Prologue: Simbelmynë

Legolas threw a saddle onto Arod's back, blinking back tears which, until recently, had been foreign to his ice-blue eyes. The added burden of the ale made containing them all the more difficult. The Elf was being rent by a new kind of grief, one he had never even glimpsed before. More than despair. It made his very limbs ache.

Legolas groaned inwardly when Gimli stumbled into the stable in a drunken stupor. "Agh, get back inside, you lily-livered pansy!" the Dwarf drawled. "Gonna kick your Elf arse…drink up, me…" Then he dropped to the ground with a low thump.

Legolas slung his quiver and bow across his back, climbed into the saddle, and took off for the fields near Helm's Deep, leaving his friends and Edoras on the windswept plains behind him. He hunched his shoulders against a nonexistent chilly breeze and continued across the plains, fighting off the emotions roiling within him as he had so recently battled the forces of Isengard.

Aragorn knew something was amiss when Legolas suddenly vanished from Théoden's hall after thrashing the Dwarf in a drinking contest. The Elf had never been one to gloat openly, but he certainly did relish the limelight. He trailed Legolas from a safe distance and speculated as to where he could be headed, all while trying to avoid Éowyn and her enamored doe-eyes. In all his travels, which spanned eighty-seven years, Aragorn had never met a more ignorant wench. Poor girl.

Aragorn watched Gimli waddle into the stable from his hiding place in a blacksmith's shop across the road. He shuddered to think of what the Dwarf and the Elf could do with each other in such drunken states. Oh, the possibilities. He was admittedly relieved when Legolas burst out of the stable on Arod's back. He watched the Elf gallop flat-out in the direction of Helm's Deep before he saddled Brego to follow.

Aragorn finally caught up to Legolas outside the great fortress of Rohan. The plains were still scarred from the previous battle, and the great pyre of the Uruk-Hai was still smoldering and emitting a nauseating stench. Aragorn watched from a windswept bluff as Legolas dismounted in front of one of the few graves at Helm's Deep. He was singing, very softly, "Don't say we have come now to the end. White shores are calling. You and I will meet again. And you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping…"

Aragorn trotted toward the Elf and called, "Legolas!"

Legolas did not turn to look at him, almost as if he had suspected Aragorn would follow him. He held a small, white flower in one hand and examined it idly, turning it slowly between his fingers. "Simbelmynë," Legolas murmured. "Ever has it grown on the tombs of Rohan's kings." He looked up, and Aragorn noticed that there were tears in his ice-blue eyes. Legolas drew a shuddering breath and finished, "Now it shall cover the grave of my beloved." Without warning, Legolas fell weakly to his knees as a strangled sob escaped between his lips. He dug his fingers into some tufts of grass growing on the grave, bowing his head so he could hide behind a curtain of blonde hair. When he looked up again, tears were flowing freely down his cheeks as he sobbed at whoever was buried there, "You do not belong here! You didn't deserve this fate! Alas that these dark days should be mine! Why did you leave me?"

Aragorn immediately dismounted and held the Elf by his shoulders, alarmed to see him break down like this. Even when Gandalf had fallen into the abyss of Moria, Legolas had not reacted this way. Aragorn searched for the words to comfort his friend but could find none, not even knowing why exactly the Elf was grieving. Legolas buried his face in Aragorn's shoulder like a small child, his shoulders wracked by the sobs he had so carefully suppressed for days.

After a pause, Aragorn asked gently, "Who is buried here, mellon nîn?" [My friend

Legolas swiped the tears out of his eyes, attempting to shroud himself with some semblance of composure before he murmured, "Haldir o Lórien. Meleth nîn." [Haldir of Lórien. My love."

Part I: Mirkwood

1: Something Unexpected

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, stood at the entrance of his father's fortress, ready to greet the Marchwarden of Lothlórien and his entourage. The Elvenking had summoned Haldir and his brothers to help him train some new guards. Thranduil had decided Mirkwood needed stronger protection after a company of Dwarves and a single Hobbit had stumbled into the middle of one of his late-night parties. Legolas and Haldir had been friends as small Elflings, but he could hardly picture his face after so many eons apart. He vaguely remembered Haldir being bossy.

A soft rustling of leaves alerted the princeling to the presence of the Lórien Elves. Several silver-clad Elves stepped out of the trees, bows slung over their shoulders. A tall, handsome Elf near the front of the group stepped forward and said in a honey-smooth baritone, "Hail, Legolas Thranduilion."

Legolas was about to reply when the Marchwarden kissed him lightly on both cheeks, apparently Lórien custom. He was embarrassed to feel a tinge of color creep into his cheeks. The princeling blinked, flabbergasted, before replying, Mae govannen, Haldir o Lórien." [Welcome, Haldir of Lórien.

"I hear your father wishes me to train his guards," Haldir said. He wore a self-assured smirk, apparently well aware of precisely how handsome he was. After a beat, he added evenly, "It seems they find it difficult to imitate your dramatically heroic style and jaw-dropping stunts. Perhaps something a little more…controlled will be more to their taste."

Legolas scowled, taking an instant dislike for the arrogant Marchwarden. "It is well-known in every Elven kingdom that no one is a better warden than you, Haldir," he said with mock-reverence.

The corners of Haldir's mouth twitched upward in a half-smile. "I regret to inform you that nobody at Caras Galadhon knows your name. Save the Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, and myself, that is. Pity." His smirk grew, and he touched Legolas's cheek briefly. "If only they knew what a handsome face you have, hmm?"

A nervous smile flickered across Legolas's face. "Come with me. My father is waiting."

Legolas watched Haldir train a pair of young Elves from the vantage point of a tree branch. It soon became clear that Haldir was one of the most skilled Elves in Middle Earth. He had spent hours earlier that morning trying to help the new guards perfect their aim with a bow, to no avail. Legolas watched shot after shot sail to the exact center of the targets that had been painted on a few trees. The new guards, sadly, were not so blessed. The Marchwarden's exasperation steadily mounted until he gave up on the archery lesson and moved on to hand-to-hand combat—an even more impressive display.

"I am a hypothetical intruder," Haldir announced, whipping a sleek blade out of the sheath at his hip. He examined the foible of the sword idly as he instructed, "Kill me."

The two young Elves struck at once, going at Haldir from both sides. Legolas found himself worrying whether the blades had been dulled for practice or whether Haldir simply doubted the new guards' skill that much. Apparently, it was the latter.

In one fluid motion, Haldir parried the first attack, knocked the sword out of the other Elf's hand, and returned to relieve the first Elf of his sword. He caught one sword midair before it fell and rested the point in the dirt, making tsking sounds under his breath. "A valiant first attempt," he conceded, "but nevertheless you have both been disarmed and slain, and it will be up to me to inform your mothers of such." He tossed the sword back to its owner. "Another try. For the love of Eru, you're fighting just like that hot-headed prince of yours. This time, don't be so erratic."

Legolas's heart skipped a beat. Did he say erotic? Oh, no, it was erratic. The arrogant thread in Haldir's voice had distorted the word.

In the blink of an eye, the Elves were sparring again. Haldir's cloak swirled around his body, concealing his tactics. He moved gracefully, smoothly, as if he were dancing. When the silver billow settled around Haldir's ankles, the points of both swords were embedded in the dirt.

The drill went on for several more hours. Miraculously, Haldir lost none of his regal demeanor or impeccable composure. The Marchwarden's cloak billowed dramatically around his legs whenever he moved, and his hair remained neatly braided, not a hair out of place. Haldir's face showed none of the exhaustion the other two Elves exhibited, nor did his sculpted features betray any of the exasperation he must have felt.

Finally, it seemed Haldir had had enough. He threw down his sword and grabbed both guards by the napes of their necks, causing them to crumple and drop their swords for the umpteenth time. "I think that's enough for one day," he said, raising one eyebrow as he glanced from Elf to Elf. "You two are too exhausted at this point to put forth any real effort, anyway. Rest up. I look forward to creaming you again tomorrow."

The young Elves shuffled off, tired and dejected. Legolas was instantly out of his tree, his own twin knives in his hands. "Well done, Haldir," he praised. He pointed at the Marchwarden with one knife. "I would have never guessed you would shoot so well. And you have some skill with a blade?"

Haldir flashed a coy simper at the princeling and ran his sword along the edge of Legolas's dagger, producing a harsh hiss of steel on steel. "Only a little," he said with what Legolas knew was false humility.

Legolas deflected Haldir's sword with a flick of his wrist. "Oh, more than that," he said, advancing on the Elf with an attack of his own. "There surely can't be a better swordsman in Lórien."

Haldir glanced at the knives in Legolas's fists. "I would return the compliment, but I'm afraid you only work in smaller units. Although," he said thoughtfully, thrusting his sword at Legolas's chest, "I suppose it does merit some praise, faint though it may be. I'm curious; is it hard to get the job done with something so small?"

Legolas stopped the sword short by crossing his knives, then drove Haldir backward with a few graceful attacks, spinning as he performed a several backhanded strikes in a row. He jabbed the point of one knife at Haldir's chin and confessed, "Only a little."

Haldir took advantage of the princeling's dizziness, stepping forward and tripping Legolas as he tried to backpedal with a well-placed leg behind his opponent's foot. He caught Legolas as he fell and pinned him against a nearby tree. "Oh, I think it hinders you more than a little," he murmured, neatly plucking both knives from Legolas's fists. Legolas's breath caught in his throat when Haldir bent closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

Legolas kissed back without meaning to, then pulled out quickly in a sudden panic, conking his head against the tree behind him. Haldir was grinning naughtily at him, no doubt getting some cruel satisfaction from the dozen or so shades of red blazing in the princeling's cheeks. Legolas tried to seem unfazed as he said sternly, "You cheated."

"I'm afraid we Lórien Elves do not live by the same strict moral regimen as you Sindarin," Haldir said, still grinning wickedly.

Legolas wiped his lips with the back of a shaking hand, his heart still hammering in his chest. "Obviously!"

Haldir returned the knives. "I must admit I hadn't expected you would fight so well. Especially with twelve-inch knives."

Legolas found himself smiling. He knew that it was the closest thing to a compliment Haldir coud bring himself to give. There were a million confessions Legolas wanted to give, but instead he offered a weak reply: "Hennaid" [Thanks.

Haldir slipped his sword back into his sheath and turned to go, chuckling softly to himself. "Ah, but I know you enjoyed it."

"It was…different. Very unexpected. But I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you."

There was that arrogant smirk again. "I was talking about the fight."

2: The Marchwarden at Leisure

Haldir ate breakfast with his brothers, Orophin and Rúmil, in the honorary chambers Thranduil had given them. Haldir generally considered his siblings smaller, uglier, less talented versions of himself. Orophin had a horse-face and Rúmil…Rúmil just looked like a woman. And not even a She-Elf; an ugly fishmongering human woman. He fought to suppress a snide smirk as Orophin struggled with his roll.

"Having some trouble there, brother?" Haldir asked.

"No," Orophin snapped.

"How's the training going, by the way?" Rúmil inquired, attempting to avoid tableside conflict.

Haldir snickered. "You have never seen a more disorganized bunch. If Mirkwood's other wardens fight anything like the two I worked with yesterday, the three of us could overtake Thranduil's kingdom in one night. They all move so loudly anyone could shoot them in the dark."

"I take it we will be in Mirkwood for awhile, then," Rúmil reasoned, sounding a little crestfallen.

"As long as Prince Legolas can stand to have us around," Haldir answered.

Orophin gave him a sidelong look. Haldir knew both of his brothers were all too aware of exactly what he had been up to, but it did not faze him the way it once had. He was the third most powerful Elf in Lórien; a few disapproving murmurs from his brothers would not topple his pedestal.

"Anyway," Haldir continued, slouching easily in his chair, "I think they need someone closer to their own ability to teach them. You two would work splendidly; you can fumble around together like beggars in the dark. It might be fun. Statistically, one side should prevail over the other."

Orophin scowled openly, but Rúmil maintained his stoic composure and said, "Of course, brother. You deserve a break. I'm sure the greenlings are exasperating."

"You have no idea."

"Bet Legolas is exasperating too," Orophin said under his breath.

Haldir slammed both fists on the table and stood abruptly. "No dhínen[snp1 " he snarled. "I'll have none of your innuendo here, of all places, Orophin. As your elder brother and military superior, I order you to assume duty. I'll be bathing if you need me. You would be wise not to disturb me."

"He's been looking for you, you know," Rúmil told him, lowing his voice as if it were some big secret. Haldir had known it for hours.

Haldir sauntered haughtily toward the door. "Ha! If he wants me, he can come and find me."

"And I'm sure he will," Orophin mumbled.

Haldir laughed inwardly when Rúmil slugged Orophin in the shoulder, causing the middle brother to yell, "Ow! Rúmil! That hurt!"

"You deserved it, Orophin," Haldir called over his shoulder as he left.

Legolas knocked tentatively on the door of Haldir's room, knowing he was about to err disgracefully. There was no response. He wondered apprehensively whether Haldir had somehow passed him and was already working with the guards. No, Legolas would have seen him on the road; Haldir probably did not even know another way to the clearing where the wardens sparred. He knocked again with greater resolve.

A dramatic sigh, then, "Must I do everything mysef?"

Legolas licked his lips anxiously, not sure what to do. After a moment of hesitation, he knocked again, a little more insistently this time.

"Piss off or I'll shove an arrow up your ass!" Haldir yelled from within.

"Haldir?"

The door swung open just as Legolas raised his fist to knock again. Haldir stood in the threshold, his wet hair plastered to his head. Legolas was surprised to see that the regal air surrounding the Marchwarden was not dimished by the fact that he was clad in nothing but a pink towel that sat dangerously low on his hips. Haldir's face brightened and he said, "Ah, Legolas. Come in."

Come in? Into the bathroom? While Haldir was in it? It was very, very wrong, but…yes, please!

Legolas seated himself on a small chair in the corner of the room, gaping at the nearly-naked Haldir perched on the edge of the tub. Beads of water ran down his well-muscled arms and chest to be absorbed by the towel that was barely around the Lórien Elf's waist. Legolas gulped, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"So," Haldir began, "what service can I do for you, my lord?" Noting the princeling's silence, Haldir flashed his trademark coy smirk and added, "Or have you only come here to look at me?"

"I…oh. I'm sorry, Haldir. I just—never mind."

"No, really," Haldir persisted, his smirk growing, "what was it you wanted?"

Legolas panicked, suddenly realizing he had not come armed with anything to say to the Marchwarden. "I…I wanted to tell you that you…you're very hands—handy! Yes, very handy. You are working miracles with my father's guards. I'd just like to say I love your…method."

Haldir rested his chin in one hand, his eyes gleaming feistily. "Right. I am flattered, my lord. It is an honor to serve the Lords of Mirkwood."

"So…pink?" Legolas asked, gesturing at the towel.

Haldir pouted a little. It made Legolas's pulse quicken. "Do you have a problem with pink?"

"What? No! No, of course not. It just seems a little…"

This time, Haldir actually laughed out loud. "I know. The preconceptions of ignorant clods mean little to me. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to continue my bath. Rest assured that I will not remove this towel until you are well out of the room. I am no manwhore."

Legolas swallowed a rebel laugh. "Comforting. I shall leave you to your bath, then."

"I am sure our paths will cross again, unintentionally or otherwise."

Legolas smiled shyly. "I'm sure they will."

Legolas lingered for a minute outside the door, still smiling. He could just barely make out the gentle sound of the water slopping in the tub as Haldir climbed back into it. "If my brothers ask for me, tell them I am dead!" Haldir shouted.

3: Nothing to Forgive

Legolas sat cross-legged in the middle of the clearing where the wardens sparred, staring through the hole in the leaves at the limitless night sky above Mirkwood. The thick canopy above generally made stargazing virtually impossible, but the stars could always be seen from the clearing. Needless to say, the sight of thousands of stars in the sky mesmerized the Elvish prince. At the same time, the vastness of it all made him feel profoundly lonely. Very small.

The sound of Haldir's voice behind him almost made him jump out of his freshly-exfoliated skin. "Are you a stargazer, Legolas Thranduilion?" he asked him.

Legolas whirled around—not an easy feat when sitting cross-legged. For a rare moment, he lost his balance and ended up in a tangled knot on his side. He felt his cheeks flush as he answered quickly, "No, I just never see the sky. I mean, the stars are beautiful, and I do like to gaze—I don't do this normally, I mean, but I…yes."

Haldir chuckled and sat next to him. "Such an eloquent Elf," he mocked. His face softened visibly. "But you seem troubled by something. Are you alright?"

Legolas blinked, snapping back to reality. "What? Oh, yes, I'm fine."

"You can tell me, you know."

"I know. I just…I do not like to think about it."

Haldir put a hand on his shoulder. Legolas was surprised by the shiver that went up his spine. "I understand," he said softly.

Legolas shook his head, as if he were trying to rid himself of a headache or a naughty image of Haldir in his pink towel. "I need a drink."

"No. No, you don't."

"But I'm thirsty," Legolas whined.

A look of alarm crossed Haldir's handsome features as he prepared to give the same mothering speech with which he often browbeat Orophin and Rúmil. "Drinking ravages the body and slows the mind. Do you know that men have died in drinking games?"

"I am no Man. I am an Elf, and I'm thirsty." Legolas leapt to his feet and was across the clearing in a few quick, graceful strides, long before Haldir could even protest. He poured some water from a silver pitcher into a clay mug and took a sip, smiling at Haldir with feisty eyes above the rim of the mug.

Haldir shook his head, gazing sidelong at Legolas as he sat back down. "You have always been able to fool me."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Legolas's smile vanished. "There is something I should tell you." Haldir sat up straighter, fidgeting uncomfortably. "The Hobbit that came through Mirkwood some months ago…he carried with him a Ring of power. It reeked of evil."

"Oh," Haldir said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I thought you were going to say something else. We all have our secrets, Legolas. Despite this commanding aura…" He smirked and lifted his chin pompously to demonstrate. "I regrettably haven't got the courage to tell you mine." Haldir's head drooped in either shame or surrender, and his face vanished behind a wall of blonde hair.

Legolas brought his hand to Haldir's chin and gently raised his face so he could look him in the eye. He saw a gleam of something he could not name in them—desperation, perhaps, or maybe hope. After a moment of hesitation, he murmured, "I see no cowardice in you, Haldir o Lórien."

Suddenly Legolas could not contain himself any longer. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Haldir's in an alarming breach of self-control, enveloping the other Elf in a deep kiss. He heard Haldir let out a little gasp of surprise and broke off abruptly, panicked.

He felt his cheeks flaming as he stumbled through an apology. "Elbereth," he swore, wide-eyed, "I…forgive me, Haldir—my lord, I mean. I was not thinking; I do not know what came over me. It was not my place to… I know I have offended you. Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Legolas," Haldir whispered.

Haldir wrapped his arms around Legolas's waist and returned the kiss, gently at first, then growing bolder as the Prince of Mirkwood melted in his arms. The stars winked at each other suggestively, silent spectators of the Elves in the little clearing below.

4: Dark Have Been My Dreams of Late

The sun slowly rose above the rim of the horizon in the predawn hours, lighting the tops of Mirkwood's ancient trees below like a golden tapestry, little by little. It was the height of summer, and small insects flitted through the leaves, flecks of gold in a streambed. Sunshine like liquid gold steadily seeped through the foliage until the entire canopy was all awash with gilded light.

Legolas had taken a rare nap between the sheets of his bed and presently lay there quietly, his ice-blue eyes open even as he dreamed. It was the same dream as always, a stormy night in a far-off battle. The princeling awoke with a sudden gasp, jerking himself out of his dream-state in hopes of avoiding the inevitable nightmares that would surface. He took a deep breath to slow his ragged breathing and sat up.

"Plagued by nightmares?" Haldir asked.

"Yes. Dark have been my dreams of late," Legolas confessed. A beat, then, "…Haldir?"

The Marchwarden was sitting up in bed next to him, his arms crossed, his face expressionless and somewhat pale. He turned his head to look at Legolas, chewing at the inside of his lip nervously. "Yes, I'm here," he said curtly.

Legolas hesitantly lifted the sheet and peeked down at himself. He abruptly clapped the blanket against his chest and looked up, his eyes as big as saucers. "Sweet Elbereth," he breathed, "I'm—"

"Yes."

"And you're—"

"Yes."

A look of epiphany crossed Legolas's terrified face. "Did we—?"

"Yes!"

Legolas slapped both palms over his eyes and dragged his hands down his cheeks, releasing a heavy sigh. "Fuck."

A huge smirk grew on Haldir's face. "Oh, yes. Indeed we did."

Legolas stood facing the window chastely while Haldir hurriedly clothed himself. The princeling busied himself nervously by squashing ants on the windowsill. "I'm going to need at least ten stiff drinks."

"Don't say 'stiff.' Impure thoughts," Haldir snapped, pulling a tunic over his head.

"Impure thoughts?You're concerned about impure thoughts? Haldir! What have I done? What have we done?"

"What are you worried about?" Haldir said indignantly. "You are a young prince and therefore expected to be a playboy! I, on the other hand, am expected to display something in the way of morals, especially in a foreign kingdom, of all places!"

"Morals? Who was it who kissed me in the middle of a swordfight?"

Haldir sighed sharply. "My intent was to tease you, not seduce you! I would not have come all the way to Mirkwood if I had been looking for mere fornication. There's plenty of that back in Lórien."

"This was all a huge accident!" Legolas wailed in despair.

"Button this."

Legolas whirled around. "What?"

"Button this! I can't reach the buttons; they're on the back of the tunic."

"Oh. Alright." Legolas cautiously made his way toward Haldir, glancing at him sidelong as he might look at an enemy he was about to skewer. His fingers shook as he buttoned what seemed like a million buttons up the back of Haldir's tunic, afraid the warmth of his skin against his fingertips would make him do something rash again.

"Having trouble back there?"

Legolas winced and said abruptly, "Don't say that. Impure thoughts."

"Pervert. Hannon le," Haldir said when Legolas had finished. [Thank you.

Legolas snapped to attention suddenly, hearing a soft sound in the hall outside. "It's one of your brothers!" he hissed. "Stay here; I'll make a diversion." Haldir nodded, and Legolas flew out the door.

Haldir's brother was close enough to catch a glimpse of the Marchwarden if he chanced to peek into the room. Legolas slammed the door behind him and stammered, "Oh! Good morning, um, Orifice!"

"Orophin," the Elf corrected.

"Right. How goes the training of the…um…"

"Guards?"

"Yes, those."

"Fine," Orophin answered, peering suspiciously at Legolas. "Have you seen Haldir by any chance?"

"Who? Haldir? No. Nope!"

"You need to get more rest, my lord," Orophin advised. "You act a bit…off."

"I…um…dark have been my dreams of late."

"Sorry to hear that."

5: In the Hall of the Elvenking

Legolas stared at his father's feet, afraid to voice the question that had been haunting him for five hours of frantic but secretive searching. Thranduil stared down at his son with a fair but cold face, like a pale morning in spring still clinging to winter's chill. He said nothing, waiting for Legolas to speak first.

At length, Legolas got up the nerve to speak. "Where is Haldir?" A beat, then he hastily added, "Has he finished training the guards?"

"Haldir is back in Lothlórien where he belongs," Thranduil said brusquely. For a moment, Legolas was hurt that Haldir had not said goodbye, but then his father continued, "I sent him home. I did not approve of his conduct. It seems there were…other things on his mind besides doing as I had asked him."

"In his defense, the guards are incredibly dense."

Thranduil gave his son a frigid stare. "I sent him home," he said evenly, "because I wished to end any farfetched notions of there ever being a King and King of Mirkwood."

For a minute, Legolas was speechless. "What? Father—"

Thranduil just stared, his gaze like ice. "Do you know what a disgrace you are to my house?" he said, his voice barely audible. His knuckles went white on the arms of his throne, and he screamed, "Do you have any idea what a disgrace you are to my house and my kingdom?"

Legolas bowed his head, ashamed of what he had evidently become. "It was an accident! A mistake! Father, I—"

"No apology you can ever give will ever make up for the humiliation you have caused me! I banished him from Mirkwood under pain of death. I tried to end it. I know I could have never hoped to succeed, but I had to try. And now you will stay in Mirkwood and forget everything. Find a wife like everyone else, for Elbereth's sake."

Tears pricked Legolas's eyes. "I didn't mean to—"

"I know you did not mean to. But you did. And for that I hate you. I despise your weakness, Legolas." He bowed his head. "Your mother was going to bear me many strong sons. Good, brave sons." He looked up suddenly and spat darkly, "Instead I have one…abomination."

Abomination. The appellation stuck. At least in Legolas's mind. The burden of his new identity made him quiet and withdrawn. He occupied himself with target practice and knifework, trying and failing miserably to shove Haldir out of his mind. Soon he was a paper warrior, a machine that only knew to fire arrows and run.

The summons to Rivendell was a welcome opportunity to breach the monotony of his existence.

---

[snp1Shut up!