Note: This story deals in the 'present' day of Legolas' thought as well as a few flash backs he experiences. The latter will be placed after or between horizontal lines.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or anything about them.

'You're doing it again,' Pippin said, extremely concerned. He had been watching Legolas for nearly a half hour; the sun had set entirely and the sky was a dark velvet canopy with glittering jewels spread impressively above. 'You're looking sad.'

Legolas nearly jerked into awareness, feeling deeply touched by his memory, and he smiled at his small friend. 'I do not mean to worry you, Pippin,' he said; 'I was remembering something from not so very long ago.'

'The Balrog?' he asked, and he shivered when a shadow passed over Legolas' face.

'No,' replied the elf, 'Not the Balrog.' He felt a sigh of relief escape his friend and smiled. 'Do not trouble yourself with me, little one. I will be fine. Look at the sky; see how the stars shine for our victory?' Pippin only nodded. 'Truly, this is a blessing from Elbereth herself.'

'Elbereth? I heard elves singing of her once,' said Pippin, and his eyes seemed to glow from fond memory.

'Oh? In Rivendell?'

'No, no, not in Rivendell. In the forest, when we were leaving the Shire. We met elves there; Gildor was their leader, or, at least it felt like he was. I suppose I wouldn't know.'

Legolas smiled and patted Pippin's shoulder gently. 'You know more than you realise,' he said. He smiled further as Pippin leaned closer. It was probably the first time in a long time that the little hobbit felt completely safe, and he was glad of it, glad enough that he began to forget the pain of his memory, glad enough that he could remember other, happier things. 'Would you like me to tell you about Elbereth and her mighty peers?'

'Oh, yes! Please tell me, Legolas; I should like to hear, to be sure!'

Bells rang from Legolas' throat as he laughed and began to sing a song he had learned when he was a child. He stretched his legs out in front of him to rest his feet on the railing and closed his eyes as he sang, but his thoughts drifted away into other places. This time, though, the hobbit was too entranced by the sound of Legolas' voice to notice that the elf was only there in sound.

Legolas hummed quietly to himself as he neatly tied his bowstring and moved on to polish the dark wood of the bow itself. His wrist flexed as he moved a small fold of cloth over the gilded curves of the object, and he focused all of his attention on the task. He was taught when he received his first bow that he ought to put as much effort into taking care of it as he did anyone or anything else on which his life might one day depend. And since he was headed for the most evil place in Arda, surely he could spare time to polish his bow. Yet, thoughts of putting effort into care for things, especially people, on whom he must depend were not comforting. Truly, he would have to find a way to coexist with Aragorn, but the man was teetering on absolute irreverence, and Legolas did not have any wish to deal with that. He had no doubt that Aragorn knew his error, and that he in fact knew it was an error, but he also knew what men tended to be like, and how they behaved, and even if he did not know why, he knew that it was likely that Aragorn would not be the first to attempt any sort of mend on their friendship.

The elf sighed and laid his bow gently on the surface of a desk in the chambers provided for him by Elrond. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face, supposing that he should break from his preparation. It had been many weeks since Elrond proclaimed that they would set out, and that he would be in the company of the Nine Walkers, and that so too would Aragorn. Of course, it did not surprise him that he and Aragorn were both chosen; Aragorn was a king of men, whether he chose to admit it or not, and Legolas knew himself to be an admirable warrior and wise enough of the land to be of more use than only an archer, as skilled as he was. He also looked forward to an opportunity to make up for what was clearly considered a failure on the part of Mirkwood. All of that aside, Legolas was proud to have been chosen.

The sun was just over its mid-day point, and Legolas felt a breeze rush its way through his loosed hair as he stood by his window. He smiled when the fresh scent of Imladris filled his nostrils, and he decided that it was a good time for a quick bit of target practise. He picked up his bow from the desk and reached for a quiver of arrows that he could fasten around his waist, then slipped out of his room and outside into one of the gardens. The path to his usual practise area—a clearing he had used for over one thousand years—was not long, but it did twist many times over, and it was filled with life. All of it was familiar except for one curly-haired hobbit who was perched on top of a reasonably-sized rock beneath a tree. It was not Bilbo, the hobbit with whom Legolas was most familiar, but one of the younger variety who had traveled with Bilbo's cousin. Legolas smiled at the light red curls sprouting out of the small head with its closed eyes and contented lips, the latter detail being curved around a narrow pipe, from which smoke arose in a wispy trail that lead into the tallest trees. The hobbit's nose and cheeks were a rosy red, and Legolas could not say if it was a normal feature or if it was because of the cold. He folded his long body into a crouch to more easily meet eyes with the young hobbit and smiled merrily, 'Greetings, young one. You are Pippin, are you not? Pippin of the Shire?'

Long-lashed eyelids jumped open to reveal a pair of green eyes that appeared hazy through the smoke trailing out of the pipe, but bright and alive a moment later when the hobbit set the smoking device aside. 'Indeed, sir, I am Pippin. And you are Legolas. I am thrilled to meet you, sir!' He bowed low.

Legolas smiled and returned the gesture, then brushed long strands of hair back from his shoulders. 'How are you this day, Pippin? Are you enjoying the song of the trees?'

'Oh, yes, though mostly I am enjoying the pipeweed,' the hobbit said, eyes glittering.

'My people are familiar with this indulgence of yours, though we do not partake in it ourselves.'

Pippin was scandalised and immediately put out his pipe. 'I beg your pardon, sir, and crave your forgiveness for my rude behavior!'

'On the contrary, my friend, I was going to ask you if you would like to indulge in your pipe while joining me as I indulge in a bit of archery practise.'

'Oh,' Pippin said. 'Well, I suppose pipeweed is just as good anywhere else! Lead on, Legolas, and I will follow.'

The elf and the hobbit walked along the path, a strange pair for any eyes that found them. One was tall and lean, the other short and more rounded, but they laughed merrily together. Legolas checked his bow and began practise almost as soon as they reached the clearing, and Pippin found the downy turf much more comfortable than the abandoned rock in the path. He was constantly amazed with the elf's dexterity as he handled his bow. It was as if the weapon was an extension of his body, long and sleek as elven limbs, and just as dangerous. They talked idly about the company and its goals, and it wasn't long before the inevitable question was posed by Pippin to Legolas.

'How long have you known Strider?'

Legolas smiled and loosed another arrow. 'I have known him for many years. I saw him as a baby who grew into a child, an adolescent, and then the man we both now know.'

The hobbit did nothing to disguise his surprise and only said, 'I know about elves being old and all, but I suppose I never really thought about how old. That's a very long time to know a person.'

'It's not as long as you think, my friend.'

Bells rang high and clear signaling meal time, and the pair broke off their conversation. Pippin helped Legolas gather his arrows from the targets before they walked back up the path. Legolas was lost in deep thought, though he didn't show it much, and Pippin chatted merrily about how excited he was to see new places. Dinner moved on similarly, so rich and merry that, unless one knew to notice it, one would miss the frightening anxiety painted on all faces except a very few who were either too ignorant of the danger that lay ahead or too solemn to show it.

There was one face that stood out to Legolas, though, and not because of its ignorance or passivity. Aragorn was sitting quietly in a corner, idly fingering the hilt of a dagger. His eyes were not empty of fear, but Legolas knew it wasn't the Dark Lord that haunted his estranged friend. The elf immediately recognised it as a self loathing fear of what could happen. Feeling Legolas' stare, Aragorn regarded his friend coolly, then stood to retreat to a balcony. Legolas excused himself and followed, finally feeling that the time had come where they could not avoid talking any longer.

The night air was cold, but Legolas didn't feel it, and if it bothered Aragorn, he made no mention or sign of his trouble. The man leaned with his elbows on a carved railing. 'Hello, Legolas,' he said.

'Good evening, Aragorn.'

Silence filled the space between them for a long while, settling into a comfortable compliance of wills. Neither would mention Aragorn's previous trespass, but Aragorn did speak. 'I thought you would break your neck.'

'Pardon, my friend?'

'Years ago, on this balcony, I nearly died myself watching you fall,' he said, smiling oddly. 'I thought you would hit the grass and your neck would break; I thought I would look down and see you shattered among the flowers.'

Legolas laughed, recalling the incident. 'You always fear the worst.'

'Oughtn't we all?' Aragorn wasn't smiling anymore, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing. 'Gandalf fears it.'

'Indeed, Aragorn. Indeed, he does fear it. But he does not despair.'

'I do not understand your meaning.'

Legolas placed a pale hand on the shoulder of his friend and leaned so that they could meet eyes. 'Gandalf's fears are true and real because he understands better than any of the wisest elves or men what could come to pass,' he said. 'You, though, Aragorn, fear because you lack hope. You do not believe that we can possibly overcome the Dark Lord because you do not believe that you can overcome what you believe to be inside you. My people know what it means if you succeed or if you fail, and there is little hope for us in either event, but you, Estel,' Legolas said, smiling, 'you lack perfect knowledge of what is to be, and without knowledge of the future, one cannot be allowed to despair. You cannot know for certain that you will fail or succeed, and so you cannot allow yourself to be overtaken with hopelessness.' The elf's eyes were clear and shining, and Aragorn's face softened as he heard the final words his friend would gift him with that night, 'That is the path to failure. Respect the fear you have, but do not empower it. Go beyond what you believe will happen to what you believe is possible, and find within yourself the hope you will need to overcome the darkness.'

The elf walked away, then, and though he didn't see it, a glimmer of hope appeared in his friend's eyes for the first time since he was old enough to understand his history.