There is a place deep within the Greenwood that I think I will remember all the rest of my days; a place in which I am truly at peace.

There is a pool here and it is fed by a waterfall. It is not the greatest of waterfalls; I have seen more impressive and I have seen higher. I have seen waterfalls that seem to come from the very heavens that crash upon stone with the might of the Valar themselves. I have seen falls of water that beat stone harder than any hammer Mahal ever wielded and I have seen majesty beyond measure in the power of Ulmo but in this place there is beauty in grace. It is a low fall and the stones that the water falls upon are soft and worn; it is a tumbling dance that sings and calls 'Behold! Behold!' as it rills and bucks and plays.

All about there are deep grasses and weeping trees that trail into the waters. I can see the sky and today it is a moody one; deep blue is mottled with clouds of huge whiteness that sail languorously as darker, angrier shadows steam onward to soak some other wayward traveller. I sit against the stone that I always sit against; it is small enough to support me but it reaches deep into the heart of Arda and I enjoy the Song I feel deep in my bones as I lean against it. I have a fishing rod in the whirling pools of crystal clear waters and have not caught a solitary thing, but I could not care any less if I had.

The elf is near. He sits cross legged upon the grass deep in the meadowsweet and floss upon the wind has caught in his hair. His mind is far elsewhere just as mine is as he fletches arrows. His presence here is not necessary but he is here nonetheless, he has brought his tools and they sit upon the ground before him although his attention is not upon what he does. He has fletched arrows for many years; he need not think for it.

I close my eyes and feel the breeze in my hair and my beard. I feel the sun upon me, the sweet scented wind sets the leaves shivering and their susurration is a soft cadence against the laughter of water falling upon water. I think that of all the places I have been within the kingdom of this prince beside me, this is the best.

"Think you - ?" he asks, and then pauses to consider his words.

"Must you ruin every silence?" I groan. He is entirely unconcerned, he continues unabated.

"Think you that the tree that grew this wood knew of the purpose it would be set to one day?" He asks. He pauses to hold one arrow up to the sunlight; it is perfectly straight, well fletched in green and true, it is a thing of skill. His question silences me – I have not been asked such a thing before. Elves! What sets their mind to thinking of such oddities?

"As little as my axe realises its purpose," I tell him. His nose wrinkles and he waves my words away with one hand, his eyes still on the arrow. He holds it against the light once more to check for any imperfection.

"I know the feeling of stone and doubt not the Song of Aulë but the head of your axe is of iron, and iron feels not a thing."

I am silenced. I think until my head hurts and the elf does not speak again. It is my turn and he has the patience of the Eldar, ready to wait until the end of the stars themselves but I do not take so long.

"You know better than I the thoughts of trees." I dismiss. He sets his work down and the look I am pinned with is heavy and disappointed. I feel a flicker of irritation that this bothers me in any way but I push it down and try again. "You think that it would matter at all?"

"I think on it, at times." He admits. He resumes his work, appeased by my response. He thinks on things a while longer. "Think you that Gloin imagined any such life for you? I know Thrandruil thought no such thing for me; he has told me as such many a time."

"Regret is a poor thing to harbour," I warn him.

"It is not regret," he disagrees, "regret suggests choice. I was born in a time of watchful peace and my father hoped I would be a scholar but I became a warrior. He hoped that I would not follow his path but I did. This is the fault of none but the Darkness and the time in which I have lived but this tree? It was naught but a tree. Now it must seek out the life of another."

"Or slay targets made of straw!"

"Or be used as a hoof pick," he scowls. I sigh. I am not yet forgiven for that, it seems.

"The hopes of our fathers aside, none can know where their path leads," I bring the conversation away from awkwardness. "We walk the road the Valar set us upon according to the will of Eru and ours is to take the steps. Does this river choose its path to the sea? It does not. And why do you ask of such things? You are ruining my fishing trip by making me think on riddles. Go away!"

"It is to be ruined soon in any case," he tells me without a shade of concern. "Rain comes, I smell it."

"You could not have thought to smell it when we still had time to return to the palace?" I groan. By my beard I cannot make the elf understand preparing for weather. He will not seek shelter when rain comes, he will get wet. He will not put off a trip because of a storm, nor will he sit in the shade if it is too hot. It is his view that weather is simply what it is and is to be tolerated whether fine or poor, it should not get in the way of what he does. In my eye there is little point in having your own elf if he does not think to mention that you are to be drenched in time to avoid the drenching.

I start to pack away. If I am to be wet I will be wet on my way to somewhere dry but my good mood is gone and although I know it is ridiculous, I know exactly who I blame and he is watching me right now. The wind has picked up significantly in the last moments and his hair tangles about his face but his eyes still bore into me. I have learned that this heavy gaze is when he sees and hears only what is before him; he does not hear the Song right now and the forest may as well be mute to him. The wood roars in the wind whether he hears it or not and he has not yet moved so I turn and we lock gazes. I will leave him here if I must but I will hear what is on his mind eventually either way.

"You speak of walking the path we are set upon," he says, "and you say our destination is set and certain. Why then do you grow so foul when we are caught in a storm along the way?"

For a moment I am stunned into stillness. By my beard what an affliction it must be to have the thoughts of an elf!

I turn my attention back to packing my things and I grumble and huff and mutter the whole time. I pick up my pack and my rod and I leave him there. For reasons unknowable my growling amuses him and I hear a musical laugh that twists with the wind. His laughter should annoy me further but it does not, it lightens my heart.

"I walk this path Legolas, but I need not enjoy every rock I trip over!" I inform him over my shoulder. He is no longer there; he is beside me again, walking the road back to the palace by my side.

Ever does he walk at my side.

For those of you waiting for the sequel to The Child and the Darkness you may be pleased to know that it's about 2/3rds of the way written already but RL will be impacting for the next fortnight. This short little thing does actually have a purpose which will become clear when the as yet unnamed sequel starts posting. Hope you liked it, and for anyone reading who hasn't read my multi chapter, go on. What harm could it do? ;)

As always, reviews really make things worthwhile and I'd love to hear from you.

MyselfOnly