Celeborn strolled into the clearing the Fellowship had settled in, casually snatching Legolas' twin knives from where he hand hung them on a branch at the side of camp without breaking stride. He slid their sheaths off and tossed them lightly on the ground.

He could feel almost all the eyes of the fellowship upon him, all except for their resident elf. Who still lounged upon a precariously thin branch with hands folded behind his head, eyes closed even though he would have felt the Celeborns approach.

The tree's probably also told him; one could never trust the tree's around Thranduil or Legolas. Even their own forest.

Celeborn came to a smooth stop beneath where Legolas laid, the Prince ignored him.

Ever his father's son.

But that was the entire reason he had come here, because Legolas was Thranduil's through and through. And Celeborn knew that Thranduil could not remain still with his negative emotions, lest they burn a hole in his soul.

He flipped the expertly crafted knives upwards into the air, listening to the the gasp from a hobbit and the whistle of the steel as it sliced the air. Legolas' hands moved from behind his head to outwards to grasp the hilts so quickly even Celeborn almost missed it.

Legolas twirled them a few times with a cold and practiced rhythm before he dropped them both back to the ground. Celeborn knew better and had enough trust not to move, and the knives landed on either side of him.

Celeborn huffed a laugh, pulled them from the ground and tossed them back up again. Legolas repeated his exact movements. "If you want to play catch, Legolas, we can."

He heard Aragorn hiss lightly at Legolas tone.

Celeborn didn't mind, in fact, he hadn't noticed until Aragorn made the sound. He could not fault Legolas for his anger upon being here. At seeing the peace they lived and thrived in, even while only a relatively short distance away his Kingdom crumbled to darkness. He would be angry too.

But he could not let Legolas sit in his anger. He wouldn't. The Prince would only burn himself alive.

He heard Legolas snort softly in amusement, and Celeborn knew Thranduil well enough to prepare himself, "Catch, then."

Legolas fell from the tree like a graceful but very clearly rabid and well-motivated squirrel, Celeborn quickly back-peddled to a safer distance. Legolas landed just were Celeborn had been, between his swords, and grabbed both as he tucked into a seamless roll.

Once he reached his feet again, he launched himself into the air and moved to separate Celeborn's head from the rest of his body, but from a good vantage point.

Celeborn ducked and twisted, already raising his sword to block an attack from one of Legolas knives, curving his hips to the right the avoid the other one.

Good, Celeborn thought, as Legolas came after him again and again in a relentless flurry of blows. Each near perfect, and each as fast as the last, Now let's see how long I can keep you at this.

.0.0.

As it turned out, Legolas had enough anger in him to last for several hours. Exactly how many Celeborn wasn't sure, but enough that even the two of them had developed a thin sheen of sweat.

Aragorn called time on their match before a definite winner was determined.

Celeborn held his arm out to Legolas to clasp, a show of respect between warriors, "I knew Ferdan taught you well, but I did not know he taught you that well."

Legolas took hold of his arm tightly smiling a little for the first time since Celeborn had seen him enter their forest, "Did you think he would accept anything less?"

"I think it is you who could not stand to accept anything less."

Legolas let go of his arm and shrugged, "It has served me well thus far, has it not?"

"Yes, that it has. You and your people, I hope it continues to do so."

The younger elf tilted his head to the side slightly, and a wave of smoldering anger rekindled in his eyes. Celeborn wasn't certain if anything would ever be able to blow it out, "Yes, it is all anybody has ever done for us. Hoped, usually from a distance."

"Hope isn't enough anymore, not even our own." Legolas picked up his knives and sheathed them, "Goodnight, Lord Celeborn."

.0.0..

Galadriel looked upon her husband, dressed in his armor and cloaked in his strongest determination. He knew she wasn't surprised by his choice, she hardly ever was. And yet she stood mildly in front of him, face open but expectant.

A reason. She would need a reason, and a good one at that to kiss her husband goodbye into another bloody war. Or perhaps, a reason good enough for her to join him on this. Combine their powers one last time for the sake of the good souls in middle earth.

"My hope is too weak, my love." He took two steps towards her, and she took his hand with comfort, "I can't sit here and hope any longer, I need to go help Thranduil. I need to."

Wither her other hand she lightly smoothed the wrinkles away from between his brows, "Let us go, then."

.

"Why here?" Thranduil asked, looking and sounding more sincere than Celeborn had seen him Thingol had still lived, "Why now? What reason could you have to pull yourself off your shelf after all of this time?"

"Funny thing, I was jolted off it," Celeborn began, removing a bright and fresh green leaf that he had plucked from his forest and brought all the way here. Free and untouched by darkness. He offered it to Thranduil, who took it with a slightly trembling hand, "By what I once thought to be ones of Eru's lightest creations."