Disclaimers: I don't own any characters or settings from Lord of the Rings.

Act III

Chapter 22: Dinner of Many

Time had passed in Imlandris, or Rivendell, as it was known by many, and a serene peace, enveloped the House of Elrond. The tranquil murmur of the Bruinen River and the gentle rustling of the leaves in the surrounding woods sang a timeless lullaby, one that spoke of ages past and the enduring grace of the Elven realm. High above the valley, the Last Homely House stood, its majestic architecture blending seamlessly with the natural beauty of the hidden refuge. Its tall, graceful spires seemed to reach for the stars, while the light of the setting sun painted its stone walls with hues of gold and rose.

In the grand halls of Elrond's house, silence reigned, but it was not the silence of emptiness; rather, it was the quiet of contentment and reflection. The Elves of Rivendell moved with unhurried grace, their ageless faces serene and their hearts attuned to the rhythms of the earth and sky. Here, time flowed differently, each moment a precious jewel set in the unending tapestry of eternity.

The gardens of Rivendell were a marvel, filled with flowers that bloomed in colors too vivid for mortal eyes to fully comprehend. Paths meandered through groves of ancient trees, their leaves whispering secrets of forgotten lore. The air was sweet with the fragrance of blossoms and the melodies of songbirds, their tunes weaving seamlessly with the distant hum of waterfalls cascading down rocky cliffs.

Elrond himself, the wise and venerable Lord of Rivendell, often walked these paths, his thoughts deep and contemplative. He bore the weight of many ages upon his shoulders, yet his gaze remained clear and bright, reflecting the undying hope of the Eldar. His counsel was sought by many, for his wisdom was unparalleled, and his heart, though burdened by sorrow and loss, remained steadfast in its love for Middle-earth and all its peoples.

In the evenings, the Hall of Fire would come alive with the music and stories of the Elves. The flickering light of countless candles cast a warm glow, illuminating faces both familiar and new. Songs of valor and tragedy, of love and longing, filled the air, each note resonating with the depth of Elven's history. Among the gathered were travelers from distant lands, drawn by the renown of Rivendell's hospitality and the promise of respite from their journeys.

Even as the world beyond Rivendell's borders grew darker and more uncertain, within the valley there was a sense of enduring hope and quiet determination. The Elves of Imlandris knew well the encroaching shadows, yet they did not despair. For in Rivendell, the light of wisdom and the strength of unity shone brightly, a beacon of peace in a world beset by turmoil.

Thus, the days passed in Imlandris, each one a testament to the enduring spirit of the Elves and their unyielding guardianship of Middle-earth's most cherished sanctuaries. And though the future remained unwritten, within the sheltering embrace of Rivendell, there lingered a timeless promise of hope, beauty, and the undying flame of life.

That was the Imlandris that Legolas remembered from his visits with his mother. He was but an elfling then, spending countless hours with Elladan and Elrohir, though it was Elladan with whom he most often found himself in conversation. Perhaps it was because Elladan was the eldest of Elrond's children, or perhaps it was because they had lived through many similar situations. The difference was that Elladan had three siblings to share his grief and happiness, while Legolas was left only with Thranduil.

Not that Legolas had any cause to complain about his father. He knew, and he knew it well, what Thranduil had faced. Both lords had lost their ladies to orc attacks. Elrond had found his wife alive and had the chance to bid her farewell as she journeyed to the Undying Lands. Legolas had not forgotten that Elrond's youngest daughter was also caught in that dreadful attack. Little was known of her fate, only that she sought solitude in Lothlórien.

His father had once told him a much darker tale, one that Legolas had forgotten over the years. He understood the sadness that Elrond's daughter would endure, though he did not dwell on it. As for the rest of Elrond's children, Legolas had spoken with them, fought beside them, and he knew them well. He knew that the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, spent their lives hunting orcs, not merely to keep their borders safe. No, that was what they told strangers.

In truth, their quest was driven by a deep-seated need for vengeance, a desire to rid the world of the evil that had brought so much sorrow to their family. Legolas understood this, for he too bore the weight of loss and the desire for retribution. Yet, in the serene and timeless beauty of Imlandris, there was also a sense of healing and hope, a reminder that even in the face of great darkness, the light of the Elves endured.

The twins hunted orcs relentlessly, as many as they could find, driven by the memory of their mother and sister whom they had failed to save. Legolas always understood the true reason behind their dedication to the Rangers of the North. Had Elrond permitted it, he was certain Arwen would have joined them in their quest for vengeance. But Arwen was Elrond's precious daughter, and with the loss of his youngest and the twins often away, she was the remaining light in his life.

Like Arwen, Legolas remained in Greenwood the Great, now known as Mirkwood. He knew he was the beacon of hope for his father, a light in Thranduil's enduring darkness. Although at times Thranduil's grief made him forget this, Legolas knew his father's love was unwavering. Despite being both son and subject, bound by tradition and protocol, Legolas respected the roles they played in their kingdom.

Legolas obeyed, reluctant to leave Mirkwood, at least until recently. He felt imprisoned by the fortress of grief and pain that his father had built around them. His escape lay in hunting orcs and safeguarding their borders. Yet, deep within, Legolas harbored a longing to explore the world beyond Mirkwood's shadowed confines. Now, his father no longer held him back.

Each time Legolas departed from the Woodland Realm, Thranduil's farewells bore the weight of finality, as if they might never meet again. Legolas knew he had diverged from the path his father envisioned for him. He had no aspirations of ascending the throne as Thranduil had when Oropher fell. He felt like a prince without a kingdom, his title a burden he wished to shed.

He preferred to be known as Legolas, the archer, the warrior, a Wood-elf battling the encroaching darkness. For him, that was enough. He had found his freedom, loyal friends, and the purpose of fighting against the spreading evil. His life had meaning, and he sought no further answers, no unfulfilled dreams.

This detachment made him lethal in battle. Without fear of losing anything dear, he fought with a fierce abandon. What he cherished was strong enough to defend itself. Though he still had friends and family who could be taken from him, he believed he would find a way to endure such losses. Like his father, nothing would bring him to his knees. Thranduil fought through his darkness, and Legolas through his own.

The only question that Legolas had never answered was what had happened to his mother. Would he ever find the answer to that question? Would he ever forgive himself for not being older and stronger, for not being able to fight for her? This was the one great regret that Legolas bore, the question he chose to hide for his father's sake. Thranduil never spoke of her, believing that any mention would only deepen the sadness in his heart.

Yet, Thranduil was wrong. Legolas cherished the memories he had of his mother: the stories she told him, the gentle way she spoke, and the love she radiated. He did not need his father to confirm her love, for he knew it as surely as he knew his father's love. Perhaps they would never speak of these things, but Legolas understood the depths of his father's feelings.

Now, far from Mirkwood and the darkness that plagued it, Legolas still worried about his father and the fate of their home. He longed to return, but that hope seemed distant. The growing number of guests in Rivendell and the upcoming dinner with representatives from all races hinted at more pressing matters. Dwarves, Men, and Elves had gathered, and Legolas sensed that Elrond would soon speak of a council.

It was not just about Gollum or the rising power of Sauron. The darkness was growing stronger, its tendrils reaching even into the heart of Imladris. Legolas hoped he was wrong, but the return of Gandalf and Aragorn signaled that something far greater was at stake.

As he stood on the terrace overlooking the valley, he felt the weight of the world pressing upon him. He had come seeking respite and answers, but instead, he found himself drawn into a looming conflict. The stars above shone with an ancient light, indifferent to the troubles below, but Legolas felt a kinship with them, enduring and vigilant. He knew that whatever lay ahead, he would face it with the same unwavering spirit that had carried him through countless battles.

The memories of his mother and the love of his father were his guiding stars, even in the darkest of times. They were the foundation upon which he built his strength and resolve. And though he might never find all the answers he sought, he would continue to fight for the light, for his family, for his friends, and for the hope that one day, peace might return to Middle-earth.

As promised, the cheerful celebrations took place in the Hall of Fire, with the gathering of Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits. Imladris was bathed in the warm glow of its night lights, and visitors and strangers alike were captivated by the rare splendor of Elrond's home. The mood was joyous, as if the reason for their assembly were not so serious, and everyone mingled as friends among friends. The only hint of discord lay between Elves and Dwarves, but even that was set aside for the evening.

The four Hobbits sat next to Bilbo, who was now old and quite different from the hobbit he once was. Beside them were the folk of Durin: Glóin, his son Gimli, and the rest of their company. Legolas recalled Bilbo, the hobbit who had freed Thorin and his kin from their cells, and seeing Glóin, who had been part of that company, brought a nostalgic smile to his face.

Both Bilbo and Glóin were older, time not on their side, and Legolas had only recently come to understand the real effect of time during his encounters with the race of Men. He felt a pang of shame for having taken his immortality for granted, never having close friends among Men or Dwarves. Passing through towns or villages, he had seen people age and pass on, but without any personal connection, he had never given it much thought.

That perspective changed the day he crossed paths with Aragorn. Aragorn, his trusted friend, had shown him a world he was not familiar with, guiding him to see another part of Middle-earth. Now, Legolas's horizons had broadened, though there were still some things he was unaccustomed to. He had never expected to befriend a Dwarf or be enchanted by a woman, even though many elven maidens, and others, had admired him.

He watched across the room to the end of the large table where Boromir, Glorfindel, and a few more prominent Elves of the house of Elrond sat. At the head of the table was the master of Imladris, Elrond, with his daughter Arwen beside him. His twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, were present, and to Legolas's surprise, Elenion was there as well. Aragorn sat next to Elenion, and Legolas found himself seated beside his dear friend.

As the evening progressed, Legolas observed the interactions around him with a newfound appreciation. The mingling of different races, the laughter, and the shared stories created a unity and camaraderie. He thought of his father and Mirkwood, the looming darkness, and the responsibilities awaiting him. Yet, in this moment, he felt a rare sense of peace, knowing that despite the challenges ahead, he was part of something greater.

As the evening progressed, the Hall of Fire echoed with laughter and lively conversation. Legolas, seated beside Aragorn, found himself drawn into the warmth of the gathering. He glanced around the table, his gaze lingering on the various faces—each with their own story, their own burdens.

Aragorn leaned closer to Legolas, his voice low but filled with warmth. "It is a rare sight to see so many gathered in peace. Tonight, we celebrate our unity, but tomorrow we must discuss our purpose."

Legolas nodded, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. "Indeed, Aragorn. The shadow grows, and we must stand together if we are to withstand it."

Across the table, Gimli was deep in conversation with Glóin, his voice gruff but animated. "Father, do you remember the tales of Erebor? The fires of Smaug and the courage of Thorin Oakenshield? Our history is filled with such moments, and now we find ourselves part of another."

Glóin nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Aye, Gimli. It is a time for new legends to be forged. We have always stood against the darkness, and we shall do so again."

Bilbo, looking frail but spirited, turned to Frodo and the other Hobbits. "Ah, my dear boys, it's good to see you all here. Rivendell has always been a place of refuge and wisdom. Do not let the seriousness of our gathering dampen your spirits. Remember, even in the darkest times, there is room for joy."

Frodo smiled at his older cousin, his eyes reflecting both determination and a hint of fear. "Thank you, Bilbo. Your words are a comfort. We will do our part, whatever it may be."

Elrond rose from his seat, drawing the attention of all present. "My friends," he began, his voice resonant and commanding, "tonight we come together not just as Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits, but as allies in the face of a growing threat. Tomorrow, we shall convene a council to discuss our path forward. Let us cherish this evening and the company we share, for it is such unity that will see us through the trials ahead."

Arwen, sitting gracefully beside her father, added softly, "The strength of our bonds will be our greatest weapon against the darkness. Together, we can find the light."

Legolas felt a sense of camaraderie swelling within him. Turning to Aragorn, he remarked, "Your destiny is intertwined with all who are gathered here. We shall face the coming storm as one."

Aragorn smiled, a mixture of resolve and hope in his eyes. "Yes, Legolas. Together, we will face whatever comes."

The night continued with stories and songs, each voice adding to the rich tapestry of the evening. Legolas found himself speaking with Glorfindel, sharing tales of battles past and thoughts on the future.

"Rivendell has always been a beacon," Glorfindel said. "It has seen the rise and fall of many ages. This time will be no different."

Legolas nodded. "I believe you are right. We must hold onto hope, for it is hope that will guide us through the darkness."

As the fires burned low and the night deepened, the company in the Hall of Fire grew quieter, but the sense of unity and purpose remained strong. Each knew that the path ahead would be fraught with peril, but in the strength of their fellowship, they found the courage to face the dawn.

The dinner had come to an end, offering a friendly break for the guests to meet and talk. The hobbits, delighting in the food, found a new friend in Elenion. They didn't speak about much but agreed that the bread and cheese were the best parts of the dinner. Pippin and Merry seemed eager to discuss the wine, but Elenion regarded it as an evil thing.

He shared a story from his youth when he had taken Thranduil's advice to calm his anxiety with a glass of Mirkwood wine. After three glasses, he had made a fool of himself by insulting the prince. He refrained from going into details, despite the hobbits' curiosity. Legolas's lingering gaze towards Elenion as he recounted the tale suggested it was not a happy memory, discouraging further questions.

As the night drew on, most of the guests retired to their beds, sleeping or resting in anticipation of the council meeting the next day, where serious matters would be discussed.

Before departing for his own quarters, Arwen found a quiet moment to speak with Elenion. "I had not heard that story before," Arwen said softly. "I wish you had not felt the need to drink so heavily."

Elenion shrugged, a rueful smile on his lips. "We all have our moments of folly, Arwen. That was one of mine."

Arwen placed a reassuring hand on Elenion's shoulder. "You have proven yourself many times over since then. Do not dwell on past mistakes."

Elenion nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you, Arwen. Your words mean much to me."

Nearby, Aragorn and Gandalf were deep in conversation. "Tomorrow will be pivotal," Gandalf said. "We must be prepared for whatever course the council decides."

Aragorn nodded. "We will be ready. The fate of Middle-earth rests on our shoulders, but we are not alone in this."

Bilbo, overhearing the conversation, approached with a smile. "Aye, none of us are alone. We have each other, and that is a strength not to be underestimated."

Gandalf nodded in agreement. "Wise words, Bilbo. Together, we are stronger than any of us could be alone."

As the final embers of the fire flickered and died, the Hall of Fire fell silent. The guests, filled with good food and camaraderie, drifted into sleep, their minds turning to the weighty matters of the morrow. The air was thick with a sense of impending destiny, yet there was also a glimmer of hope—hope that in unity, they could overcome the darkness threatening their world.

Legolas lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts wandered from the cheerful dinner to the serious discussions that awaited them. He felt a blend of anticipation and anxiety, knowing that tomorrow could shape the fate of Middle-earth. But as he thought of his friends and allies, his heart was steadied by a quiet resolve. Whatever the future held, they would face it together, and that gave him the strength to close his eyes and find rest in the midst of uncertainty.

The night was growing old, and everyone had found their way to their chambers. Elrond and Gandalf remained in an alcove near Elrond's study, discussing the council set for tomorrow and the burden resting on Frodo's shoulders.

Bilbo and Frodo, however, were not yet ready for sleep. Standing outside their rooms, they gazed at the night sky, speaking of things long forgotten. The peaceful dinner had stirred old memories, and they shared stories of the Shire and the simpler times they missed. Sam sat close by, ever watchful of Frodo, nodding in recognition of the tales his companions recounted.

Meanwhile, Pippin and Merry, ever the adventurous pair, had sneaked out of their room and into the kitchen in search of more of that delicious cheese. The elves tidying up the kitchen noticed their antics but said nothing, accustomed as they were to the Hobbits' frequent forays for food.

Arwen, under the clear night sky, had stolen away to a secret meeting place with Aragorn. It had been too long since their last meeting, and tonight they shared whispered words and tender kisses. Despite Aragorn's worries about their uncertain future, Arwen's faith in their love remained unshaken, her heart believing in a happy ending for their tale.

Gimli, Glóin, and the rest of the Dwarves were already deep in slumber, their loud snores echoing through Elrond's guest house. They had drunk heartily and now needed rest to face the council's deliberations on the morrow.

Boromir, on the other hand, remained awake, taking a slow, thoughtful tour through Elrond's house. He was a guest here for the first time and was curious about everything, especially the shards of Narsil. The broken sword, awaiting its rightful owner to reclaim it and once more fight the rising evil, held a particular fascination for him.

Elenion, detached from the concerns of tomorrow, had decided to take a shower. Clad in a simple robe, he wandered outside, seeking clarity in the cool night air.

Legolas, too, felt the need for fresh air. Wearing only a silver shirt and leggings, his hair loose and barefoot, he stepped out into the tranquil night. He walked not far from the quarters of Elrond's family to a secluded opening where he often found solitude. But tonight, as he reached his quiet haven, he was not alone. In the darkened corner stood a figure, a woman, cloaked in a flowing white dress or perhaps a robe.

She stood with her back to him, gazing up at the open sky. There was something profoundly melancholic about the scene, stirring no joy in his heart. Her long brown hair, caught by the gentle breeze, flowed behind her, and she seemed more lost and forlorn than any soul he had ever encountered. He stood there for a moment, watching her, before continuing his walk, respecting her solitude.

As Legolas moved away, the woman turned and noticed him. She recognized him, though tonight he appeared different from the Legolas she had known. Perhaps it was the long dinner, the silent night, or the weight of the impending council that altered his presence. She, too, felt the gravity of the coming days, and in this fleeting encounter, they both sensed the solemnity of the times they were living in.

((Upcoming Chapter Twenty - Three))

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