A/N: This is an INCREDIBLY short chapter! I seem to have hit a major wall, and now can't even write poetry because of writer's block :'( However, this little thing was written just before the disease, so I may as well post it as it is. I'm trying not to stray into the squealing Legolas fan, and believe me, I'm not. I like him for the right reasons, just as I love Boromir. To be honest, I can barely get through Pirates of the Caribbean because I hate Orlando Bloom so much... Don't kill me!

C

Starcrossed
Decisions

Legolas leant against a pillar; Gimli sat smoking at his elbow in what was, by now, a familiar position for both as Gandalf spoke. The wizard, for all the melancholy and intensity of his words, addressed only a few: the Hunters, the Hobbits and the King. And none, not even Théoden, dared to interrupt, dared to question, dared to scoff.

This was a private meeting.

"There was no lie in Legolas' words," Gandalf spoke, deep bass cast back and forth from the walls, impacting and important, "nor was there deception in the vision… I know not how it occurred, but we must now use it to our advantage."

Around the syllables, the Elf could hear Pippin fidgeting, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair as if so unused to large halls or attention. Merry, presumably sat beside the younger Hobbit, rebuked Pippin softly, halting his fidgeting at once. Legolas did not know how much Pippin knew, of what the happenings of last night meant for him. Surely, at least, he knew the graveness of the situation. The dour mood of all in the hall was blatant, the feeling infectious even to the likes of a child. Just a child…

Overcome with guilt, Legolas turned his attention elsewhere, senses roaming the hall- avoiding the Hobbits, avoiding the Wizard- and catching the soft sound of Estel's slow, yet restless, pacing. It was fast becoming a familiar sound, continual and almost rhythmic. One could play the fiddle to it, Legolas supposed, before shaking himself from mirthful thoughts. In the serious air, mirth was something that could be done without, for now. It was impossible to decipher Estel's emotions, whether he was angry or simply anxious- how he wished for his sight. He is angry, he must be, Legolas decided, perhaps with too much haste and too little thought. And at that, with me.

I sincerely doubt that, Legolas.

Legolas jumped half a foot in the air at the voice; he had heard no footsteps approach, felt no inkling of a nearing presence other than Gimli! And yet the words were as if spoken into his ear. Impossible, an elf's senses could never be deceived… and yet… He knew that none of those in Rohan, let alone Edoras, possessed such a voice, rich with the terse accent of Gondor…

"-to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

Legolas forgot the voice, ignored whoever it was, to suppress a grimace at these words, hanging his head a little. Ai, my eyes have never fallen upon its white walls, and never will. And yet, I feel bound to this city, this Minas Tirith. Mayhap I will never see its beauty, though fresh in my mind's eye is a description. Boromir always told stories of his beloved city.

Aye- is that not enough for now?

This time, the Elf merely lifted his head at the voice, teeth gritted. It was unmistakable, the voice. Would his past ever cease to haunt him?

'…Boromir?' He asked cautiously, in his mind.

None other.

'Is it not enough that you plague me in my dreams?' Legolas sighed, earning a curious nudge to his elbow from Gimli, to which he replied with a small shake of his head and twitch of his shoulders.

Plague you? Dear friend, I am hurt!

It was curious. The source of the voice was certainly not from the out, but instead echoed inside his head, projecting from deep within. Judging by Gimli's lack of interest, and the argument brewing between Théoden and Gandalf, it was obvious that none other could hear it.

"-what do we owe Gondor?"

Legolas resisted anger at Théoden's refusal of aid, shut his mouth against the word 'everything.' For did they not owe Gondor much? Did the armies of Gondor not march from Minas Tirith to war while Théoden sat on his throne, poisoned and withered? Did the blood of the Gondorian's not paint the ground, while others sipped wine? His emotions churned inside of him, but he could not let them get the better of him. And so, instead, he thought:

'Strange. You were not often joking in life.'

Often is there the key word- I had my moments.

Gandalf had again taken over, now also pacing slowly as he spoke, staff in hand and bobbing with each step, like an apple in water.

"I ride for Minas Tirith, and I won't be going alone… From Legolas' mind, Sauron stole a single memory, of Pippin." Here Legolas again hung his head, and Pippin audibly cringed in his chair as five pairs of eyes flickered to him. "He now thinks that Pippin carries the ring, and for this reason I must take him with me…"

'I seem to remember your dour moods, sullen expressions, and incessant pacing.'

Then you forget my bonding with the little ones. Or, rather, with Merry and Pippin.

"But another also, shall come." Gandalf carried, and here he stopped and turned his attention to one individual. "I ask that Legolas would join us."

Legolas head snapped up, confused as he took in the offer. To Minas Tirith, he could go. But should he stay or should he go? Here, he would only be a hindrance, for Rohan would inevitably be pulled into war and he could not allow anyone to fuss over him or feel any obligations towards him, merely because he was blind. In Gondor, perhaps he could meet the famed Faramir, even fulfil his longing…

If you truly seeking retribution, then my city is where you will find it.

"I will come." Legolas replied, nodding as if to reinforce his agreement.

p.s. I will be going thoroughly over the previous chapters for typos and rubbish writing.