The wind carried new whispers that he had never heard before. It pushed lazily by him, caressing the dead brown grass at his feet as he came forth before the Black Gate, just as his father had thousands of years before him, though now he was the only one to represent his race among the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth.
Yet even as he stood, one Elf among many Men, his heart was turned not to the East where the battle was to be fought, but rather to the West, where the clear blue waters of the sea drowned the Sun each evening upon its setting.
It was a new feeling for him, and the Prince of Mirkwood found it disconcerting. With every beat of his heart, he felt the longing of the Lost Isle stirring, a desire he had never known before. And along with the awoken desire, Legolas felt aged.
Before that day when he sailed upon the water, before he heard the white gulls cry, he had still been young. Everything done with the Fellowship thus far had been a game, a spec of fun. He had competed with Aragorn and Boromir, defeating them easily a top Caradhras. Their next challenge had been just as simple, fighting the Orcs, mortal enemies to Elves, yet still so easily beat.
Indeed, although among the members of the Company he felt slightly older, having lived for years uncared for more than any of the others (save for Gandalf,) that didn't bother him. Despite that the Nine Walkers were traveling on what was a dreary mission, most likely to claim their lives, and this he knew, Legolas was still untainted by the sorrows of the Elven race, not plagued by fear and doubt.
Mirkwood, his home, was but a little part of the world, a vast world in which many things could happen. And though the years of his life were many, he was young and new to the earth where still there were many leaves and flowers that he had never seen before, trees he had never heard tale of, and was home to those whose names he had only ever heard in song.
He had always been isolated in Mirkwood, kept there by his father for reasons unknown to him. At first as he journeyed it seemed strange to him to leave behind his home in Mirkwood, the only place he had really ever known, but soon he began to enjoy the release from isolation. There were more challenges to face, more games to play, and more competitors who actually rivaled him.
Along the Fellowship's travels, Legolas couldn't understand his companions' weariness of the road they had to travel, but instead took joy in the obstacles before him. Even at Helm's Deep as he watched Men on either side of him fall to death's waiting hands, he still could only see the bright side of the fight, and only had one goal in mind: to beat Gimli.
But that was only until at the end of the battle, when though he had lost the game, he saw Gimli still standing when so many other lay dead and he had rejoiced, Legolas realized there was a little more to life than games, and that deep down he had been worried for his friend. He felt a bit older as he began to understand what put the shadow on the faces of his friends and foes and of his kin.
And so as he stood before the Gate, as it opened and the Eye turned his way, and with his heart turned West, it ceased becoming a game. There were horrors in the world, sorrows unavoidable, there was fear, and pain, and he knew it all. When he had set out from his home to reach Rivendell there had been no burden upon his shoulders, but now he felt the darker side of the world.
Legolas had seen things that no child should see, and stood now where no child should stand. The longing in his heart helped him to see the side of the world that for long on his journey he had ignored, and he felt old. Older than traveling with the children, so many years younger than he, could ever make him feel. He felt weary, as if the woods could no longer contain joy, for behind every shadow there lurked something far more wicked and damaging than he had ever known.
As he fought in the battle, it wasn't his title in a game that was at stake, but the freedom of his people, of Men, of Dwarves, and Hobbits, and so many more. He ceased to fight for fun and began fighting for his friends and his kin, for those he knew not, and with the hope that even if he died for this cause, there would still be something good in the world, even if he was no longer around to see it.
He was older, far older now, with more understanding of the sorrows of his race. He now understood the look that would sometimes pass over his father's face, or the whispers of the other Sindar in his realm; their whispers of the world far away, over the ocean, where they could escape what plagued them, night and day.
And there were now the voices, clear and calling to him, even as he fought, drowning out the desperate cries of the warriors and enemies around him. They tugged at his heart, pulling it away from the woods where fell things tread, to a land where no evil could roam, where he could be rid of his sorrows for ever, for now he was not so naive. No longer was he a child, but an elder who saw both light and dark, for no longer was he so untainted.
A/N:: I love irony.
Disclaimer: I don't own Legolas or the Lord of the Rings, which is a good thing, or Middle Earth never would have been so amazing.
Alriiighty. I don't really have an explanation for this one, except that I think I messed up Lego. Looking back on LOTR, I was reading The Two Towers just before Helm's Deep, aaaand I think that Legolas...I don't know. I think I totally missed his character in this.
Mmm. Well. Maybe not. I'm not sure, but! anyway, that's that.