An early sunrise warmed the forest floor the next morning, the first of the autumn leaves just beginning to weave their carpet underfoot. The trees were just beginning to trade their vibrant greens for the rich golds and reds that occasionally floated from above, riding down on small tufts of air like feathers. The air was still warm, though nothing compared to the salty breezes of Minis Tirith or open fields of Rohan.

Legolas enjoyed travel. Now back, he could come to terms with the knowledge that there wasn’t much he had missed of home –not surprising, since when younger, his goals and hobbies had consisted of anything to get him away from the slightly-raised eyebrow of his stern father, who constantly found fault with anything he did. He had been overjoyed to be selected for such a quest, and felt no regret that the war had dragged on quite as long as it had. Yes, what had originally sounded like a two-month stint quickly turned into nine months, but it had been life-changing. Life-saving. Every dream that Legolas had ever dreamed come true.

He hadn’t regretted it. No, he had loved every minute of it, he assured the once-familiar branches staring down at him with disdain. The near-death experiences, the glory, the decisions, the danger. It was just the adventure Legolas had been looking for. It was the life he wanted, that of the hunter. Not the lord’s son. Not the bored forest elf. Not even the sheltered guard. He had been happier riding with Aragorn and Gimli than he had possibly ever been in his life.

No, he didn’t regret being gone so long. It was selfish, perhaps, but it would have been selfish of his family had he stayed. Ah, his family . . . but Thranduil had forgiven and forgotten. Perhaps, if asked, Thranduil would go so far as to say it had been his idea for Legolas to go. His son had hesitated but he had encouraged him. And Eleina . . .

Eleina was as lovely as she had ever been. Lovelier, it was possible. She wore sorrow well, like a crown of teardrops encircling her dainty face. Legolas had decided this the night before at the feast, subtly watching her and taking note of the loneliness she clearly felt. She seemed to only be growing sadder with the years. Frodo had once explained Hobbits put small candles on their birthday cakes, one candle for each year. Perhaps Mithrandir could conjure some special type of candle for Eleina’s birthday cake that would have small teardrops instead of small flames. It would be appropriate, if not slightly morbid. But he didn’t mean it to be morbid, this idea that she carried sorrow well. Her face was beautiful when she felt alone, unobserved, unminded. Her lips pouted but her eyes remained elegant.

But then what was Legolas thinking? Eleina, this strange, grey lady was his wife. The word felt strange to say, probably from lack of use. He couldn’t see himself –or herself, for that matter– pulling the word off the shelf and blowing away the dust any time soon, though.

It had been unfair to her for him to go. That much he could confess, and he could see in hindsight flecks of truth in his father’s arguments for not wanting him to go. He and Eleina had been married less than a year. It had been most unfair to leave her, a lonely new bride caged in his grumpy father’s halls of stone. But then it would have been unfair to himself had he not gone. He was young and male and had an eternity before him to be married! But –Valar willing– the war would only happen once.

“Ah, thinkin’ deep thoughts, Master Elf?” came the growled interruption.

Legolas tore his eyes away from the treetops to instead smile back into his stout friend’s face, “I fear my home is trying to wring an apology from me.”

“And is one comin’?”

“Only a few drops,” Legolas shook his head. “Did you– but then, your father was at the council. He only supported you, yes?”

“My father? Oh, my father supported me all right. Supported me enough to warn he’d disown me if I got myself killed,” Gimli bellowed, shaking his head at the memory. It was perhaps the kindest thing his father had ever said to him. Dwarves were, after all, quite stoic about many emotions, unlike the namby pamby elves who all seemed to be mourning something at any given time. “Did your father not want you goin’?”

“No. He told me not to come back.”

“Ah.” Gimli momentarily froze, unsure of what to say. Legolas hadn’t talked about his father much during their time together, and just as rarely about the bride he had left in Mirkwood. From what Gimli could gather, however, there was little love lost between father and son, and little love to name between husband and wife. “Well, he seems to have had a change of heart. Welcomed you right back, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And your wife– well, what did she think about you goin’?”

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but no words came forth. He racked his brain for what Eleina’s reaction had been. There had never been a fight, but he had never asked her outright for her permission. In truth, he hadn’t any idea what she thought about her husband going off in their first year.

“She didn’t let you know clear as day what she thought?” Gimli guessed. With a roar of laughter, he insisted, “You’re a lucky one, Legolas, you know that? If I could find a dwarven woman, now, who didn’t tell me what she was thinking and then launch into what I should be thinking . . . then maybe I’d be considering marriage myself.”

“I wonder if she’s angry with me,” Legolas mused. Their reunion had been less than warm. Removed, sorrowful, quiet –words he used to describe a woman he didn’t know. He shook his head; such matters were unnecessary to muse over at this point. What was done had been done; a good wife wouldn’t hold it against him. Putting his hand kindly on Gimli’s shoulder, he encouraged, “Come, let us see together how much of my father’s halls have changed in my absence.”

“Bah, fine. But you should have brought her something from the Glittering Caves Something glittery, you know? Let her know you were thinking about her. Even if you weren’t,” Gimli suggested. He was partially joking, of course, but his observations were spot on. Painfully spot on. But he seemed unaware of the ponderous gaze that seized Legolas’ face for one fleeting moment. Quickly the grin returned, and Legolas led the way back underground.