In the year 3018 of the Third Age, in the month of September, Legolas, son of Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, returned to his realm from a long and fruitless journey deep into the Forest with a large company of Wood-elves. They had been seeking Gollum, a cunning and deplorable prisoner, whom Gandalf had committed to their charge. Their pursuit had led them south into the Forest along many treacherous paths until all trace of their prey had vanished.

Shortly after his return, Legolas was summoned before his father to apprise him of their unfortunate quest. His father, who was still wroth over the lives that had been lost during the battle to liberate Gollum, was none too pleased to learn that the villain had escaped unpunished. "So, this is to be our reward for the kindness that we've shown to this abominable creature," ruminated Thranduil, whose golden mien was graced with a crown of berries and red leaves as he sat upon a carved, wooden chair upon an elevated dais.

"We searched long for him, my lord, through many ill paths," lamented Legolas. "I cannot fathom how he's managed to elude us so entirely –to escape these woods scot-free. Gandalf shall be grieved to learn of this."

"Gandalf!" thundered Thranduil. "Was it not Gandalf who brought this misery upon us? When we would have treated this –this accursed creature in a just manner befitting its crimes, was it not Gandalf who moved us to compassion? Was it not he who persuaded us that there just might be some good left in it? How then does your sympathy lie with him when such evil has befallen us through his false counsel?"

"Father, I cannot allow the sorrows that have lately beset us to eclipse my judgment."

This simple utterance, delivered in a solemn air of humility, acted as a double-edged sword in reproving his father's irrationality and defending his own position, which, of course, unduly precipitated the full brunt of his father's displeasure. They had lost many skilled Elven-warriors who were desperately needed to fortify their realm in the dark times to come and his father could not readily pardon this offence. Moreover, it did not take his father long to turn his thought –and tongue- to his complete failure to apprehend the chief culprit, and he did so with a decided vigor.

In due course, after his father had said his piece, Legolas was released from his presence. Several empathetic glances were cast his way as he forsook the stone-pillared hall to discover that some of the servants, who usually stood in its hindermost parts, had retreated to the safety of its exterior passage. As he bent his footsteps toward his own quarters, the spirited memory of his father's embittered outrage began to plant a seed of resentment in his own heart. He had expected his father's vexation, but he hadn't reckoned it to that passionate degree.

Sighing, he tried to shake off his own anger and disappointment as he traversed the softly illumined passageways. In a way he was glad to be well rid of their wearisome Charge, whom Gandalf had urged them to watch over night and day; but, sadly, the price had been too high. Not to mention the mischief that he felt was bound to ensue now that the wretched creature was once again abroad.

Outside his chambers, he found an elf-maiden waiting; she had come to deliver a note from her mistress. When Legolas saw the delicate hand written upon the missive, he smiled. Inside his Study, he sat lazily upon his chair and opened the note. It was from Vana, his childhood friend of many, long years. She had written to tell him that she had heard of his return and that she condoled with him for the irremediable loss of his charge. She also hoped that he would not be discouraged by this unfortunate business as she earnestly believed that, in this, Fate had a different purpose.

The truth was –after he'd endured patiently with his father's unmerited upbraiding, these kind words of exhortation now worked upon his mind to placate his anger, which was born out of season in the contemplative aftermath of the ugly confrontation. Thankfully, he would see Vana later that day, when they would all gather in the woods for merrymaking, and he would then have the unstinted benefit of her wisdom.

That night, while the Wood-elves made an excellent display of mirth, Legolas and Vana sat at the edge of the feast conversing quietly. "Dear Legolas," said she in her kind, gentle, conciliating way, "I know that your mind is unsettled…and it cannot please you to hear this now, but I believe that your father spoke out of his grief." The expression upon her pure, lovely face perfectly mirrored that of her generous heart; it beseeched him to hearken to her unfailing wisdom which, in times past, had never led him wrong. "I do not mean to say that I agree with his manner…and all that he has said, but we have indeed suffered a terrible loss. You must try to understand your father's feelings, which must be those of a sovereign –accountable for the lives of a precious many; and you must forgive his words, however unjust they were to you."

Though the prince was not ready to relinquish his cherished grudge, he did not doubt her words. This was invariably the influence of her benevolent charm, which always worked in his heart to sway him to nobler heights; likewise, before the passing of that night, the acrimony that had sprung up in his heart was duly lessened. "You have always done me good," said he, gravely and sincerely to his beloved companion. "Through the years, there were many times when, but for you, Vana, I would have lost my way. In all of my adversities –in all my misfortunes, you have always had a kind word to steady me."

In her diffident way, Vana was quick to temper his praise by reminding him that he had been no less admirable in his attentions to her through their long years. "I have always believed in you," said she in a sweet, steady voice, "and you have never disappointed me."

"I hope I never shall," he earnestly replied as he looked down into her upturned face.

Under the fervor of his gaze, Vana colored and began nervously to fondle her golden locks. In that brief moment, the easiness that naturally governed their friendship was somewhat altered. She turned slightly away from him and asked, "When do you ride to Imladris to tell Gandalf of Gollum's escape?"

"Two days hence."

"There is some talk among our people that the lands beyond are also multiplied with foul creatures." In her concern, she turned again to Legolas, desiring his reassurance. "I fear for you; the days grow more evil; yet I…I suppose, near and far, we are none of us secure or beyond the reach of this malice."

Legolas covered her hand with his, where it had been resting lightly upon his forearm. "We must all do our part where we can. My path leads me to Imladris; beyond that, I cannot foretell." He observed his companion closely; she was contemplatively silent. "Do not fear for me; only, pray that Eru will keep his servant long enough from harm to return home safely and unscathed."

"Most fervently, I will!" declared Vana with a zeal that brightened her light grey eyes, which, at other times, revealed the calm and peaceful spirit that reigned within.

Legolas was pleased with her answer; furthermore, it was not usual for her to demonstrate her affection thus openly; hence, he felt honored. "With such a pure heart watching over me from afar, through whatever danger I must hereafter tread, I will think of thee and remember thy thought for me."

The torch lights that were fastened to the tall, surrounding beeches cast a mellow light upon them. Her golden hair, which was crowned with red flowers, fell loosely around her shoulders and down her back. In the soft glow, Legolas thought her simple beauty exceedingly magnified. The bowl that had been passed to him by another, he now gave to her after partaking of its contents. They ate and drank in silence, until her sisters came to claim her company, for a short while.

Left to his own amusement, the prince's enjoyment of the harp's music and their fair elvish songs came more readily. As he watched and listened, his mind wandered to the glum road ahead. In those black days, the Forest was again inhabited by a profound evil that would make their departure, two days hence, a perilous one. Moreover, beyond the Forest, there was little expectation of a safer journey on the northern road to Imladris. All roads between him and Imladris were fraught with danger.

As he sat brooding, at length, he was joined again by Vana, who immediately succeeded in turning his thoughts to pleasant things. She sat serenely at his side and her melodious, fair voice rose in song above the chorus of the nearby elves, some of whom had ceased their song to savor her enchanting voice.

Thus, the rest of the evening was spent in song and joyous company that would live on in the prince's memory through the estrangement ahead. And on the day that he forsook his realm, as Vana had promised, he had forgiven his father so completely that he was able to bid him a kind, genuine farewell before departing with his somber patriarchal blessing. As to that most beloved and esteemed friend, he carried her quietly in his bosom every step of his dark, precarious journey.