A/N: Legolas' part of the journey follows the lotr route. However, please do NOT skip any of these chapters, because unlike most walker stories, there is bonus(his connection to trees, Estel and Legolas drama)

Enjoy~

Part 2: Of Blue and Light

Chapter 22: Restless Routes from Rivendell

Legolas had been packing and re-packing for hours, even before sunrise.

It wasn't because they were departing today. It wasn't because of the letter from his adar that he never replied to.

It wasn't because he had left an item unpacked. He had everything an elven archer would need on a long journey: his usual bow and quiver, dual Mirkwood hunter's knives, a bedroll, two sets of clean tunics and leggings, an old traveling cloak borrowed from the Rivendell patrol team, Lembas and dried fruits, and a water flask.

And a wine flask. There were still some bottles of the Mirkwood delivery left in the kitchen's storage room. In fact, he had emptied the water flask as well for wine. Legolas wasn't a drunkard; he never relied heavily on alcohol. Besides, he had a pouch of parsley leaves to cover the smell.

He released a groan, grabbed the leather bag, and dumped its contents out on the bed again.

"Prince Legolas, the fellowship is awaiting in the courtyard," a servant knocked on his chamber door.

Stuffing everything back inside the bag, Legolas swung it over his back, avoiding the straps for his bow and quivers.

Why did he get the feeling something was amiss?

Legolas glanced around the room—there should be nothing left to bring.

Then his gaze landed on the bracelet.

No, he definitely didn't need a girly accessory on the journey. He had heard of warriors bringing their lady's tokens with them to war; it wasn't an uncommon sight, as he was the captain of guards.

Wait, that Ra'evani is not his lady.

And she is no lady, Legolas scowled.

Perhaps he just liked the design, he thought, trying to find an excuse.

But it was half-finished, his other part of his mind retorted.

Then I could finish it on the journey; surely it would be boring, Legolas thought as he pulled the bracelet onto his wrist and headed out.

Good thing I'll probably never see her, he chuckled to himself, because he intended to keep it with him and never take it off again.

The Fellowship had left Rivendell behind, the serene beauty of the Elvish haven gradually fading as they ventured deeper into the wild. It would have been a pleasant journey, with Sam's excellent cooking, the other two hobbits constantly cracking jokes, and his friend Aragorn with the group.

Legolas, however, was bored out of his mind.

One evening, as Sam was handing out plates, Legolas politely refused: "Sorry, Sam, I'm not hungry. I'm sure Merry and Pippin could finish it for me."

Sam looked a bit disappointed. "Sir, do you not want a portion of baked mushroom? It is best on Lembas."

Legolas smiled. "Unfortunately, my appetite has failed me. Do not take it personally; your cooking is exquisite."

As he walked away from the fire, Gimli called out: "What? You pointed-eared stick can't even finish a plate of food? Figures. Elves are too high and mighty for good, hearty fare. More for us real folk, then!" Legolas ignored him. There was no comment that could anger him since a thousand years ago.

Except her.

Legolas inwardly groaned, turning the half-finished bracelet on his wrist. He needed to clear his mind.

Approaching one of the trees away from camp, he could sense the life of this tree, still young. As he placed a hand on the bark to steady himself, he began to sing:

A elen silmë neldëa,

Nai lírë úmëar linë.

Tírë, yáressë palúrë,

Sinomë viëla entulessë.

Aldalindalë, lairëa órë,

Cala lassemë, lirëa ló.

Írësse hrívë sálinalë,

Vé lín i ëa henetón.

He closed his eyes.

A steady wave of emotion seeped into his consciousness: calmness, content, joy. It was everything he had never experienced in a thousand years.

Yet, he couldn't identify the source of the feelings; they belonged to someone who deserved them and everything else life had to offer.

Then, images began to flash. It was a beautiful riverside at sundown, with golden leaves falling into the clear water to create ripples. As the view shifted, Legolas found himself looking down at a basket of wet clothes, freshly laundered. They were Lothlorien guard uniforms as well as a few loose breeches one would wear to bed.

"Legolas, you're on first watch!" Aragorn shouted in the distance, snapping Legolas out of his reverie. He reluctantly pulled away from the tree bark and rejoined the camp.

That night, even after his watch, he did not sleep, taking sips from his wine flask.

The visions and feelings had been bothering him greatly these days.

At first, they came in fragments of objects: a basket of dirty plates, a chunk of freshly cut cheese, a goblet of ale with a small plate of pastries. Then came smells and tastes. He could smell the unpleasant scent of burnt food, the freshly mowed lawn covered in sun dew. The taste of sweet ale, of the spicy herbed lembas.

Before he knew what it was, or whom these visions came from, Legolas was addicted to it.

He looked forward to each rest when the hobbits couldn't walk anymore, running extra miles to be away from the others.

Just to see the visions.

Joy so pure, sweetness so intense, scent so fresh that they overwhelmed his own feelings. The numbness he felt, the blood in his mouth, the smell of rusted weapons. The visions made them feel less significant. He knew that there was still a corner in Middle-earth filled with laughter and happiness—things he thought were never possible.

But the more he placed his palm upon the bark, the more depressed he felt.

Wine was all that was left to support him when he was with the fellowship. More than half of his alcohol supply was gone by now, as well as the parsley leaves. The visions were never enough, and neither was the wine. None were enough to help him escape.

He was a walking shell of someone named Legolas who happened to be the prince of Mirkwood, who happened to join the Fellowship.

Sometimes, he wished he were just mortal and could be taken by any passing sickness.

Legolas did not even notice that the fellowship had made camp.

Taking a spot away from the fire, he sat down and pulled out the bracelet. The tiny flower embedded in the stone bead had long withered, lacking water. Suddenly engrossed, Legolas unsheathed a dagger. He pictured the waterfall of Rivendell in his mind's eye, the cascading water sparkling in the sunlight. Carefully, he began to carve the stone bead into the shape of a water droplet. As the bead took shape, he focused on carving an Elven rune that represented "R" for Rivendell onto the surface of the bead.

What would she like for the wooden bead?

He kicked himself for having that thought. Who cares what she would like?

Someone sat down on the ground next to him. Legolas glanced at Estel, who was holding out a plate of cooked potatoes and berries for him. "Dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Legolas declined.

His friend sighed. "Eat. Even an elven body needs food."

"I'm not hungry," he repeated, pushing it away.

"What's the matter? Do not think your strange behavior went unnoticed by me, despite how hard you try to hide it. You're skipping meals and clearly haven't had a sufficient amount of sleep, and you're away from the camp most of the time," Estel recalled.

Now it was Legolas' turn to sigh. "Do not push me, mellon nin. There is none that is bothering me."

"You're not yourself. What has happened?" Estel asked.

He rubbed his temples. "Ú-'erui dan ú-bain sui gin, Estel." (Not everyone is as lucky as you are, Estel.)

"Cenithon aníron, man den?" (You think I am lucky? How come?) Estel asked, surprised.

Legolas muttered, pushing the plate back into his friend's hand. "Ae aníron, gin ú-aravo Arwen." (At least you still have Arwen.)

He had no one. Only the visions and wine could let him escape. Momentarily.

"What's that?" Aragorn asked behind him, standing up from his spot.

Legolas lazily lifted his head, blinking at the sudden exposure to light that made his elven eyes feel strangely light, as Boromir snorted, "A wisp of cloud."

Yeah, but why is that cloud moving against the wind? Must have been all the wine.

He rubbed his eyes and exclaimed, "Crebain from Dunland!"

"Hide!" Aragorn shouted, pulling the nearest two hobbits to a bush.

Legolas crouched behind a large boulder, his heart pounding in his chest, almost impossible to distinguish from the dizziness in his head. He glanced at the Crebains circling above them. For what seemed like eternity, the danger passed, and they slowly climbed out from their hiding spots.

"We'll make it over Caradhras," Gandalf announced.

Aragorn is right; he is not himself.