Lindir stayed with Legolas all that night, even when the Elven prince grew weary and decided to head inside, seemingly oblivious to the other Elves. For Legolas, the news of his brothers’ delay smote him to the center of his heart. Did fate play tricks with innocents just to watch them suffer? Heading back into the great hall, he gazed steadily at all of his kinsmen, as if challenging them to deride him. Some of them stared back and some looked away, ill at ease. Others ignored him and a few newcomers smiled, welcoming him into their circle. Tired and distressed, Legolas joined them. Lindir sat down next to him, gripping his shoulder as if to reassure him.
        “You seem new here,” said one of the Elves, crossing his arms and leaning back against his chair. “Lindir, who is this youngster?” The Elf had dark hair and grey eyes – a Sindar Elf, similar to Legolas. And yet, Legolas wondered at the other Elf’s appearance, for the prince himself did not bear the darker traits of his kind. He was like his mother, who had fair hair and pale skin. The only trait he knew that was common amongst Elves was their eyes, bright and wide with wonder and light.
        He did not know if he still held that trait, for much had befallen him.
        “He is lord Thranduil’s son and also a member of the Fellowship. You may have heard of his lordship, my fellow Elf. He is the one named Legolas, youngest of his family.”
        The Elf gazed hard at him, and then drew his face back. “Lord Thranduil’s son, you say? He bears his mother’s looks, yes. As for his father, I do not doubt that he has some of the lord’s pride and stubbornness, although I cannot see it now. He is very anguished, Lindir. There is no light in his eyes and his face bears a sad countenance.”
        “His brothers were supposed to come ere this night, my friend. But they have not arrived and this is the reason for his silence and hurt. Legolas, why do you not speak to them? They have received you with open arms, unlike some in this hall.”
        At this, the great hall grew silent, nearly becoming like that of a tomb. Legolas glanced around, noticing that some of his kindred glared coldly at Lindir, as if taking his words as an affront. Lindir sat there quietly, bearing their harsh looks; Legolas looked back, feeling a small flame of fury burning within his breast. The Elf had protected him, shielding him from every cruel word and every condemning expression; could he not do the same? Slowly, as if his body refused to obey his mind, he stood and faced his people. These Elves were his elders, older in years and in experience. And yet, they were prejudiced and unforgiving, unwilling to readmit a scathed member of their race. Were these really his kindred or did they only say that with a twisted tongue?
        “I may not be one of you,” he said, reading their expressions as he spoke, “but I am still one of your people, Sindar or Noldo. It is unfair of you to judge me because I have returned bearing wounds of the Enemy; yet, you persist in your ill beliefs, believing me to be spoiled and unfair. While I will not call that a falsehood, I do take offense at your silence, for it is uncalled for. And now you condemn one of your own, an Elf from Imladris, from lord Elrond’s house. You have known Lindir for a longer time than I. And you still believe yourself guiltless?”
        “If we choose to judge him, it is our concern. Although you are the son of a king, young Legolas, you do not hold wisdom above us. You are still a child compared to us, and youths must listen and obey the adults. That is the way it is, young Elf and it would do you good to keep your tongue still.”
        Legolas fixed his sight upon the speaking Elf. A Noldo, one higher in power and authority; doubtlessly an Elf-lord similar to Glorfindel. But Glorfindel was gentler with his speech and understood better the ways of the heart. This elder did not, and his strictness marred his fair visage. “I do not believe in that, with your pardon. Why should years account for wisdom? Cannot a youth learn his own ways of knowledge, following his own paths? And why should I learn and obey words from elders who cannot bring themselves to speak to an escaped captive?”
        “I will not bandy words with a defiant youth, least of all you, Thranduil’s son!”
        Opposition forced its hand against him, and Legolas stepped back, feeling himself giving way within. Some of his anger faded, only to be replaced by fear and that same coldness that chilled him earlier in the day. Behind him, he heard Lindir whispering beneath his breath. The Elf-lord strode towards him, taller and stronger. Legolas held his ground, standing firm as the Elf approached and finally halted in front of him. There was anger in those eyes, and as the Elf stared down at him, Legolas felt his resolution wavering.
        “I will not hear such words from you again, do you understand? We have the right to hold our prejudices, and you do not have the right to meddle with it. Lindir deserved his chastisement, for he knows us well. Do you not, Lindir?”
        Legolas could hear Lindir’s voice faltering. “Yes, but I do not see why you persist in this ill manner.”
        “Legolas may be a prince, and Thranduil’s son but he is younger than you even, Lindir. As such, he is outspoken and foolish, seeking solace from all.”
        “I seek nothing but understanding,” said Legolas softly, hearing an edge of anger in his voice. “And that is something that I am astonished to find lacking, even from great Elf-lords who should know something about sorrow and torment. Or is it that because in your greatness, you have never experienced it? If so, you should not speak to me as such. If you happened to find yourself in my plight, I cannot bear to think of the cruelty you would endure.”
        “You speak self-righteously, young prince and it does not suit you well. Where has your hurt silence gone? Now you dare to speak to us like this; you have mettle in your weakness. And yet, it is your flaw.”
        “As it is yours, my fellow Elf.”
        The Elf-lord glared at him with cold eyes. Ere Lindir could move or Legolas could have foreseen it, a sharp pain ripped at the side of his mouth and the Elven prince staggered back. Stunned, Legolas brought the back of his hand towards his lip, which was torn. Blood had been shed; he had been backhanded. A sign of contempt and utter refusal to listen to his words. Lindir quickly stood and came next to him, holding him by the shoulders and glowering at the Elf who slapped him. Legolas heard the Elves behind him rising to their feet and the one that he spoke to stepped forward.
        “That was foolish of you! You took it upon yourself to hit a prince!”
        “An upstart needs discipline. That is what I gave him,” replied the Elf-lord coolly, as if unperturbed by the sudden anger against him. “If a father does not teach his son to speak fairly, it must be taught to him.”
        “That is not your right!”
        “Indeed, it is not your right,” said a new voice, one as authoritative and calm as the lord Elrond’s own. “You have struck an ill blow towards the son of a king, my friend. Do you find yourself in the right?” Glorfindel advanced forward, until he stood across from the other Elf-lord. “Legolas is my friend, even if he is scathed and changed. It is only those who cannot accept marred fairness that would speak as you do. Those were cruel and proud words – it will not be easily forgotten. If I were you, my friend, I would depart this hall, ere I come to judgment.”
        “Glorfindel!”
        “You have heard me. Leave this hall and do not come back till we have left.”
        Legolas gazed at Glorfindel in amazement as he commanded the other Elf-lord to leave. The Noldo, enraged and humiliated, strode out of the hall with swift strides. As if disturbed by the events that had happened, the rest of the Elves left, save for those standing next to Legolas. Legolas lowered his eyes in respect as Glorfindel approached, for this was an Elf-lord that spoke truly and righteously. He was yet another friend in Rivendell; there were not many of them. The Elf-lord laughed, and Legolas raised his eyes, curious as to Glorfindel’s amusement.
        “There is no need for reverence, Legolas Greenleaf.”
        “Glorfindel, you came at an opportune time. ‘Tis unfortunate you saw his wrath.”
        “I heard your words, for I lingered long outside the hall. You have suffered here in Imladris? That is ill, for it bears witness against the hospitality of Elrond’s house. Forgive my fellow kindred for their faults – they know not what they speak of.”
        Legolas gazed at Glorfindel, knowing what he said next bore heavily upon the Elf-lord’s mind. “You need no forgiveness, for you have delivered me from difficulty. As for the others, they do not understand. They were wroth at Lindir for defending me, and I in turn could not leave him vulnerable against his own people.”
        “And yet you left yourself vulnerable. You bleed, my young prince.”
        “Sometimes sacrifices are needed to save others, Glorfindel. That is what I believe.”
        “Truly Thranduil’s son. You carry his strength, will, and virtue before wine and riches stole his mind from him. I do not see the same for you, for you will bear them all until the end. A tower of defense even in weakness. Lindir, you defended him? That is commendable, then.”
        Lindir nodded. “I did and it brought much trouble. I stayed with Legolas, for his grief over his brothers was severe.”
        “You need not worry, Legolas. I have ridden the road but a few hours ago and I found them. They are safe and even now, they wait in your quarters. They did not meet your father on the road; how that is so, I do not know. There seems to be no cause for their delay, although they refused to give me a reason. Your eldest brother insisted that I bring you to meet them. Will you accompany me there? Lindir, my friend, will you as well?”
        “Surely,” replied Lindir, releasing Legolas. “We shall all visit your brothers, Legolas!”
        Legolas smiled, relief overtaking his distress. For the moment, exhaustion fell from him and he wiped blood from his mouth. The Elf-lord had struck him hard in his anger; not even his own father used his hand against him. A backhand, a gesture of disrespect and lowering one to servitude. He was no servant or page; he was his father’s son. Rubbing the dried crimson off his fingers, he glanced from Glorfindel to Lindir. “I will follow you, Glorfindel, albeit I know where my chambers lie. Lindir, my friend, come. It is cold in this hall, even with the flames. Let us leave all harsh words behind and see what my brothers have to say to us.”

        The bivouac rested in silence, aware of where they were headed. Aragorn glanced at the sky but without flames, there was nothing but darkness. Exhaustion overtook him and he strode wearily towards Gandalf and Gimli, who were still awake. The wizard puffed at his pipe; however, during this time of great alertness, he did not blow smoke rings. Gimli whetted his axe, grumbling under his breath in the language of his people. Amused by the Dwarf’s attitude, Aragorn sat down next to him.
        “My friend, what troubles you so?”
        “It is an ill night, can you not see, Aragorn? While the others rest, I am preparing myself for war. There will be Orc-heads to hew and my blade must be sharp!”
        Aragorn smiled. “Never was your blade dull, Gimli. Indeed, you have provided us with more than enough aid during battle. Your people are stout and stubborn, and to underestimate such a race is foolish!”
        “Aye, indeed. Now that Gandalf has convinced King Théoden to lead the Riders of Rohan and the Men of the Mark to war against the forces of Isengard, I shall prove my mettle enough!” Gimli fell silent, as if pondering a thought. His hand slowed at sharpening the blade, Aragorn noticed. “If Legolas were here, we could contest each other. But he is not here, and it is lonely without his presence.”
        “So you feel that as well, friend? Perhaps it is like that for Gandalf, too.”
        “Perhaps, but I do not know. How Legolas is faring, we do not even know. Bitter is our stand!”
        It was understandable, Aragorn admitted. Without Legolas by their side, there was no bantering between the Elf and the Dwarf to brighten their dim prospects. Although, how easily the prince would be able to lighten a dismal mood without prolonging or deepening his own was a question that the Ranger found no answer for. He could only wish Legolas safety and joy in Rivendell, for Elrond his foster father knew how to treat his guests. There were also other Elves there; perhaps Legolas could seek companionship from them.
        “Yes, and if he were riding his mount, I would sit next to him!”
        “You will become a rider yet, Gimli,” stated Aragorn without amusement. “Poor Arod still follows us, for he will not leave Shadowfax. I wonder how it is for a horse to know his rider is absent, away because of turmoil.”
        “As Arod would not leave Shadowfax, I shall not abandon Legolas. May he join us soon, for we have much need of his aid!” So saying, Gimli turned back to his axe, whetting the edge with stone. Aragorn looked at him, troubled for the Dwarf and for the Elf. Their times were dark, yet being amongst friends lessened some of the shadows. Legolas was alone, away from them. He wondered if the Elf sorely missed them, as much as the rest of them did.
        “I also hope for that, Gimli. May he be safe.”

        “Legolas! So you have come!” Nimthôn embraced him with enthusiasm, and then stepped back to look at him. Both of his elder brothers had raven hair and grey eyes, like that of true Sindarin origin. Legolas still wondered why he looked the way he did, almost Noldorian in appearance. But he did not have time to ponder, for his brother spoke eagerly and with glad words. “We have heard ill tidings of your return, but you seem well. It will take a while for your tresses to grow back, albeit it does not take away from who you are. Glorfindel, you were swift in your errand! Is the road safe?”
        “As safe as it could be, Nimthôn son of Thranduil. I often ride on it, for it is in my blood to be vigilant.”
        Legolas glimpsed a smile on his brother’s face as he saw Lindir. “Ah! So this is your friend, my younger brother? Has he been keeping you company ere we came?”
        “Yes, Nimthôn. Lindir, come and speak to my brother.”
        Lindir stepped forward, swiftly and without hesitation. “So this is your second brother? Where is your eldest brother, Legolas?”
        “I do not know, and my heart troubles me.”
        “I am here,” said Mornereg as he strode out from the balcony. “I am his eldest brother, Elf of Imladris. Glorfindel, I ask for a private moment with my brothers. Legolas, tell your friend to leave us be.” There was an air of command in his carriage and his stride, and Legolas found himself already distanced from his brother. Mornereg scorned Lindir, as he could see and this did not forebode well with the Elven prince.
        Turning on him, Legolas spoke out. “Mornereg! You are in lord Elrond’s house!”
        “And I am your eldest brother, Legolas. Lord Elrond’s house or not, I will not have others listening in on our private discussions! Glorfindel, will you leave us be? Be sure to take Lindir out with you.”
        “Mornereg!”
        Glorfindel nodded, advancing and grasping Lindir’s arm. The Elf protested, struggling a little. “Come, Lindir. We cannot disturb Thranduil’s sons. Let us leave them to their talk. Although, Mornereg, choose a fairer tongue unless you wish a quarrel. Nimthôn, we are gracious for your greeting. Farewell for a while, Legolas.”
        “Farewell then, Glorfindel and Lindir.”
        As the other two Elves departed, Legolas whirled around, furious. “Mornereg, that was ungracious of you! If you want to speak, do so without commanding my friends like your subjects. Did you forget that Glorfindel is an Elf-lord? And I will not have you speaking so lowly to Lindir!”
        “My youngest brother, they are but Elves of Rivendell. I care not for them, although I did note Glorfindel’s status. As for your friend, he is but one of many in lord Elrond’s house – not someone that I should care for.”
        “Mornereg!”
        At that moment, when tensions were drawn thin, Nimthôn entered their discussion, closing their circle. His second brother was always the peacemaker, constantly attempting to quiet them both. Oft times, his attempts were in vain, for Mornereg despised him and Legolas in turn mistrusted his brother. Now, they had yet again irritated each other – one with his callousness; the other with his insistence. It was a desperate struggle in which Nimthôn stepped into. “That was uncouth of you, Mornereg. Legolas, do not pay any heed to him. Why can we not just talk of pleasantries, instead of leaping at each other’s throats?”
        “Yes,” said Mornereg, his voice seemingly benevolent. Legolas, though, sensed an undercurrent of resentment and scorn flowing through that smooth trickery. “Why not? My youngest brother, our father left for Imladris due to your return. I surmise correctly, do I not?”
        The Elven prince kept his silence.
        “Keep your tongue still, then. Our father came, leaving us to guard his throne. Not long after he arrived at lord Elrond’s house, he sent us a message to come swiftly to Rivendell. Now why was that? Lord Elrond told us that you returned wounded, undoubtedly by Orcs. He healed you, and here you are, standing before us. But I have my doubts, brother. How did you allow yourself to become captive and why is your hair shorn?”
        “Mornereg, cease this!” Nimthôn cried out angrily.
        “Those are pointless questions asked by meddling fools, Mornereg,” said Legolas; barely able to keep his own voice calm, so enraged was he. “If you should want to know, ask lord Elrond. Do not attempt to condescend to me, for I can read your expressions and your words by experience! Tell me one thing then, brother of mine: was your delay in any way influenced by my return? Do not lie, for I have no patience for your wiles.”
        Mornereg smiled, like that of a serpent and upon that fair face, it seemed a dreadful thing. “You are sharp, my brother. Our delay was due to a quarrel. Yes, it was over your return and should it be for anything else?” The Elf turned away from his brothers and strode calmly over towards the corner of the room.
        “For my defense of you, he nearly wounded me.”
        “Nimthôn, is that true? I do not wish blood split over a senseless argument.”
        “T’was not senseless, youngest brother. Why should we welcome you back like before, ere you left for this quest with the Fellowship? You have gained much anger – which I see. Perhaps your foes instilled in you a bit of their savagery, for your own words are wild and wroth, full of self-importance and hatred.”
        At this, Legolas strode over to Mornereg; his mind seethed with rage and he clenched his teeth as if to bite back his retort. This, though, proved worthless. “Self-importance and hatred? That belongs to you and not to anyone else! You have hated me since I was young, barely a child in those years! And now you still detest me – your own kin and blood? Tell me – why does your hatred burn so violently?”
        “You allowed our fair mother to perish! Does that answer your question, youngest brother?”