The Council was finished; the decision of the Fellowship decided. Elrond breathed a sigh of relief. For a Half-Elf, choices were constant and difficult – his human blood hampered him to a certain extent. There were mighty and august Elf-lords in the Council – Glorfindel being one of the greatest. That was why Elrond held back his sons and bade the swift-footed Elf to find the Ringbearer quickly, for he sensed a great evil approaching the idyllic Rivendell.
        He had chosen two men, Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Boromir, son of King Denethor. The Ringbearer and his Halfling companions, including the inquisitive and rustic Samwise, were representative of their kind. Gandalf the Grey already chose to be part of the Fellowship, for he alone possessed enough knowledge to take them towards the heart of all darkness in Middle-Earth. Gimli, the Dwarf, son of Gloin, was to represent his kind. As for the Elves, Legolas, son of Thranduil, was his representative.
        After merrymaking and Elvish songs, some of the more aloof of his kind left for their chambers. Glorfindel lingered for a while, then left to tend to his horse, which was winded after the near escape from the hands of the Ringwraiths. The Halflings departed for their own quarters, talking about their adventures with Bilbo, Frodo’s uncle. Shortly after, Elrond noticed the Dwarves’ restlessness and bade them take leave to their chambers if they wished, for the Council was over. They soon followed his advice.
        Before long, Elrond found himself alone in the council hall. But he felt one more presence lingering – one that was Elvish and young, exuding the childlike nature of the Elves at the same moment when they reach maturity.
        “Legolas, son of Thranduil, you may step forward.”
        The fair-faced Elf came out of the shadows. Elrond noticed the younger Elf’s expression; it seemed like confusion and weariness settled on innocence and marred its purity. The prince of Mirkwood carried with him an aura of barely palpable exhaustion and bewilderment. The Elven prince then spoke, his fleeting voice courteous.
        “I offer my thanks, my lord. The kingdom of my father is nothing when compared to the loveliness of Rivendell.”
        “You stayed behind, when all of your kind have left. What purpose or answer do you seek, young prince?”
        Legolas drew in his breath and Elrond noticed the nervousness in the prince’s clear eyes. “I was chosen as one of the Nine Walkers, part of this Fellowship. But my lord, I’m naught but my father’s son and a Wood-Elf at best. I can only offer my arrows during times of strife. Unlike the great Elf-lords who wield power since their birth, I am but a faint echo of that time. Why did you choose me instead of one of the lords?”
        It was of no surprise to Elrond that Legolas Greenleaf was worried about such matters. Even with Elvish blood running through his veins, the younger Elf standing before him was but one of the Sindarin lineage. It was the Noldors, the High Elves, who held the innate power, like Glorfindel. To the prince, such an oversight was costly. He was but a slight compared to the majesty of authorities older and more experienced than he; could not Elrond the Half-Elven see that?
        “Your worries are merited and I have answers to calm your mind, although I cannot see why Thranduil’s son is so shaken by a choice meant for great honor.”
        “Sometimes, my lord, honor is bought only with danger and sacrifice. I have a home to return to and a father to be with. I came only as my father’s messenger, bringing the black news of Gollum’s escape. I willed not that I should be chosen as one to follow the Ringbearer.”
        “You are chosen and with purpose.” Elrond said, glancing up at the resolute youngster before him. Thranduil’s son was in need of a seat should this private council take a while. “Sit down, my good prince. You are not a page or a servant. And as I have much to answer you with and you carry the questions, this will take some time.”
        With grace born of an innate nature, Legolas settled himself into one of the council seats, whereas he had previously sat before. But now, he was no longer a messenger, but one of Company unknown to him. There was something ethereal even in that aura of tension, and it was a gift given to Elves upon their creation. The young Sindarin had it now with him, and Elrond was pleased by the fact that the young prince remained calm despite his fears or doubts. But now was not the time to ponder how different Noldor and Sindar Elves were, for the piercingly clear eyes of the youth across from him spake to him and Elrond leaned forward, interlocking slender fingers.
        “One of the reasons for which you were chosen is because you are young. Some of these Elves have already lived in Middle-Earth past the prime of their lives, and now long only for the Gray Havens. We need someone of young blood, with fierce courage, and the ability to surmount difficulties with a creative mind. You fit that.”
        “Alas, but the Elf-lords are mightier and the Enemy fears them. They have experience beyond my few years and know more about the world than I have since I was born during the Second Age. Mature minds will defeat foes, not a mind still developing and learning from mistakes past.”
        Elrond sighed. “What errors have you committed, Legolas, son of Thranduil?”
        The youth leaned forward, his fair face cast downwards in harrowing thought. “My father sent me as the messenger bearing ill news not just for any purpose, but as a test of responsibility. For it was I, who failed to heed the signs of Gollum’s escape.”
        “You held the command over the Elven watch?”
        “My second brother and I.”
        “So why did you alone go on this travel over fair and wretched land?” The second son was obviously not punished by law of the king; this was unlike the reign of other Elven domains. Elrond sought to uncover the mind of his old friend through the keenness of the youngest son.
        “Whips do fall on the weak and my father gave my brother half a chance more than my brother deserved. It was I who was given the task, although not without some joy when I arrived at Rivendell. The beauty of this place gives me heart.” Legolas raised his head, revealing a countenance filled with light; formerly, it was cast over with some shadows. It gave the young prince something of an atmosphere like that of a newly bloomed elanor. “But I have another question to ask. Why not someone who holds some opposition against Sauron’s dark minions? Why not Glorfindel in my place?”
        “You are young and vitality is needed for the quest. That is the answer to your first question. As for the second, sending someone as powerful as Glorfindel will lead you all into danger. Gandalf’s presence is already perilous enough, even without the aid of an Elf-lord. You would be inconspicuous, without that presence to alert enemies and summon forth greater danger. Your quiver of arrows and your swift hands on the bow are sufficient against Mordor’s lesser evils. Unless you fear the darkness of the Enemy, I would highly commend you on staying within the Nine. An Elf is needed to represent us, and you are my choice, for I am doing a favour to the child I saw after the Great Alliance. You have grown much and gained much knowledge and wisdom.”
        “So I offer more aid than an Elf-lord,” Legolas said aloud, his eyes amused. “I see that my father has a wise friend indeed.”
        “Your father is wise as well.”
        “Not when he is enjoying the wine, my lord. It does something to his wisdom and turns it dark and sluggish.”
        Elrond laughed then, as he had not laughed in many years since his wife departed for the Gray Havens. “Ah, the son speaks true! Your father has a honest and courteous son, so I found.”
        “My father will want me back in two days’ time, but you will have to give the news to him. I do want to go back, go back to the forest of Mirkwood, to be amongst the trees and to be part of that merriment and severity that has befallen our dominion. My elder brothers will demand news, but they shall receive none from me, but from Rivendell’s messengers. So it has come to my decision – I will go and represent our free race. Although I dread being with the Dwarf, the offspring of one that my father unjustly imprisoned when I was in my adolescence.”
        “You will offer him better comfort than a high Elf-lord.”
        Legolas laughed. “Hopefully, that will be the case. Although if the Dwarf does not offer nuisance, I will learn to get alone with his ways. He might offer me comfort with that axe if one of my arrows miss its aim.”
        “You are confident, then, in your abilities?”
        “Yes. Although my father prefers me to be alone, one of the children of Mirkwood.”
        “If you stay alone, you will die in Mordor’s wrath.”
        “All too true, my lord. So I will go. Much thanks, my lord.” As the Elf stood and left the hall, Elrond glanced at the seat in which the Elven prince sat. There was a shaft of sunlight beaming from a open window across the hall, bathing the seat in radiant glory. The prince was blessed and he would triumph, Elrond was sure.
        “May the hope of the Elves be behind you.”
        The Half-Elf smiled.