He is there when I reach for my sword, holding it ready like a page serving his master

“We have trusted you this far and you have not led us astray.  Forgive me.  I was wrong to despair.”

I smile at him and clasp his shoulder.

“U-moe edaved, Legolas.”

There is nothing to forgive… for I do indeed lead us all to our deaths.

The words tremble in my mouth and beat against my ribs, but I swallow them.  He is frightened too.  I see it in his eyes and in his set face.  He looks like a youth waiting edgily on the eve of his first battle and, for all his hundreds of years, the truth is close to that.  Legolas is a warrior of the woods, where one hunts one’s prey with cunning, then launches sudden, quick attacks from the vantage of the trees.  Now, surrounded by walls of stone, must he face his first true battle.  My dreams tell me that here, perhaps, do I face the great doom Elrond foresaw for me.  Desperately do I wish I could save my friend from it.  I tighten my clasp: may I share courage if I cannot give hope.