silent treatment.

"Now," Legolas turned back to the other man. "What may I call you?"

Only Legolas had noticed that during this exchange, Benito was the only one lacking a shocked expression.

---

The comfort of hearing one's own name is a pleasure taken for granted. How foolish had Legolas felt in the emptiness of solitude when to no one but a horse he spoke his name aloud.  Deep in his subconscious he admitted that he was afraid of forgetting, of losing that part of himself to the past. Maybe forgetting would have been for the best; maybe it was cowardly and weak of him to cling to what was gone. But frankly, he would prefer to remain a coward than lose his soul to the future. History was not always a thing to be forgotten.

Behind him, a chorus of snores rose not quite in harmony. Legolas sat a stone's throw away with his back to the sleepers and eyes cast to the bejeweled Texas night sky. Though he had studied this sky a myriad of times before, knew its dance by heart, he still missed that other sky: Arda's expanse.

He accepted the lonesome ache that took on a keen edge. How many years had passed since he'd been in the welcome presence of one of his race? Where were the others that had followed the call to come hither? A small measure of comfort was allotted to him when he assured himself that he was not thoroughly alone in this world of Men. I wonder if they have all had so strange a time.


He heard a soft grunt and a muttered oath behind him as Scott rolled from beneath the comfort of his blanket and over an unwelcoming rock. "It is not the rock's fault," he admonished the blurry eyed Man that had risen from his rude awakening.

"Well it could have picked a better spot." Scott hobbled over, rubbing his shoulder. "Not as if we're crowded out here." He made a sweeping gesture to the night shrouded landscape. Yawning, he hunched down beside Legolas on an offender-less patch of earth.

They sat in companionable silence. Legolas felt Scott's eyes on him after a few moments passed. He'd have to have this discussion at one point or another, now was as good a time as any. "You still do not understand, do you?" 

Scott hastily averted his eyes, taking to poking at the dirt haphazardly. "What, about your favoritism?"

"Scott," Legolas said sharply, keeping his tone low so not stir the sleepers, "favoritism has no place in this matter. I trust you. Implicitly."

"They why didn't you tell me?"

Legolas' felt a choking sense of frustration fasten about his throat. "Because one can bear only so many secrets," he blurted out, much more to his surprise than Scott's.

"What secrets?" Scott pressed.

Legolas withdrew, clenching his jaw. "Secrets that must be kept."

"Curse you, Mateo…Leglass… Legolas whoever you are! We're friends. Sure, we only just met, but some things just happen," he hissed, forcing Legolas' attention. "Friends don't keep secrets from each other."

"Sometimes they do. Sometimes they have to, Scott." Checking his emotions, he schooled his tone. "If it makes you feel any better, Benito has known nothing of it until you heard. If anyone deserves my candor, he does. It was not a matter of favoritism," he repeated.

Scott sat back on his heels. There was one jaw pop then he turned a determined look upon Legolas. Such a look might have been given by the eyes of an elf. "Tell me the truth. I don't mean just part of it. All of it."

"I cannot."

"Tell me who you are."

"I cannot."

"I can't work with you if I don't know you."

Legolas stood, having half a mind to walk away. If he stayed, he feared all would be revealed. "If you feel as such, then perhaps our 'partnership' as you call it, will not work."

Scott reached out, clamping a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "You'd walk away from all those people then? You'd just let those thieves and murderers go about their way? You'd give in just because you can't own up, or face whatever happened before I met you?"

In turmoil, Legolas rooted his feet, trying to keep his breathing even. Why couldn't he confide? What harm would come of it? If Scott and Benito – for if he told the other, then it would be only right to tell Benito – were the only ones who ever knew, then what could it hurt?

Scott, though not the most perceptive of mind, seemed to recognize this underlying battle of wills and pressed to his advantage. "Tell me, it's eating you from the inside out. You said it yourself, there's only so many secrets one can keep." He shook Legolas. "Tell me!" his command became an entreaty.

"Scott, there would be no way you could understand. When this world was created, your race was never meant to know."

Legolas caught his slip too late.

"My race?" echoed Scott, regarding Legolas queerly. The latter remained silent. "Mateo, what are you talking about, 'my race'?

"I have said too much." Legolas turned, resolved to leave this time to save what little there was left to salvage. "Put it from your mind and go back to sleep. We will have to much to do in the morning."

Scott didn't take the bait. "I have a strange feeling this has something to do with the dry old way you talk; it's way too proper for where you live."

"I told you to leave it be. All that has changed is my name, and if your pride is hindering you from acknowledging it, it is of no consequence to me."

Seething visibly, Scott released him. His hand dropped to his side limply. "You are stubborn. Worse than that hell-spawned mule I had.

"Then that is one regard in which we are very much alike," Legolas retorted. He was acting immature and puerile, but an awful rebellion rioted within him not to suppress the unbecoming behavior.  Still, the old Legolas triumphed and he sought to mend what he could. "Ai, Scott," he recanted, "I am sorry. I beg you to understand. If I had known such consternation would result, then I would have held my tongue."

Scott sagged back into a crouch, scrubbing his hand across his brow. "I wish I could understand," he grunted. "Give me something to go on, Ma--Legolas. Maybe I could understand."

Legolas dipped his head towards his chest, the ache of loneliness and despair returning with fierce vengeance even though he was not in body alone. It was another matter for his heart.

"I'll start making wild guesses then," Scott sighed. "Are you a ghost? Maybe some spiritual being of the past who has come to help us poor, pathetic mortals?"

"Stop this, Scott. You don't know what you're saying."

"Then am I right? That would explain your unnatural ability to attract trouble and come out unscathed."

"I can die nearly just the same as you can." Right, Legolas. When will you learn?

His hope that Scott would remain oblivious to the telling word was in vain. "'Nearly'? What does 'nearly' mean? Speak up Man, stop dropping hints and start giving me answers!"

"I am not a man."

A sickened look greened Scott's face. He blanched. "Not a man? Then…then you're a…woman?" Near hysterics set in. Legolas could not hold it against him; after all, if one was not a man, one was a woman – according to the teachings of the 'human' race.

"No, no!" Legolas hastily corrected. Ai, he moaned inwardly, Hold your tongue!  "Just, oh do just go back to sleep."

"How can I when you play poker with words? Just say it. You want to, and I see no harm in confessing."

Legolas lowered himself to eyelevel with the man, a comfortable, soul soothing resolve settling over his tumultuous spirit. "You do have a certain likeness to Estel," he murmured, taking interest in sand and stone. He acknowledged Scott's silent inquiry, "Estel, Aragorn Elessar, is – was a man that embodied all noble attributes, and above all was a friend worthy of every price of friendship. He was a servant king."

This seemed an extreme paradox to Scott's reasoning. "A king I could reckon with, probably some English fellow – but a servant  king? Kings are pious chaps, stuffy and fat most likely."

"Oh, not English, Númenorian by descent." As to be expected, this confounded Scott's confusion to deeper levels. "Númenor was once an isle, the kingdom of the Dúnedain, it was from the blood of those that peopled that isle that he came. Ai, but I see by your face this makes no more sense to you than before. But what else should I expect? The beginning is too lofty a place to begin, but I should start perhaps at the end."


Not until after the stars began to dim and sky show a hinting of morning did Scott retire, silent, for once left speechless; mind swollen with information he had yet to wrap his understanding around. 

Legolas turned his eyes again to the lightening sky. He could still see them, the stars dancing into the unseen night beyond this universe's atmosphere, high above all that was dusty and worn threadbare. Now, weariness had fled, conquered by a solemn effervescence. He was with them in heart, freed from a fettering secret.

One man, one mortal knew who he was - who he really was.

"Morning's coming on," said a voice at his shoulder, Benito yawned and scratched his bristled chin.

"Did a rock assault you as well?" Legolas queried, "Or will this simply be my night – excuse me - morning for emotional confrontations?"

"Mayhap, but not from me."

Legolas felt a wall between them, real or unreal. He hated it, with a vengeance. There seemed only one way to mend what could be lost. It was worth another long discourse. "I should explain – "

He got no further. "No, you shan't. There is no farce between you and I, never has been." Benito said it so firmly, Legolas couldn't fathom disbelieving him. He went on, "I've known you too long not to know you. Your name may be different, heck, even your whole background, but you are still the same. A name makes no difference to me, whether five letters, or twenty. I'll still call you a friend."

Legolas would not have been ashamed to admit that his throat constricted and moisture touched his eyes. He was sure that never had he done any deed worthy of such understanding, nor had it been any virtue of his own that won the friendship of Gimli or Aragorn. Grace, to be sure.

"Now, what do you say to scrounging up something decent to eat, I feel a turn in the wind and if we must do anything on the run, better to do so on a full stomach."

Legolas was now the one to follow speechlessly.

---

Benito had been right about the change in the winds. Literally, it blew not from the coast, but from inland, turning the air dry and the sky hazy with dust. The company remained a while longer in the shelter of the mountain, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.

Scott was especially quiet that morning, his eyes downcast and his normal zeal absent. When the others' backs were turned, he could be caught watching Legolas, studying him. Legolas too watched Scott. Even when dissension arose between the company, Scott remained oddly silent.

They had gathered, all save one who kept watch, to discuss just what they were to do. Unfortunately, not all present were so level headed as Legolas. The differing opinions were stark in contrast. One side opted for stealth, intercepting any attempt made by Godard to build his mystery herd. The other called for a frontal assault, assassination at best. Of the first opinion, Legolas, Benito and Bryne advocated. Of the other, the Irish immigrant Braden, the farmer Harold Crock, and somewhat reluctantly, the old campaigner Ruben, sided. Scott still sat silent, eyes upon Legolas.

Bryne was blatantly disgruntled with his fellows. "How many of us do you see? Count: One, two, three…Seven of us - and how many of them? We can't even say. We don't even have a generous sponsor such as they do," he added sarcastically. "We might be able to blow a few off before we go down in a pointless blaze of fire. Besides, we have the townspeople on our side and they don't want to sell. We can use that against Godard as a trap."

The three were unsure as to how to defend their position, unsure whether it was even worth defending now. The Irishman, Braden, tapped his red-bearded chin. "I can't side much for the idea of a gorilla band, too shifty, too prone to falling apart. Let's get it done and over with, dead or alive."

Benito finished off a suspiciously gelatinous coffee. "Doesn't work like that dear fellow. Nothing permanent is ever quick to accomplish. Takes time and effort."

"The old man's right," Bryne concurred, eyeing the last dredges of coffee. "If I'm to die, which I don't particularly mind, then I won't go having it recorded as some noble attempt that ended in failure."

Braden, the advocate of the three, looked ready to break but with a look to his fellows, he shook his head. "Nay, we can do this, especially if Legolas can live up to his reputation."

Legolas ran a hand through Toril's mane rhythmically. "I'm not invincible, though I have seen many miraculous feats in my time of small numbers against large. But it is irrational to think that we could have any lasting effect with such a strike, even if we were to crush the immediate threat. No, through a show of foolish bravery, we would destroy our purpose. We must be as a growing nuisance, preventing the continuation of their purpose. We're simply not strong enough to start an all out rebellion. Someday, perhaps, but not now."

Braden, Crock and Ruben were silent, weighing the opposing defense. "Sounds awfully complicated to me," he grunted doubtfully.

Crock the farmer looked to Scott, "Well what about you? Where do you stand on this?"

A look passed between Scott and Legolas. Then the man turned aside and looked to Crock. "I side with Legolas."

Again, their eyes met. Legolas tipped his head to Scott in acknowledgment, relieved immensely that reason had not fled because of the self-built barrier between Scott and himself. A question remained to be answered: which of them had built it?

"Then it's settled," Bryne declared.

Braden was still not convinced, "But how will we know where they be?"

Legolas addressed this concern. "There are only so many homesteads in these parts. Many have already been struck. Through a process of elimination and by keeping a close eye on each, then we should be able to know." At least, that was his hope.

"Aye, so we have only to foil him a handful of times, then you reckon they'll leave us be?" Crock wondered hopefully.

"Maybe," Legolas said doubtfully. That would be in the best case, "but even then our goal would not be accomplished. Where would they go - to another town such as Harris to do the same to their farmers and ranchers?"

Crock scoffed, rubbing his beaked nose. "Well, then it'd be their problem, not ours."

The old soldier, Ruben, spoke up next, in his quiet, thoughtful way. "It'd still be our problem, Lad. We men of justice must stick together, defend each other."

Legolas smiled inwardly; here was another man, shunned for his age, when he should be praised for his age-born wisdom. "Even so, I doubt that will come first. More likely, he will turn his wrath on us when he realizes we are more of a nuisance than he first reckoned. One such as Godard is not accustomed to being crossed. I have seen his kind before. There is a larger scheme to be found out, deeper and darker than we realize. Where your motives lay, I cannot determine, but mine are founded in the bringing of justice."

A solemn silence took the seven upon hearing his proclamation.

He bowed his head and turned aside, heart bitter with anger. Toril caught his eye, and the horse leveled him with such a look that he felt if elvish blood might still be endowed in the horses of this world, then Toril's blood must be flooded with that gift. "We will be patient in our actions, and if our motives are right, then we will be triumphant."

---

Their plan, simplistic as it was, would suit their purpose. Seven of them there were and they counted nine scattered homesteads. This left two extra to be guarded.  Legolas and Bryne accepted these added responsibilities.

Each was not to guard the homesteads themselves, but the routes that would be taken to the settlements. Legolas stressed the importance of a wary eye, and to keep out of sight of ranchers and Godard's men alike. The longer they kept their identities unknown, the better for all.

The day was still young, the Sun just starting her last climb in the hazy sky. The wind continued to blow with gradually increasing vehemence. Before the seven riders scattered, there was a fervent handshake all around. In some, nerves ran high.

Scott clasped Legolas' hand, and they looked into each other's faces. Neither seemed to know what to say. Finally, Scott nodded, squeezing the Elf's hand. "You be safe out there. Keep to your own advice and don't go taking them on single-handedly."

Legolas tipped his head, releasing Scott's hand. He settled his hat on his head, tugging the brim into place. "Same goes for you," then quieter, "Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna."

Cocking and eyebrow, Scott gathered Demonia's reins. "And I suppose that means, 'Keep your nose clean, don't sweat in your socks and stay out of the sun'?"

"Not exactly," a smile spread over Legolas' face, relief warming his spirit. There was no spite in Scott's voice, only the tone of a joking friend.

On this note, they parted.

---

In a gentle lope, Toril carried Legolas West, parallel to the town. His path would take him behind a gentle rise, just obscuring his view of Harris, but within view of the rough-cut wagon path leading to the two ranches that lay on neighboring claims.

He had taken this position because it was here he thought it most likely for them to approach next. Both homesteads were relatively prosperous for the region, and between the two they boasted a number of solid cattle horses.

His hope, on which his plan depended, was upon Godard's underhanded cowardice. He would come, as he had on all other occasions, persuasive in voice and congenial in manner. He would make no move but to lay before his prey what sounded a fair exchange. Then if refused, he would take his leave, only to return later in the cover of darkness. The time between his visit and the hit men's coming in the night hopefully would offer a broad enough opening for the seven to reform and make their defense.

Toril broke his gate and halted as they came about the slope, but not without tugging unhappily at the simply made bosal and reins that Legolas had convinced him to don for the look of the thing. He lacked a saddle, which would be much more convincing, but he doubted even he could convince the horse to accept one of those.

As expected, there were the homesteads, quiet and undisturbed. There was always the possibility that Godard would not come to any of the the 'steads today.

Now came the waiting.

---

A few miles east, Scott was just slowing Demonia to a jog. The mare had mellowed to his assumed authority, despite her name.

The Creator, Scott wondered, if there was one, certainly had an odd way of placing rock formations in the most convenient of places. As if from a magnetic force, all the rocks on a barren plain might be piled in one spot. But who was he to question a kind fate.

Hiding Demonia out of site amongst the boulders, he settled himself in a niche where, if need be, he could lower his head and go unseen by unwelcome eyes. He missed his rifle and regretted having to leave it behind in his ransacked apartment. Time had not allotted for its retrieval. With only his colt and a knife, he felt more than a little vulnerable. They were effective, but puny in appearance. Now a set-up like Mateo's…

It's Legolas, he corrected. He said it aloud, trying it out for size. Bloody beetles, it didn't sound right. "Leg-olas," he said it again, drawing out the first syllable. No, still wasn't right. "Lego-las," this time he accented the 'o'.

Time passed, and Scott could still be found muttering the unfamiliar name. He couldn't seem to get it right. Eventually, he settled on just slurring the whole word together and hoping he hit somewhere near the mark.

"Legolas. Legolas, Legolas, Legolas, oh scrap it. Why must Elves have such bloody hard names?" Elves. Had he just acknowledged that Mateo, Legolas, was an elf? He still didn't even understand what an elf was. He hadn't even heard the term before last night.

A thoughtful moment passed before he caught himself muttering that dratted name again. "Out of your mind, Scott. You've really ridden over the cliff now – "

That was when he heard hooves, more than one horse coming down what could be loosely called a road. Ducking his head behind the rock before he had a chance to look, he waited for them – whoever them was, though he had a good idea – to pass into sight. The moment came soon enough as the company's dusty following caught up in the dry winds.

Horses lathered and men hunched in their saddles, Godard's entourage swept past. Always the coward, can't go nowhere without a herd of bodyguards.

Scott waited until they were well away, then mounted Demonia and sped off in the opposite direction.

---

"You're sure?" quizzed Bryne for the fourth time.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Scott answered also for the fourth time. 

Legolas toyed with the make-shift reins. Lacking the forbearance, Toril still had not forgiven him for the disgrace of their presence. "There is still time, the whole night is yet before us. We've been here no more than an hour and the stars have only just come out."

"So in everyday speak, he just said that it's dark and we have some time to twiddle our thumbs."

"Did I ask for your translation, Scott?"

"No, but we're sure beholdin' to him for it," Crock muttered seriously, a spattering of sniggers originating from the general vicinity of Braden and a wry cough from Benito.

Bemused, Legolas stared into the still, deep night darkness. The winds had died, but a film of dust still hung in the atmosphere. That, with the lidded eye of the moon, provided a darkness rivaled only by an eclipse or a cloudy sky. "I won't put a stopper on your humor, but do keep the tone down."

"Oi! The common man could almost understand that!"

The tension had apparently decimated.


Another hour passed. Then another followed by two more. Benito's chin was nestled against his chest and a building paroxysm of snores had started again. Without conscious thought, Legolas' elbow nudged the old man's slumped side. While the snoring did cease with a peeved snort, Benito slept on.

"Gar, let's just give it up for tonight," said Crock, voice hushed by the darkness.

"Quit whining," Benito mumbled, coming into half awareness. "Not as if you'd be doing anything more productive anywhere else."

"That's what you think."

"Quiet!" Legolas hissed sharply. The distracting noises ceased, giving place to a thick silence. To the human ear, there was no sound other than the chirp of a lone insect, but to the senses of an elf, hooves were striking earth.

"Is it them?"

Nodding, Legolas bade them follow at a distance. Texas was not the choice state for ambushes, albeit, there were worse regions farther west, not even the occasional rise to break the monotony of the geographical map. Night was their only lair, only the farseeing eyes of an elf might overcome its barrier. Fortunately, the outlaws – and they were most decidedly that - had one such pair of eyes.

There, he saw them, dark forms moving cautiously ahead. Five, no six, on horseback and unaware of their followers. Continuing to gain for a few moments more, Legolas checked Toril's pace, keeping his distance constant. At a beckon, Scott joined him. "You see them now?"

Squinting, Scott followed Legolas' pointing finger. "No, don't know how anyone could see anything – no, wait, I do." Touching his hat, he gave a smart nod, "I'll report straight away to the troops and engage at your command, sir'ah."

Legolas caught Scott's sleeve briefly, fixing him with a stern gaze. "Remember, follow my lead and don't get caught up with them in a firefight if possible. It doesn't matter if we're stronger." He let go. "Now off you go, and keep the fellows down. Last thing we need is some joke cracked, sending one or another off in hysterics."

"Yes mother."

Legolas ignored this.

They spread out, forming a shallow 'u' around the ignorant riders, Legolas at the center. The ranch laid ahead, windows dark and lanterns unlit.

Rifle unslung, nestled against his shoulder, he gave one last look left and right to his companions. He missed his bow, a random thought springing to mind. The rifle was nice enough, certainly longer ranged, abounding in potential. But Legolas, no matter his intellect and even in light of his practical nature, was a romantic. He relished those things beautiful to the senses and while his rifle had certain elegance to its unique design (after all, the original model had flaws easily remedied by an elvish mind), the enjoyment of its use no way measured up to that of his bow.

Eyes peered through night's veil, fixing steadily on the ground a few paces before the marauders. His finger squeezed, squeezed, a little more pressure…

What followed was brief, simplistic, and unsettlingly easy. The bullet struck earth. The gun's report shattering the quiet. Three more broke the road's hard dirt, followed by another three, continuing in succession giving just enough time for the other half to reload.

The riders' horses screamed and reared, flight instinct urging them to flee the threat. Stinging bits of rock bit flesh and the men voiced their pain and confusion with curses, fighting their unwieldy mounts. What was going on? This certainly hadn't been planned. Lulled into a sense of security, easy pay after easy raids, they weren't prepared.

While the brutes turned round to fly, Legolas and his fellows broke their 'u' and rejoined opposite their former position. The gunfire persisted, hounding at the rider's heels like angry wasps.


Regrouping, they wasted no time in retreating from easy view on the road. Is that it? - was Legolas' first thought. A subconscious role call checked itself off in the back of his mind.  All were accounted for, unscathed, and dirty as ever.

----

A/N: So yes, I fulfilled my promise for a bit of action – at great expense to the chapter, but not too terrible I hope. I've had a dozen of other "Elves through History" plot lines attack me in the past few days, but I'll be struggling to ward them off and channel their zealousness to the next chapter. :P

Little-Tenshi – So glad you've been enjoying the ride. I hope it hasn't dragged you along too badly. :P

Darlin'DarlaDawg – Ah, SoA. Dude, I've been so meaning to post the next few chapters there, really! But as usual – time never allots itself abundantly. Hardly offers enough time to scribble down chapters between rushes.

Yeah, our 'man' Legolas is very suited for his job, me thinks. Look for a gradual change in his speech and mannerisms to be even more 'westernly'.

Tinnuial – Entertained? Joy! Just what I'm aiming for. Hopefully this chapter was entertaining enough to get you to the next update – which I can never guarantee too soon.

Myst – Well, I answered most of your questions in this chapter and maybe left you hanging with less new ones. :P

Yavie Aelinel – Oh, just too many westerns and too many horses and too many hours put into mucking corrals. The latter is a great way to be struck by plot bunnies if ever the need presents itself.

manders1953 – Ai! Do I need to find you some duct tape to keep you in your chair?  *Offers golden, extra strength duct tape*

James8 – Yeah, in that case, just send me some chocolates. No wait, you might have poisoned them. I think I'll go for a review instead…O

Kay – Oh, the joys of servers and internet. But without it, we'd never be able to get on at all! Horror! Terror!

Your patience is a role model to all. :P

JastaElf – Heh! That's funny because on another site I got the comment that it made the chapter a bit off beat. Personally, I enjoyed the more narrative style at the beginning, but I'm glad to have some backup.

Well, now that Legolas is a good deal older, he's probably fallen into the 'shifty elder' life crisis. Hmm, I wonder what comes after that? If Elrond is actually still around, wonder what face he's taken on? GAH! Bunnies be gone!

Daw the Minstrel – Well, you were right! Bryne probably things he's some strange foreigner, while Scott can't tell the difference between an elf and a leprechaun. Poor men, so confused.