Notes: This follows movie canon, but I've tried to avoid egregious deviations from book canon.
Thanks to Jessica for spot-checking Elvish accuracy for me.
Thanks to Lanning for pointing out the subtleties of book canon ("trolls aren't a race") and wrangling over wording.
Thanks for the fabulous, intense beta by elynross.
Any errors still in this are in spite of their best efforts.

Thanks also to linbot for this amazing, delightful cover! Check out linbot's legolas images.

Disclaimer: The characters and places herein belong to JRR Tolkien's estate and its licensees. I make no money from this.
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I am meddling. Meddling unasked, and likely unwanted, in affairs of which I know little except that they could prove terrible for the mighty. And therefore, more terrible yet for me. Yet I would follow the same path again, simply because I am Legolas. It is a matter of the heart, my heart and those of others. I could no more restrain myself than an oak could stay green through the winter.

I was in Rivendell, a guest in Elrond's house, and an emissary from Mirkwood. I was there when Lady Arwen brought the Hobbit to her father, and brought news of the other Hobbits left by the road in her flight from the Black Riders. Three Hobbits, guided by a Ranger. In the open hall, Arwen did not speak Aragorn's name. I do not know her reasons, but it was probably wise.

I saw them straggle into Rivendell, accompanied by the scouts sent to lead and aid them. I was far away, on the heights, but I could see them well enough to smile. Elrond's scouts were staying largely upwind of the weary Man, although not the Hobbits. Their scent must be less offensive. That was likely enough -- short of orcs and other dark creatures, Men are the dirtiest and most pungent of races, even more so than Dwarves.

Then my eyes told me more about the Ranger -- the way he walked, the carriage of his head. . . my heart lifted, and I rushed down to greet him with a glad cry. Aragorn, the heir to the throne of Gondor, and my friend.

He was filthy, and stank of old sweat and old blood and even old fear, although I knew that his fear was never for himself. I clasped him in my arms and gave him glad welcome to Rivendell. He smiled and greeted me fair.

In the hall, Lady Arwen waited on the dais. Her father was still working to save the wounded Hobbit -- Frodo, his name was -- so in Elrond's place, she welcomed the travelers to Rivendell, and bid them rest and recover in peace.

Perhaps she was bold with her father out of the room, or perhaps because my heart was so open, I simply saw what I had missed before. Aragorn looked up at her as though she was the evening star, with a joy and humility that I had never seen in his eyes before, no, not even when he spoke with me about his lineage and his hopes.

And Lady Arwen. She smiled on Aragorn when she welcomed him. . . . Her heart was in her eyes, and her heart held the same contents as mine.

I stood stunned. The moment passed quickly enough, none of the Rivendell household seemed to have noticed although Elves are seldom blind. Perhaps it was beyond their imagination, that she could love a Man. Never since the time of Luthien Tinuviel and Beren had such a thing happened.

In some confusion, I withdrew.

Her father, I discovered over the next week, was not so blind. Their affection displeased him, and he discouraged any chance for the two to speak privately. And yet. . . and yet, he did not forbid their meeting.

One morning, I took a small boat onto the stream that poured into the lake. I watched the birds over the lake, but when I turned to guide the boat upstream, I spied them. They were speaking alone together, far upstream, on a bridge.

They were lovely together. If ever a Man were fit for an Elven Lady, then Aragorn was. And I knew that Arwen's heart was high and brave enough even to equal his. I looked on them, and knew they were matched.

It was a sore blow, and could have led me to bitterness at my lot had not some greater power intervened. I looked through the trees to the house, and saw Lord Elrond. I could tell the moment he spied the two of them, and I watched while he dispatched an aide, no doubt with a message for Lady Arwen.

I did not think. I merely acted, pushing my boat to the nearer shore and running to intercept the aide. I knew him of old, and hailed him loudly as he came through the trees. Because I was his lord's guest, he could do no less than stop to return the greeting. Yet he would not stay to chat although I tried to engage him.

When I inquired as to his task, he confided that Arwen was summoned by her father.

Greatly daring, I answered, "Lady Arwen? I have just seen her."

"Where?"

"I just came ashore. I was looking toward the South, watching the birds across the lake." Every word was true, and every word misleading. He thanked me, and shifted his steps to take him towards the southern shore of the lake. I watched him go, with what I fear was a foolish smile on my face.

I had meddled thoughtlessly, and I continued to meddle, standing guard on the path to give the lovers a few more moments of privacy. I felt an unexpected protectiveness towards Lady Arwen joining my worship of Aragorn. Although I am an Elf of Mirkwood, sharing no blood with Arwen nor even sharing race with Aragorn, from that moment, they became family to me. I would protect them, and never speak of what I knew.

I never spoke of it, but some needed no telling. When, at long last, Aragorn strode up the path, he clasped my shoulder and said, "Thank you, my friend."

I bowed my head. He did not say why he thanked me. I did not need to ask.

END