The wind blew cold and the sky grew dark on the fateful eve that would change the destiny of so many. Gandalf the White stood and stared across the landscape of the forest of Mirkwood, waiting for any sign of the young, and he used that term loosely, elfin prince. The Green Leaf, he was called, Legolas in their language. The one who had tasted adventure, and much like Bilbo Baggins and his nephew Frodo, wanted… perhaps needed more.
        The sound of his steps fell upon deaf ears as he walked up the tree- built castle that the prince had chosen to return to. Or perhaps chosen had not been the word. He had sought refuge there after Gimli The Dwarf perished at the hands of Sauron. The death of a close friend had driven the elf to near madness; he had struck out against the Fellowship he had pledged his life to, almost causing the death of the young Hobbit, Samwise Gamgee. Even now, he was shunned, his bow and knife taken so he could do no other, or himself, any danger.
        Gandalf did not honestly believe that such treatment was needed, but his lips were still… trouble was carried on the East wind.
        “Well, well, well… the Rebels are returning to the Elvin lands… I do hope it is not in harms way they pass…” There was a rustle of leaves and Gandalf smiled. “There is no use hiding from your sharp ears, Legolas Greenleaf; you find out even the surest footed creatures.” Gandalf turned as the tall, golden-haired elf stepped out from the tree behind him.
        “But your footfalls I have waited and longed to hear, good wizard. They bring hope to an elf who has none.” Legolas’s deep Green- Brown eyes looked skywards, the night stars glimmering in his eyes. “I have grown weary of this world, Gandalf. I wish to leave soon.”
        “To the sea, master elf? To drown away your sorrows and regret? Leave that to the wine! Talk not of such things. Change is on the wind…” And he puffed a long breath into his wooden pipe. Legolas studied the old wizard’s features for some time before speaking.
        “They think I am mad. They did not approve of the fellowship in the first place, let alone my friendship with master…” He trailed off, looking away. ‘I cannot speak of it, the grief is still too near.” Gandalf laid a hand on Legolas’s once proud shoulders.
        “I have talked to them, Legolas, they do not hold anything against you. They want you to be happy.” Again, Gandalf’s sight thither-ed to the forest beyond Mirkwood. Now Legolas’s keen eyes followed.
        “Naroul, no… it cannot be… Thieves? In this wood?” He looked to Gandalf who smiled.
        “You may find these thieves to be to your liking.” He smiled wanly. “One may steal something very dear to you, and heavily guarded. You though will steal that same thing of her.” The clear confusion on Legolas’s face almost caused Gandalf to laugh outright.
        “Must you always speak in riddles, master wizard?” Gandalf only chuckled into his pipe.
        “Riddles, my dear friend, are what you enjoy solving the most.”