Legacy.

Chapter 1. Plans are Made

To Bilbo’s relief, and delight, Elrond finally declared the council meeting to be at an end. The mood of the meeting had been very sombre as each of the attendees told their own disquieting news, yet Legolas’s feeling of anguish at the escape of Gollum diminished somewhat when Frodo offered to take the ring to Mordor. In fact the courageous offer was as a small spark of hope to everyone.

As the echo of the final peal of the noon bell faded into silence across the valley, those who had spent the long morning in council eagerly made their way to the dining hall. Several of the council members were trying to predict who Elrond would choose to accompany Frodo, besides the ever faithful Sam. To Aragorn’s and Gandalf’s amusement, Glóin and Bilbo were trying to guess what was being served for lunch.

Legolas, however was not one of the curious, nor was he hungry at present and he was definitely not in the mood to tolerate the cold dislike he felt from Glóin’s son, Gimli. Despite the fact that the elder Dwarf had graciously accepted Gandalf’s rebuke for his harsh words, Legolas easily sensed that the son’s anger over the imprisonment of his father many years ago had resurfaced when the Dwarf had learned that Legolas was Thranduil’s son. In all honesty, Legolas felt affronted that his adar was being accused of mistreating the Dwarves, who were trespassing, and being deliberately obtuse. The incident had obviously neither been forgotten, nor totally forgiven, by either party.

“Master Elrond, I beg your leave to explore the beauty of Rivendell rather than partake of your fine fare,” he said, bowing politely to his host.

“As you wish, Legolas. Might I suggest you take a walk through the gardens to the waterfall? Most of those who, like yourself, are visiting for the first time seem to find it a most pleasant and relaxing place,” Elrond suggested, pointing to a pathway that looked to be used more often than several others. Elrond had heard reports of Legolas’s skill as an archer, and his bravery in skirmishes with Orcs, tbut hey had never met formally until this morning. Many an Elf had been overawed on their first meeting with the famous and highly respected Lore Master, so Elrond was pleased to see the young Elf so relaxed in his presence. That he had a friendly, light hearted disposition, ‘except towards the Dwarf,’ thought Elrond ruefully, boded well for his plans for the young one.

“Thank you, I will do as you suggest,” replied Legolas with a grateful smile.

It was not really a long distance to walk, but it took most of the afternoon because Legolas stopped to examine the wide varieties of plants and flowers, some of which he had not seen before. He even spent several minutes singing a chorus with the birds that were serenading the now setting sun, until finally the whispering sounds of the water sliding swiftly over the mossy rocks grew ever louder, drawing him to his destination.

Upon reaching the waterfall, Legolas was astounded to see that it was actually only the first of a series of rocky steps over which the cool, clear water flowed until it reached the river in the valley floor far below. As he cautiously peered over the rim of the ledge on which he was standing, he could see that the water formed a large pool at the base of each step. He knelt beside the pool on his level, filled his cupped hands with the water and drank deeply of the ice cold, but sweet tasting liquid.

Feeling quite refreshed, he lay down on the soft green grass that grew right up to the water’s edge, clasped his hands behind his head to form a pillow and let his thoughts wander as the peacefulness washed over him like the spray from the waterfall. With one part of his mind, he watched the sky slowly change colour from pink to black as night fell rapidly, while at the same time he contemplated all that he had heard at the Council meeting.

Although it concerned him to hear of the threats made by the Dark Lord to the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor, it was not a really surprising development to one accustomed to living under the darkness of the shadow at Dol Guldur. What had surprised him, however, was learning Strider’s true identity. He had only ever met the Ranger very briefly once, and that was on the occasion of Gollum’s imprisonment at Mirkwood, but even then he had felt there was something different about the man. That he was possessed of the majesty and power of his ancestors had been apparent, and Legolas instinctively knew he would one day become a good friend, and a great King.

But even that information paled into insignificance compared to the ill news that the One Ring had been found. Legolas was well versed in the history of the Elves war with Sauron, and he knew that Thranduil had both feared and anticipated such a day arriving ever since Isildur took the ring at Dagorlad. This was information that he must carry back to Mirkwood immediately! He made to stand up but  stopped when he sensed someone approach.

“I hope you will forgive the intrusion, but I have matters I wish to discuss with you, and this place is both peaceful and private.” Legolas crossed his legs and remained seated and indicated that Elrond should do likewise. Leggings and tunics were the favoured garments in Mirkwood, and the young Wood Elf who had never before been to Rivendell, had been rather amused to find that long robes were more favoured.

“I imagine it is rather difficult to sit on the grass in those robes,” he said lightly as he watched with amusement as Elrond finally arranged the voluminous garment to his satisfaction.

“Indeed it is. I see there is definitely some advantage to the style of dress favoured by the Silvan Elves,” agreed Elrond with a smile.

“May I ask what is that you wish to discuss?” asked Legolas, very interested in what had been of such great import to make Elrond seek him out. They were sure to cross paths at dinner that evening, or later in the Hall of Fire.

“ I would like to enquire as to how Thranduil is faring? I know that the Shadow is ever trying to strangle his realm with its dark fingers, and he must be grieving for those who were slain during the rescue of Gollum,” he said with compassion in his voice. He watched the reaction of the younger Elf with some interest. Legolas’s demeanour changed in the blink of an eye from a light hearted youthfulness to that of a serious and formidable warrior reporting to his captain.

“As with Erebor and Dale, the attacks seem to be increasing in number, and there are also far more dark creatures now than there were at the time of the defeat of Smaug. King Thranduil’s defences are holding well, and our realm will remain safe under his protection,” replied Legolas proudly.

“Of that I have no doubt. Thranduil is powerful however I believe he needs to be informed of the findings of the Council as soon as possible. Mirkwood may be well protected, but it is also the one Elven realm that has been constantly under attack. It is well that he is aware of the presence of spies, even in his realm, just as he needs to know exactly what his enemy is doing at all times,” said Elrond, his eyes darkening as memories of other Ages and their Wars passed fleetingly through his thoughts.

“Ai, and to that end, I will leave for Mirkwood at the first light of dawn,” declared Legolas eagerly.

“I was about to suggest that myself, but with an additional request. As you know, I am sending scouting parties out to make certain the way is clear for Frodo and his companions to travel south. I ask that you take one of the parties east to Mirkwood. Tell Thranduil what has come to pass, and see if he has any news for me, and return as quickly as possible.”

“I will lead the scouting party to Mirkwood, but I must remain there. Adar will need my help should the forces of Darkness try to attack in greater numbers, as it appears they intend. The darkness spreads day by day, but I will not allow it to take my home,” replied Legolas with fire in his eyes and anger in his voice.

“I commend your dedication, but I have a feeling that you will be of more use to Mirkwood if you accompany Frodo,” said Elrond with a slight smile at the startled look on the fair features of the younger Elf.

“Surely such a role should fall to one of the experienced warriors who reside here, such as Lord Glorfindel?”

“No, I fear if Sauron, whose evil and intelligence should not be ignored nor underestimated, knew that one or more Elves like Glorfindel was with a group travelling south, he would easily deduce that it was likely they were defending the Ring Bearer. You and your people are regularly doing battle, and I assume your skills are finely honed. It has been many centuries since any of us have gone to battle, and our fighting skills, whilst formidable when in constant use, may be less than adequate at present,” explained Elrond.

“I have fought and won many battles in recent times,” agreed Legolas.

“And have you the same ability as Thranduil as far as the minions of Sauron are concerned? Are you able to sense the approach of the forces of darkness?” asked Elrond.

“Ai, I have inherited that skill, and it has served me in good stead on more than one occasion. I can see how it would be useful as we travel into lands where the threat is unknown and unseen,” Legolas mused, nodding in agreement.

“Will you join the Fellowship? Before you answer, I feel I must warn you that I have decided to have a representative for each Race. I intend to ask Gimli, son of Glóin, to join as well,” stated Elrond, alluding to the enmity between the son of Glóin and Thranduilion. Legolas shook his head slightly, he should have realised that nothing would escape Elrond’s notice.

“Ai, I would be honoured, to accompany Frodo, Dwarf or no Dwarf, I care not which. Our task is to aid in the defeat of Sauron, not fight amongst ourselves,” he replied with a wisdom born of both age and experience. ‘He is older than his fair face reveals,' decided the Lore Master.

“Good! Then I will pen a letter to Thranduil telling him what has transpired, and that you have agreed to represent the Elves and be one of the Nine Walkers,” said Elrond.

“I will deliver your letter, but I ask that you allow me to tell Adar my plans,” said Legolas as he and Elrond began the short walk back to the Last Homely House.

Legacy

Chapter 2.  A Dwarf Among Elves

The pale yellow fingers of sunlight had barely began to part the curtain of mist that hung over Rivendell as Legolas decided to forgo any further attempt to rest and instead make his way to the stables.  He had barely reached the pathway that led to his destination when he stopped for a few moments to listen to the only sounds to be heard in the early morn; the gentle whisper of the waterfalls and the sweet singing of the birds as they chirped a welcome to the new day. The song faded slowly and he reluctantly left the ensuing peace and tranquillity behind as he entered the yard where many scouting parties were, rather noisily for Elves, he thought, preparing to leave on their assigned errands. He was pleased to see the group wearing the greens and browns of Mirkwood seemed to be going about their task in a much more efficient, and more quiet manner and he smiled a quick greeting at the elves who were to accompany him east through the Misty Mountains and on to their home.

As he turned to enter the stables he found his way barred.

A large number of the Elves had gathered in the yard to watch the rather impressive display of both strength and control, as Glóin and his son skilfully sparred and practiced with their battleaxes. The blades were extremely sharp, but neither Dwarf had sustained as much as a scratch. Although the contestants were evenly matched, and had it not been for the few beads of sweat on his brow, no one would have known that Glóin was the elder of the two. The mock battle finished to an appreciative round of applause from the unlikely audience before the Elves returned to their own interests.

“You are about your business early today are you not, Master Elf?” enquired Glóin from the stable doorway where he was now standing, leaning rather heavily on his axe.

“Not that it should be of concern to you, Master Dwarf, but I was unable to sleep last night for there was a rather loud and raucous noise echoing through the passageways around the guest chambers. I have not heard such loud snoring since your kind were last in Mirkwood,” Legolas replied in a tone of voice that indicated his displeasure at both incidents, past and present.

“If that is an accusation, then make sure it is directed to the real culprit. My lord father does not snore, I do!” Gimli snarled defensively.

“That could prove to be unfortunate,” said Legolas dryly, thinking that such a noise would easily attract the attention of the Dark Lord’s minions, and thus would prove to be a hindrance on the journey to come. He did not speak his thoughts out loud since he was unsure as to whether Elrond had yet approached Gimli in regards to accompanying the Ring Bearer.

 “Your words make no sense, but then that is surely to be expected from an Elf,” muttered Gimli under his breath, but not so softly that his father and Legolas did not hear.

“Mind your tongue Gimli!” said Glóin sternly, glaring at his son. “I also have little love for Elves, especially those in Mirkwood, but do not demean yourself by speaking base insults!” Gimli bowed his head in acceptance of the rebuke, and to hide the glowering rage in his eyes, which was matched by the flames of anger in the bright elf eyes.

“Are you leading one of the scouting parties to Mirkwood, Master Elf?” asked Glóin conversationally, in an attempt to divert the two from any further confrontation, as he stood aside and allowed Legolas to lead his horse from its stall and into the yard.

“Ai, I must make haste and deliver the ill news I learned at the council to King Thranduil,” replied the Elf, deliberately stressing his adar’s title, causing Gimli to snort rudely, until he caught the warning in Gloin’s eye.

“And good riddance…  er… I mean…  a wise decision,” he said making a rather halfhearted attempt to be polite out of respect for his father, and most definitely not the Elf.

“Indeed, and it behoves me to do likewise,” agreed Glóin, glaring a warning once more at his son. “King Dáin must also hear of the finding of the One Ring. Shall I have him send word to Brand of Dale, or will you ask your father do so, Legolas?”

“Since I am likely to arrive in Mirkwood before you reach Erebor, I will request that a warning be sent to the Men of Dale,” replied the Elf, who knew that despite the fact that Thranduil had little contact with any outside his realm, he would nonetheless offer his help to King Brand, and quite possibly Dáin as well, if the need arose.

“Excellent! In the dark times ahead, the Free People of Middle Earth would do well to assist each other, rather than bear grudges,” declared Elrond, who had approached silently, and seen only a small part of the interplay between the Dwarves and Legolas.

“Then I will take my leave, Master Elrond,” said Legolas respectfully as he placed his hand on his heart. “Do you have the letter for Adar?”

“Ai,” answered Elrond, with a quick nod of his head. He reached into the inner pocket hidden in the folds of his robes, and drew out a sealed envelope. “I ask that you give my regards to Thranduil, but do not linger in his Hall too long… time grows short,” he said with a sense of urgency behind the words. Elrond handed the cream coloured parchment missive to Legolas, who, without another word, mounted his steed and led his group through the gates and over the bridge that formed the beginning of the road out of Rivendell.

But for a strange shimmer in the air, and the faintest touch of a breeze on their faces, the Dwarves would never have known that the Elves had passed by, so swiftly and unseen did they travel.

“Master Glóin, would you and Gimli meet with me in my library after breakfast? There is a matter of great importance we need to discuss,” asked Elrond as he also watched the last of the elven scouts leave.

“That sounds rather ominous, Master Elrond, but we will do as you ask,” replied Glóin, not having the faintest notion as to the reason for such a meeting, unless it was to offer advice regarding Sauron’s threats against the King under the Mountain and his people.

The maid had barely removed the remnants of the morning meal that Elrond had chosen to eat in his library when Glóin and Gimli arrived. Taking the seats they were offered, the Dwarves waited in impatient silence for Elrond, who was studying some very old looking maps, to speak. The elder Dwarf was just about to ask a question, when the Lore Master finally paid them heed.

“As you are aware, Frodo and Samwise intend to take the One Ring south, and hopefully destroy it in the fires from whence it came,” said Elrond, reiterating the goal of the ring bearer that had been decided at the council meeting the day before.

“Yes, yes, we have heard the stories, and the decision, but please do get on with asking whatever it is you want of us,” begged Gimli whose curiosity was now fully piqued.

“I have decided, or rather I believe it was decided by powers over which I have no sway, that at least one representative from each race should accompany Frodo and Sam. I believe, as does Gandalf, that each race should have a hand in releasing Middle Earth forever from the threat of the Shadow,” said Elrond with a passion and a hatred he did not normally display. The war between Sauron and the Elves had lasted through millennia, and had cost many Elves their lives as well as the destruction of their lands.

“To that end, I ask that you allow Gimli to become one of the Nine Walkers I will ultimately select,” Elrond asked of Glóin.

“My son would be honoured to accept such a task, would you not Gimli?” answered the father before the son had a chance to speak for himself.

“Aye, I would,” agreed Gimli.

“Even if Legolas is also to be one of the Walkers?” enquired Elrond, raising one eyebrow to indicate he was aware of the animosity between the two sons of fathers who were once great enemies. Both Elvish and Dwarvish memories were long, and past hurts often remained unforgiven forever.

“It would be a trial, that is for certain, but one Gimli will easily overcome. My son is both strong and wise,” Gloin said with such confidence in his son that Gimli actually blushed with pride.

“ I will not allow that Elf to take all the glory if the quest is achieved, no matter what hardship or insult I am forced to endure,” stated Gimli adamantly. “Of course, that is not the main reason, for I would be genuinely honoured to be included in such an important errand. Have no fear, Master Elrond; the Elf will be in no danger from my axe or me! For the sake of all, I will try to tolerate him on this dangerous venture,” he said, apparently forgetting to whom he was speaking.

 “Although sometimes his wisdom is well hidden behind untimely insults,” Glóin added in an aside to Elrond.

“I am not unaware of that,” commented Elrond referring to the elder Dwarf’s last words. “I am however, pleased that you have such great faith in Gimli and you should be relieved to hear that Legolas also has no desire to do Sauron’s work for him,” assured Elrond, allowing a small smile of amusement to travel from his lips to his eyes as Gimli finally realised that by insulting Elf kind in general, he was also insulting Elrond.

“I meant no offence to you, Master Elrond,” he said apologetically, unable to stop the dark red spots of embarrassment that added colour to his cheeks.

“I am not offended for I know only too well that it is sometimes difficult to forget past events and prejudices,” replied Elrond sadly.

“I take it that the Nine Walkers will not be leaving until all the scouts have reported back to you?” asked Glóin. Elrond nodded. “Then I will now do as I said earlier, and travel back to Erebor and pass the news on to my King.”

“If you wish, I will provide an escort for you as far as the pass through the Misty Mountains,” offered Elrond.

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary, Master Elrond. We Dwarves are well aware of the dangers, and can protect ourselves and even were we to encounter danger once we cross the mountains. We have already paid the outrageously high toll for passage through the Beorning’s woods, so no harm will befall us once we reach their realm,” said Glóin, with a slight nod of his head to indicate both his gratitude and respect for the Elf’s concern for the well being of the travellers.

Later that day, all of the Dwarves who had accompanied Glóin, except for Gimli, bid Elrond and Rivendell farewell and began the long march back to the Lonely Mountain.

“I fear it is bound to be a long and tedious time for me alone here,” Gimli said to Elrond as they watched the departure from the balcony outside the library.

“There is much to see and do in Rivendell. Perhaps you would like to spend some time visiting our forge, and see how the elven smiths work? Or study the many stone carvings that are a part of the Last Homely House. Such knowledge may well be of use to you in times to come,” suggested Elrond in a manner that spoke to the Dwarf of knowledge not yet revealed, and yet another of the strange powers of the Firstborn.

“Perhaps that may be so, and even if it is not, I would welcome the chance to compare techniques with elven masters, for as deeply as it pains me to admit it, we Dwarves have also lost much of our skill and craftsmanship. It saddens me to realise that it is not only the Elven realms that are slowly diminishing,” said Gimli.

“Take heart, all is not yet lost,” said Elrond placing a comforting hand lightly on the Dwarf’s shoulder. “On the morrow, I will arrange for one of the smiths to act as your guide, but for now, shall we make haste?  I believe the bell for the evening meal has rung, and I saw the Hobbits walking with great haste towards the dining hall.”

Chapter 3. Weapons of War

Boromir awoke with his senses on full alert.  Rivendell was the last place he would have expected a battle to be waged, yet there was no mistaking the well known ringing sound of metal upon metal that echoed across the valley. He roughly pushed the covers aside as he arose from the bed, and in a reflex action honed from many years at war, he lifted the scabbard of his sword from the bedside table where it lay, and drew his weapon as he ran out onto the balcony.

The sight that met his eyes made him stop short and laugh out loud at his own foolishness. Of course no sword would be raised in anger within the bounds of the Last Homely House. Certainly a battle of sorts was being waged, but it was merely two of the Shirelings practicing their swordplay, their inexperience easily recognizable by their lack of technique, and the fact that they were using real swords rather than wooden practice weapons.

Boromir was just about to call down a word of caution when Merry accidentally tripped, slicing a small gash in Pippin’s hand as he reached out to try and prevent his opponent from falling and hitting his head on the hard stone surface of the courtyard. It was but a short distance below, so Boromir leapt over the balcony rail and landed easily beside the two injured Hobbits.

“Here, use this as a bandage, your hand is bleeding rather heavily,” he said to Pippin, tearing a strip from the hem of his nightshirt and wrapping it tightly around the small hand. He then turned his attention to Merry and the large lump that was quickly forming on his forehead. “You need a healer, I will take you to Master Elrond,” he said as he gently lifted the small one into his arms and turned towards the healing chambers with a very concerned Pippin close on his heels.

“I have two patients for you, Master Elrond,” said Boromir as he settled his burden carefully on the bed that Elrond had prepared. The healer quickly examined them both, and tended the wounds that he declared to be minor. Pippin squirmed a little as the bandage was removed and replaced with a fresh one coated with a healing salve. Elrond then turned his attention to Merry and made him drink the rather unpleasant tasting potion that would relieve his head ache, instructing him to remain resting in bed for the rest of the day. The protest Merry was about to make about such a restriction died on his lips, when he saw the stern glare on Elrond’s face.

“I will stay and keep him company, Master Elrond, but may I first go to the kitchen and see if the cook can spare us a morsel of food?” asked Pippin judging it to be well past second breakfast time by now.

Elrond sighed at the excessive appetites his small guests exhibited, but allowed Pippin to do as he requested with a raised eyebrow and an incline f his head. The hungry Hobbit rushed from the room and in his haste, almost collided with Gimli who was standing in the open doorway. He smiled an apology at the Dwarf and then continued on his errand.

“Good morning, Boromir,” said Gimli with a slight bow to the Man of Gondor, who looked very embarrassed as he suddenly realized he was clad in nothing but his torn nightshirt. Noting his discomfort, Elrond walked over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and selected an elegant maroon day robe, which he handed to Boromir.

“And to you, Gimli. I trust you are not also in need of a healer?” the Steward’s son asked politely as he dressed quickly and took the seat by the bed that Pippin had vacated in his rush to reach the kitchen.

“Only to introduce me to his smiths, as we had arranged,” replied Gimli with a slight incline of his head to acknowledge his guide.

“And I shall be pleased to do so, as soon as Peregrin returns to watch over Meriadoc,” Elrond said.

“I would be willing to take on that task for I wish to speak to these two further,” offered Boromir. For a reason he could not fathom, Elrond was at first reluctant to allow it, but when Merry eagerly agreed that Boromir would be excellent company, he chided himself for his suspicion.

“As you wish. Come Gimli, I believe the Mastersmith is planning to begin work on re-forging the ‘Sword that was Broken’ today,” said Elrond with a smile at the look of intrigued delight in the Dwarf’s eyes.

They had barely been gone but a few minutes when Pippin returned, his arms laden with a tray bearing enough breakfast for them all.

“Whatever possessed you two to practice with real weapons?” asked Boromir after they had eaten their fill, and barely a crumb was left.

“Is that not how it is done? I heard that Gimli and his father were practicing with their axes, and we thought we would do likewise with our swords,” explained Pippin.

“They are very experienced fighters, but such is not for ones like yourselves who, to my eye, have never really fought with a sword before,” said Boromir carefully choosing his words so as not to give insult.

“There is little call for the use of weapons in the Shire,” explained Merry attempting to sit up but deciding against it as he felt a wave of dizziness envelope him.

“Then how is it you are possession of swords?” asked Boromir. Pippin explained that they were in fact ancient knives that once belonged to the Men of Westernesse, and given to the Hobbits by Tom Bombadil.

“I would very much like to see them, if I may?” said Boromir. Pippin collected the knives from the chair by the door where he had placed then when they entered the healing chamber, and Boromir accepted them with the reverence he felt they were due. He carefully examined the magnificent knives that, had he not known otherwise, he would have sworn had been forged that very day, so shiny and untarnished were the blades. “They are both beautiful and deadly, but they also deserve to be wielded properly,” he said as he carefully re- sheathed them and then handed them back to Pippin.

“Perhaps you could teach us to do so?” asked Merry.

“Yes, would you Boromir? If we learn to fight and defend ourselves, we may be able to convince Master Elrond to allow us to accompany Frodo and Sam when they leave,” said Pippin who had obviously given the matter some thought, and surprised Boromir with his perceptiveness. The Steward’s son knew he would not allow such innocents to travel on such a mission, and he suspected neither would Elrond.

“Very well, it will certainly help pass the time, but understand that I can make no promise as to whether honing your skills will influence Elrond’s decision,” he warned them.

“We know, but it will not stop us from asking him,” declared Merry with a determination in his voice that made Boromir smile and he decided that he had already taken a great liking to these carefree and apparently very courageous Halflings.

The pattern of their days was set as they awaited the return of the scouting parties Elrond had sent out and Boromir spent several hours a day teaching sword skills to Merry and Pippin, and once or twice to Frodo and Sam, although the latter two always appeared disinterested. It was not so much disinterest on Frodo’s part, but distrust for the raw lust for the power of the ring he saw in Boromir’s eyes whenever the gold peered through the opening in Frodo’s shirt as he joined in the swordplay.

The evenings would find Boromir frequently joining Gimli in a few tankards of ale, and a quiet smoke of their pipes as they listened to the songs and the tales told in the Hall of Fire. Although he was often invited, Gimli declined offers to practice his weapons skills with Boromir, for as unwilling as he was admit it, he had developed a friendship with some of the Elven smiths. Most were veterans of the wars of ages past, and were well aware that should Sauron regain the ring, he would gladly wage war upon Rivendell.

Gimli was content to attend the forges, and occasionally help in the work as they turned their skills once more to the forging of weapons and armour. Their craftsmanship was exquisite, a fact Gimli could not deny, and he was surprised to learn that the Elves also found great beauty in the Dwarvish armour he made for himself.

“Perhaps this augers well for the Fellowship,” suggested Elrond as he and Gandalf watched Gimli explaining the finer points of his technique to the one of the Elves who specialized in making weaponry. There was no sign of unpleasantness between the two, just the camaraderie of those with a passion for finely produced piece of metalwork.

“I think you will find there will be a mellowing in the relationship between Legolas and Gimli as well, given time,” said Gandalf with an element of certainty.

“Do you speak of the future you see for them?” asked Elrond. Gandalf placed a friendly hand on the Elf’s shoulder and looked at him from under his bushy brows.

“I have not the gift of foresight as you well know, mellon nin, but I listen when Galadriel speaks,” he said with a wink.

                                                           *******

Meanwhile, the journey to Mirkwood was almost at an end. The party led by Legolas had traveled to the safety of Thranduil’s realm without incident, other than spotting the signs of a raiding band of Orcs that had passed their way weeks earlier. Although they scouted the area carefully, no foul creature was to be found. Legolas thought this slightly unusual and was convinced it was so when he heard Thranduil’s report

“The numbers of Orcs and wolves and other dark creatures is definitively increasing, for we more often find their abandoned encampments, especially to the north and east,” the King told his son.

Without saying another word, Legolas took Elrond’s letter from his travel pouch and handing it to his Adar. Thranduil read the missive slowly, and then poured himself a glass of wine before reading it again.

“This is grave news indeed! It seems Isildur’s Bane is set to haunt us all,” he said as he swallowed the last of his wine in one nervous gulp.

“And from Elrond’s council I learned of the threat the agents of the Dark Lord are making to King Dain and King Brand. It seems that it is no longer only our borders that are now under threat from spies,” Legolas said with a worried frown.

“No, and nor is it surprising.  Our neighbors in the north should be warned of the danger immediately,” said Thranduil.

“The dwarf, Glóin was in attendance at the council and I believe he left for Erebor not long after I deprted Rivendell, but I accepted his charge that a message is to be sent to King Brand,” said Legolas, suddenly uncertain as to how Thranduil would react to his son taking orders from a Dwarf.

“So Glóin was among those seeking Elrond’s advice? Things must be grim under the Lonely Mountain for such a prideful King as Dain be forced to seek help from an Elf,” Thranduil mused.

“Nonetheless, I will send word to Dale at once. Although past alliances no longer hold true, I sense that perhaps we here in the north may need to forge a new one in the coming days of darkness,” said Thranduil as he began writing the message. Legolas waited in silence until his Adar had finished the note, and then summonsed a messenger whom he warned to be both swift and careful. After the Elf was gone, Legolas gathered the courage to tell his own news.

“Adar, I do not know how to say this, but that is not all there is to hear,” he said, kneeling beside the chair where Thranduil sat, and taking a beloved hand in his.

“What is so troublesome to say?” asked the King, lovingly stroking the golden silk of his son’s hair in a gesture of reassurance.

“Elrond asked me to travel south with the Ring bearer, his companion… and Gimli, son of Glóin,” said Legolas breathing a sigh of relief at having at least said the words. Thranduil’s hand stiffened slightly on his son’s head, and Legolas felt a tremor run through his Adar’s fingers as he moved his hand to cup his son’s chin and lift his face so that their eyes met.

“Do not trust the Dwarf, for he is likely a treacherous creature,” counseled Thranduil.

“I am certain he thinks likewise of me, but I have agreed to tolerate his presence for the good of all,” Legolas told Thranduil who looked skeptical, but had a more pressing query.

“Why would you travel with the One Ring, into the very heart of Mordor?” he asked with a voice filled with pain.

“It was agreed by the council that destruction of the Ring was the only way to ensure the defeat of Sauron, and I believe it to be so,” Legolas replied simply.

“It is far too dangerous, I can not permit you to go,” Thranduil stated full of resolve.

“I am well past my majority and I have already given my word. Adar, I know it is a journey fraught with danger, but surely if it is not attempted, the danger is even greater still. Ever since I was but an elf child at your knee you have told me of the evil of Sauron, the courage of my grandsire, and those that followed him to the Halls of Mandos. Your tales spoke to me of the shadow that loomed ever larger as the spirit of the dark one grew because Isildur failed to destroy the ring when he had the chance. How can I not attempt to right that wrong?” Legolas entreated.

“My brave Legolas, the time of the Elves is fading. Do not be so eager to follow in Adar's footsteps,” said Thranduil sadly as he bent to kiss his son’s brow. “I have already lost so much; I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

“I do not wish to follow Oropher to the Halls of Mandos; I wish to avenge his death. Ai, we are fading, but I would leave Middle Earth free of the shadow, and if I must travel with Frodo to achieve that end, then so be it. Give me your blessing Adar, for I promise to return to you,” Legolas whispered. Thranduil stood and drew his son into his arms, and through the bond of father and son, gave him his blessing and his strength.

“Thank you, Adar. I love you,” said Legolas, kissing Thranduil’s cheek before stepping out of his embrace. Thranduil smiled though his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“I love you, too, my Legolas. Come, I have something to give you,” he said, taking his son’s hand as he led him through the throne room to the armory beyond.

“Your skill with the bow is legendary, but in a war such as I fear you are yet to face, a bow is not enough,” he said as he dusted off a large wooden box and reverently opened the lid. Legolas recognized the contents as the personal effects of his grandsire, all that remained of the King of Greenwood after the battle at Dagorlad. He watched in silence as Thranduil carefully lifted a long white knife from the cloth protecting it. It was simply yet elegantly carved, but the white handle was embossed with a delicate design of leaves, that shone with the glow of mithril.

“This belonged to Adar, and I give it to you, for it is your legacy. Use it well, and do not give your immortality to the sword or arrow of the enemy.”

Legolas accepted the weapon, and drew it from its sheath to test its feel in his hand. Although he was not a skilled swordsman, he instinctively knew how to wield the knife and Thranduil was impressed with the moves he displayed.

“I will wear this with pride and honor,” he said.

                                                     *********

Almost six weeks later, the first of the scouting parties arrived back, and to Elrond’s relief, the party of Elves from Mirkwood had returned. Indicating for Gandalf to accompany him, Elrond made haste to greet Legolas as he rode through the gate. The young Mirkwood Elf bowed his respects to both Elrond and Gandalf, and accepted the invitation to join Elrond in his study once he had refreshed himself after his long journey.

Several hours later, Legolas knocked on the study door.

“Enter!” called Elrond. “What news do you have to report, Legolas?’ he asked offering the younger Elf a glass of wine and a comfortable chair by the fire. The days had grown colder as winter approached, and even Elves appreciated the warmth of the hearth as the sun set and the air took on the chill of evening.

Legolas took a sip of the wine and savored the feel of the warmth of the liquid as it traveled through him and then began his report.

Chapter 4.  Hope for the Future.

Elrond listened in silence, nodding his head occasionally in agreement with some point or other as Legolas explained Thranduil's assessment of the situation both in Mirkwood, and along the borders near Erebor and Dale.

"I see my faith in Thranduil is well founded for indeed the defense of the lands to the north lies safely in his capable hands. The battle I fear is that yet to come will exact a great toll from his realm, but I have no doubt that the strength of Mirkwood’s King will see him prevail,” said Elrond confidently, smiling at the pride he sensed his words evoked in Legolas. “Your Adar proved himself to be a fearsome warrior, as well as a great leader when the need arose in the past, and you have every reason to be proud of him.”

“I have always been proud of him,” replied Legolas with heartfelt sincerity. “Adar has told me of many of your acts of courage during the Last Alliance, and I would that I could have seen you both as the warriors you were in those days. Would it surprise you to hear that he also holds your skills as a warrior in high regard?”

“Nay, for as you most likely will discover as you travel on the quest, there is a certain camaraderie and respect that develops between warriors, regardless of their personal viewpoints. Whilst Oropher and Gil-galad were soften in disagreement over strategies and leadership, they each respected the other as the magnificent and formidable warriors they both were,” said Elrond unable to hide the pain that he still felt at the loss of his King and friend. As the moment of silence lingered between the two, his eyes were drawn to the slow movement of the younger Elf’s fingers as they absently caressed the hilt of his knife.

"Is that not Oropher's knife?" asked Elrond, easily recognizing the white handled blade that had been wielded with such expertise by the King of Greenwood the Great, now that he took time to study it more closely.

"Ai, Adar tells me his sire was far more skilled with the knife than the bow," answered Legolas.

"And so he was. Oropher always made time to practice, often with Thranduil, in fact, and when he did many Elves, of both armies, would stand and watch. I remember thinking that he moved with such speed and precision that it appeared as if he and his blade were one. It was an impressive sight to see such deadly grace and elegance, and as highly skilled as Thranduil was at that time, he could never defeat your grandsire."   Elrond turned to look out over his valley as he recalled that time millennia ago. The past could not be undone, no matter how he much he wished it could, so he swiftly changed the subject back to the present.  Facing Legolas once more, he raised his eyebrow in query.

"I know of your skill as an archer, but how do you fare with the knife?"

"I am ‘politely’ considered a 'capable' swordsman by the captain of the Guard," answered Legolas with a wry grin, remembering the many bruises inflicted on his person with the wooden practice swords.

"But a far more talented archer?" surmised Elrond.

"Ai, but when Adar handed me the knife, it fit so well in my grip that I felt as if I had already the skill needed to wield it, " Legolas told his elder.

"It is an elvish blade, forged at a time when our light shone brightly. Do not question its power, simply accept it. However, I also caution you to not become over confident. Even with his extraordinary command of the weapon, Oropher was no match for the minions of the Dark Lord," Elrond said sadly.  “Since Thranduil gave you this heirloom, I assume you have told him of your plans, but you have yet to tell me what he had to say about your decision to join the Fellowship.”

“He understands all too well the need to destroy the One Ring, and once I explained my reasons, he gave me his full approval and support," Legolas told him.

                                                       *******

Aragorn had also returned from his scouting mission, and after many discussions with Gandalf and Elrond, the most favorable route for the journey south was finally mapped out. All there was left to do was for Elrond to name the last two Walkers. After much discussion, and a strong recommendation from Gandalf, he conceded that Merry and Pippin were also meant to go.

The news was happily received by all the Hobbits, but especially Merry and Pippin so after they left Elrond’s study, they sought out Boromir to thank him for his help. The Man of Gondor was surprised to hear that they would be part of the Fellowship, but he laughed heartily when Merry told him that Pippin had threatened to follow the Fellowship if Elrond did not name him as one of the Nine Walkers.

“So all your sword practice had little to do with the final decision, and it was your words that swayed him after all,” he said after they had told him their news.

“Well, it was not mentioned, but I am certain Mater Elrond knows how hard we have been practicing and what an excellent teacher you are,” answered Merry not wishing to hurt Boromir’s feelings.

“And we still have much to learn. We can have more lessons on the way south, if you are willing to continue as our tutor,” suggested Pippin with a hopeful smile.

“Aye, I would be pleased to do so. I would hate to see you unable to defend yourselves if we were attacked by Orcs or other foul creatures,” agreed Boromir.

“I think Frodo and Sam could also use a little practice,” said Aragorn as he approached the group. Merry and Pippin smiled at him, but Boromir’s dark look at the mention of Frodo caused Aragorn to frown with concern. The vague notion that the Man of Gondor was falling to the lure of the Ring quickly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as unworthy; the son of Denethor was known to be an honorable man. He blinked once to refocus his thoughts when he felt an incessant tugging at his sleeve.

“So when do we leave Strider… er…   I mean Aragorn…  what name do you wish us to call you by?” asked Pippin, slightly confused by the two names but suddenly eager to begin this new adventure.

“Call me by whatever name you choose, Pippin,” he replied, smiling warmly at the young Hobbit. “We are planning to leave in a few days, and it is regarding our journey that I have sought you out.  I have come to inform you that Gandalf wishes to call a meeting of the Nine Walkers, so that we may all become better acquainted.”

“That is a wise suggestion. When and where is this meeting to be held?” asked Boromir.

“After the evening meal. Elrond has allowed us the use of his study.”

                                               ********

Eight of the Nine Walkers had arrived at the appointed time, and were now waiting, some with more patience than others, for the ninth to arrive. Merry and Pippin were wandering around the room admiring the many ornaments and artifacts that adorned either the walls or the elegantly carved shelves attached to them. Frodo and Sam were fascinated by Elrond’s very large private book collection, and were carefully turning the pages of an ancient tome that lay open on a stand of its own.

Boromir and Gimli were more interested in the large glass case in the corner that was home to a suit of elvish armour. They did not need to ask to know that it was the very protection Elrond had worn at the battle he had spoken of at his council meeting. It was most impressive

“Anyone can see this book is very old, Mr. Frodo, do you not recognize the writing?” asked Sam.

“It looks to be a form of elvish, but I can not read any of the words,” Frodo replied in a whisper, as if to speak any louder would cause damage to the book.

“It is a history of the First Age, written in Quenya,” offered Aragorn.

“That is all very intriguing, I am sure, but what I would like to know is what is keeping that Woodland Elf! He should be here!” exclaimed Gimli, not in the least interested in elvish ancient history, and his emphasis on ‘Woodland’ sounding quite derogatory.

“If the members of this fellowship can not be civil towards each other in their speech or their actions, then there remains little hope for the success of the mission,” Gandalf said sternly, glaring at Gimli through eyes narrowed with disapproval.

“It is not civil to be late,” muttered Gimli as Legolas finally entered the room carrying a large object wrapped in a cloth with Dwarvish motifs embroidered on it.

“Please forgive me, Gandalf, my tardiness was not intentional. I was delayed by a messenger from Mirkwood,” said Legolas as he bowed with respect to the Istar.

“Not more Orc raids to report, I hope?” asked Aragorn with some concern. The elf shook his head.

“No, just some letters from Adar, for myself and Master Elrond and this,” he said lifting the bundle in his arms for all to see.

“What is that?” asked the ever-curious Pippin, as Legolas had placed it on the desk.

“It belongs to Gimli,” answered the Elf, as if that explained everything.

“What is it? Where did you get it?” asked the Dwarf, sounding affronted at having his personal belongings, whatever they were, delivered in such a manner.

“It is rather an interesting tale,” replied Legolas, his obliqueness beginning to annoy Gimli greatly.

“I am sure we all would like to hear it,” said Gandalf, indicating for the others to take a seat. If you would be so kind as to tell us, Legolas?”

“As you wish,” replied the Elf who had no desire to disobey the wizard. “As I said, the messenger, one of Adar’s guards, came from Mirkwood, and did indeed bring news and greetings to Elrond. He also brought that which you see on the desk, it is a gift for Gimli from his father. Glóin brought it to the Hall himself, according to the letter Adar wrote to me, and asked that be delivered to Gimli before his son left Rivendell. The messenger told me that there was utter silence in the throne room when Adar asked why the Elves should do this. Glóin replied that everyone knew we travel more swiftly than any other race, and he needed Gimli to receive this gift as soon a possible.”

“That must have been an interesting moment for Thranduil. At least this time Glóin had sense enough to explain his presence, rather than keep it to himself as Thorin did many years ago,” commented Gandalf with a small hint of amusement. 

“A surprise, most certainly, I venture to suggest,” added Aragorn, who also knew somewhat of the animosity between Mirkwood and Erebor. It was true that time had lessened the unfriendliness between the two realms, but it still existed, as Gimli and Legolas were only too willing to prove.

 “Open it Gimli, we are all dying of curiosity,” declared Merry. Gimli complied and carefully removed the heavy cloth, drawing a sharp breath of wonder as he revealed a battleaxe crafted with skills no longer remembered by the Dwarves. He lifted it reverently and moving to a safe distance from the others swung it in a graceful arc, testing the balance and the weight.

“Long have I desired to wield this axe, and I am not disappointed, for it is well suited to my hand,” he said to the others who were watching him with a mixture of awe and amusement. Gone was the gruff Dwarf, replaced by the strong, sturdy warrior.

‘That looks to be a very old weapon,” commented Boromir as Gimli lay it back down on the cloth.

“Aye, it is. It is not just any axe, but the one that had belonged to my forefather who was one of the few Dwarves who had also fought alongside the alliance of Men and Elves,” he explained with pride.

“As was my sword,” added Aragorn, clasping the hilt of the newly reformed Andúril.

“My knife also was used by my forefather in that war,” commented Legolas with equal pride.

His eyes shone with a hint of a smile, as, with a slight incline of his head, he acknowledged a comrade in arms. Gimli returned the acknowledgement in kind, and Gandalf almost sighed with relief to think that perhaps these two were ready to turn from the past and face the future.