Author's note: I am a fan of canon. That being said, many characters in Tolkien's world lend themselves to a much wider interpretation of canon than his more well-developed characters allow (ones who Tolkien himself admitted were created as an afterthought; Legolas, for example). I stick to canon as far as history-dates, events, and places-go, but in this story I take liberty with my OC, and seek to fill in the long gap between November and December that-besides some narrative about the hobbits and Gandalf-is lacking in the books. I hope you enjoy this three-part story about Elrond's selection of the Elvish representative for the Nine Walkers.

Disclaimer: Do not own.

To Make a Choice: Part 1

"Despair or folly?" said Gandalf. "It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not. It is wisdom to recognize necessity, when all other courses have been weighed, though as folly it may appear to those who cling to false hope. Well, let folly be our cloak, a veil before the eyes of the Enemy! For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts. Into his heart the thought will not enter that any will refuse it, that having the Ring we may seek to destroy it. If we seek this,we shall put him out of reckoning."

"At least for a while," said Elrond. "The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it. This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere."

-"The Council of Elrond," page 353, The Fellowship of the Ring (1982 Ballantine Books edition)

TA 3018, December 1

It was barely dawn, and the last stars had just faded out of the sky. Grey fog clung to the earth, slipping around the tree branches and grey carven walls of Imladris; it faded into humid transparency as the sun rose. Beneath a dark middle-aged oak, near a wall, sat an elf, which was not in itself at all unusual in Rivendell—it was the particular elf who made it so, for he was not from Imladris, and his face bore marked consternation for one reclining against a tree in a hidden valley, at dawn and alone, before the haven truly woke. The elf wore a simple blue-green tunic, the color of ancient lichen, and silvery-brown breeches, and his hair hung heavy and loose—unbraided—about his face.

The strange elf in question was Legolas Thranduillion of Mirkwood. Legolas' lower back was pressed against the bole of the oak, and he leaned forward at the hips with his knees pulled close to his body so his feet were tucked under them—criss-cross at the ankles—with his elbows rested on his splayed thighs. His hands dangled as he spun a short knife between his fingers—back and forth, in and out, back and forth, and its blade caught every so often on the light from the rising sun and sent streaks of silver dancing to the legs of the bench across from him. Legolas watched the blade absently, tossing it gently every few beats to keep himself paying attention, and eventually he sighed.

He would have much rather taken out his frustration and anxious energy with his knife on the training fields, but he had quit carrying it after a week in Imladris, and had not thought to bring a practice blade on his walk this morning. The Mirkwood delegation seemed to make the Noldor jumpy when they carried weapons on their person in the dining hall, or on walks about the grounds, or even just sitting—without a shred of animus—in the Hall of Fire, so Legolas and his friends had begun to leave them in their rooms, in cultural consideration to the elves of Imladris; it was apparently customary for Elrond's warriors to leave their weapons at the armory as soon as they entered his gates.

Legolas conceded to his commander on this partly because he had been given an order and would not disobey, but largely because, Legolas admitted, he had tired of suspicious glares and annoyed glances, and was not so skilled at hiding his emotions to stop himself glaring back at his Noldorin kin on more than one occasion. But Legolas could not entirely drop the habit of carrying a blade with him, especially if Ithildim expected him to let his guard down enough to act as a good representative of his father, so he had kept this tiny instrument tucked into his belt as if it were but a pocketknife.

Now, however, it seemed as though Legolas had been too good of a representative, for Lord Elrond had requested him stay on in Imladris for a time. He had not at all intended this with Mirkwood's army so thinly stretched and himself and Ithildim responsible for a division of the southern defensive batallion. He had written Commander Lostariel and the Elvenking at once when met with the request—which honestly felt like more of an order—and had hoped maybe Ithildim, Saida, and her two warriors might deliver it when they departed. However, once it became clear that they too would not be leaving so soon, Legolas sent the letter by hawk, and hoped the bird would have enough sense to fly above the treeline and thus avoid being eaten by an accursed spider. If his father did not get word of their location while they tarried in Rivendell, he would be furious, and Lostariel did not have any elves to spare to send out toward Rivendell in search of them.

After a week, Saida and the two young soldiers also left—summoned back by Lieutenant Amonhir in a missive that was not so polite—so now only Legolas and Ithildim lingered, Mithrandir having approached Ithildim one morning at breakfast, bidding him stay through the Fellowship's departure. As Mithrandir swept up to their table in the corner of the hall, Legolas dropped the apple he had just selected and, with a spoon of porridge halfway to his mouth, Ithildim froze. Legolas and Ithildim were unfazed by goblins on their doorstep or spiders that dropped from the trees onto their very heads, but of Mithrandir they had learned to be wary, and they did not argue with him anymore as a rule. So Ithildim nodded mutely as Legolas ducked beneath the table to seek his apple, and Mithrandir huffed, and said "Good."

A breeze ruffled the oak's dropped, leathery leaves, damp from the morning frost. Legolas flipped the knife up higher and it spun thrice before coming back down; he grabbed it at its base and then flicked it sideways, starting up his pattern again.

He, Ithildim, Saida and two of her novice warriors had first left for Imladris on October tenth; they arrived by the nineteenth. They were to deliver a message of failure—Legolas' failure, though Ithildim also tried to shoulder some of the blame. Mirkwood did not meddle anymore in the affairs of other elven or mortal lands, and so Legolas had only insisted on delivering the message himself to honor his father's respect for Mithrandir and his own duty to Aragorn, and Thranduil luckily agreed that Legolas alone—being largely responsible for the creature's escape and its guards' deaths—deserved to face Mithrandir or Elrond's ire. The company successfully recounted the events, though they had been asked to sit on it until Elrond held council on the twenty-fifth, to which only Legolas was invited.

And so while it was the general opinion of Mirkwood that their own problems with Sauron were great enough to excuse risking their involvement in the rest of Middle-earth's fight for freedom, Legolas himself was not necessarily of this isolationist view. But he and the army were so exhausted by the endless stream of horror that was now commonplace in their forest that he could not risk any energy to even think on anything else. Legolas had barely had the time or resources to coordinate searches for the creature in the summer months, and by August—when all trace of it seemed to disappear into thin air—his elves were resentful and bone-weary, in their bodies and their souls. He had failed them all fairly spectacularly.

And now it was the first of December, and still Legolas sat in the safety of Imladris, while he and Ithildim's fill-in captains led their unit without their leaders, all because Elrond would "have their counsel" (which he hadn't done yet). After the Council on the twenty-fifth of October, Elrond had sent out his sons and Aragorn and some other elves to the rangers in the North, and maybe even to Thranduil and his own folk, but even then, Elrond held them in Rivendell—did Elrond think that if he allowed the Mirkwood elves to leave, that they would not come back at all to help if summoned? Legolas did not know.

He quit flipping his blade and grasped its tiny handle between thumb and forefinger, sighting the base of a pussywillow deadened for the winter twelve or so meters down the path. He flicked the blade precisely and it spun tightly end over end until it embedded in the base of the bush with a thwacking sound.

Legolas stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, and let his back and head fall against the tree trunk ungracefully, with a second heavy sigh. He studied the emptied branches above him and closed his eyes. Being here in this utter calm—while every other realm of Middle-earth, including their own, crumbled around them—was exhausting. Legolas felt angry and ashamed and a little humiliated.

A few moments later there was a gentle displacement of air beside him before a warm body settled against his; Legolas did not need to open his eyes to know who it was.

"Ithildim," Legolas said, lifting a hand off his lap and patting Ithildim on the knee, feeling the relief in Ithildim's body as he relaxed into the tree and his shoulder touched comfortably against Legolas' own.

"Legolas," Ithildim replied, clapping Legolas on his thigh gently. "I do not think Elrond or his people would be happy to see you skewering their flora so early in the morning."

Legolas opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look sidelong at Ithildim, whose deep taupe hair was braided back tightly from the sides and fell onto a dark goldenrod tunic; Ithildim too wore silvery-brown leggings, but also a dangerously impish grin. At this movement of Legolas' head, his unsecured hair caught on the oak's bark and tangled in its deep grooves. Legolas leaned forward and scowled, trying to unstick it, but it only served to trouble the strands further.

"I did not skewer it, Ithildim. One skewers an orc in battle, or a hare to roast over the fire. I do not know that it is possible to skewer a bush with a blade shorter than one's own finger."

Ithildim exclaimed, "And this coming from a prince of the forest! Not possible to skewer a plant? Have you no respect for another lord's trees?"

"It is but a pussywillow bush; it is hardly large enough to skewer," Legolas replied, fingers mercilessly digging at a tangle; he tried to pull the bit of hair far enough around his head so that he could see the offending knot to deal with it, but he was not successful. "Still, I am sorry I hurt it."

Ithildim laughed. "I know you are, my friend. You must be very frustrated to have skewered it."

"I am," Legolas said, rolling his eyes at his own hair and dropping his hands to his lap with a small huff. "And now I shall spend the rest of my time amidst our cultured brethren with a bird's nest on the back of my head! It will be amusing for them."

Ithildim pushed at Legolas' shoulder with his hands. "Let me do it. You do look a bit like a wild little wood-elf yet; no braids in your hair and tucked underneath an oak with dirt on your knees, and bare feet. What a disgraceful sight."

Legolas laughed. Ithildim smiled and crawled onto his knees; he pushed Legolas away from the tree until he responded and shifted himself forward. Ithildim slipped into the space between Legolas and the base of the tree and spread his legs to either side of his friend, scooting close enough to see his task. Legolas sat again cross-legged but he kept his back very straight as Ithildim worked at the knot.

"This is why you should always leave your hair in braids, my friend."

"I know. It is unfair. If you get the knot out, will you braid it down? I can do yours if you wish."

Ithildim laughed, releasing the matted knot with a final twitch of his fingers. "Unlike you," he said, "I prepare myself completely for the day before I leave my room in the mornings. I do not need your help to remember to braid my own hair."

Legolas brought his elbow back sharply and knocked Ithildim in the ribs. "You are unkind."

"No worse than you!" he laughed, braiding Legolas' hair back with practiced fingers until all of it was woven tight to his head except for the tail of it. He finished the braid and held the end in one hand, holding his other hand out expectantly over Legolas' shoulder. "Haven't you a tie?"

"I lost it," Legolas shrugged.

"Dear Elbereth, Legolas, where is your mind today?" Ithildim asked.

Legolas handed Ithildim a lace from one sleeve of his tunic. Ithildim took it and wrapped the end of the braid, securing it tightly and tucking in the knot.

"In Mirkwood, Ithildim," said Legolas, undoing the other sleeve and rolling both of them up into cuffs on his forearms, so at least he matched. "My mind is on our borders, with our soldiers and our duty. We have been away for too long, in this time of war. Thank you for helping me to be presentable, Ithildim."

Legolas maneuvered on the grass to face Ithildim, who still had his legs out to the sides and now arranged leaves in a pattern in that wide gap in front of him. Legolas propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his chin into one hand, studying Ithildim.

"What would you have me do, Legolas? We have been told to stay by the Lord of this land, and our own king bid us obey."

Legolas sighed. "There is nothing you can do. I am just so used to you knowing the right decision to make after all these years."

Ithildim looked up sharply from the leaves he had been arranging from green to brown. His hands hovered over a coppery brown leaf in the middle as he met Legolas' gaze.

"When we are in a peaceful place," Ithildim said, "we must stop thinking so much like warriors, and relax. We could heal some here, if we allowed ourselves, and perhaps return home with more fortitude with which to protect our people."

Legolas looked thoughtful, but then said quietly, "I do not think I can relax here."

"And neither can I," agreed Ithildim. "I too am anxious to return to our elves. But you are bitter today, Legolas, and unlike yourself."

Legolas looked down at Ithildim's row of leaves and reached out to switch the order of two with lingering green hues. He continued to touch the leaves lightly as he spoke.

"I told you already—I am frustrated," Legolas began. "What does Lord Elrond want with us here? Yes, we are skilled warriors and leaders, and the Greenwood is dark now and we know much of the habits of the darkness, but we have been here for five weeks and have offered no one any advice at all, besides teaching that small hobbit Peregrin the most efficient way to climb a tree, and giving some lessons in bladework and song to the other halflings, none of which seem like a reason to keep us so long in Rivendell.

"I have read so much and drawn enough maps and troop diagrams that I think my eyes should fall out if I go to the library again! Though I am grateful for the access to such abundant lore and knowledge. And the trees here are so far apart that there is no point in even trying to learn their ways and how to travel between them, and they are so quiet in their speech, like maybe they have been asleep in this peace for a very long time.

"Furthermore," Legolas took a deep breath and continued, "I feel that here—in this moment of great decision—we cannot truly train, we cannot spar; to see battle, even mock, when they have not yet had it greatly afflict their people within a mortal lifetime, but know that it hurtles toward them? It upsets many who are met here. So we are going to forget how to be captains, and we have lost enough elven lives under our command without having to worry about forgetting how to use a bow!"

Legolas finally lifted his hands from the leaves—now in a perfect row, a perfect autumnal spectrum—and looked Ithildim full in the face. Ithildim returned his gaze, as always, providing a calm foil to Legolas' capricious expression.

"I am uncertain and confused. Ithildim!" he exclaimed, "I feel like a sitting duck or a caged animal here! We are not being very useful, to Imladris or to our wood. I would feel fine being here, were we to have answers. Any kind of answers at all."

Legolas' voice had dropped to a rasp by the end, and, in that moment, when Legolas finally stilled enough to keep his gaze latched on his friend's eyes, Ithildim saw Legolas' frustration there—he was worried for their soldiers and his father's kingdom, and his feelings were roiling like a thunderstorm bearing down from the mountains. Legolas was so unwaveringly loyal to his home and his peers; Ithildim would not dream of having anyone else as his second, on and off the field.

"I have my suspicions of the answer we will discover, and it both scares me and gives me hope for the fate of Middle-earth," Ithildim finally spoke. "Your words are true. Perhaps we can ask Mithrandir for some guidance."

Legolas seemed to come back to himself some at the mention of Mithrandir—he straightened his back and his whole bearing lightened. He laughed. "Last time I asked Mithrandir for guidance, he guided me right down a cliff and into a river where I broke my arm."

Ithildim too laughed merrily, "Ai! I had forgotten about that. But we are not always so unlucky with him."

At that moment a great, shallow shadow stetched over them and wrapped up the tree. The was a humph. "You are not always so unlucky with whom, little Moon?"

Legolas whipped his head around and Ithildim scrambled to his feet. "Good morning, Mithrandir," he said.

Mithrandir nodded, and reached out a hand to Legolas who was still on the ground. He pulled Legolas to his feet and then pressed a small blade into his hand.

"I believe this belongs to you. You ought not skewer small bushes, even in the winter."

"Nobody seems to know the definition of skewer," Legolas said, shaking his head with a mischeivous smile, eyes downcast. "Thank you for returning it to me, Mithrandir."

Mithrandir jerked his head toward the path near them. "Walk with me, Legolas, Ithildim." The two immediately fell into step on either side of the wizard, and he continued. "I have been listening to the two of you for a few minutes. I did not mean to eavesdrop, per se, but you were there already when I began my stroll, and I wanted to talk to you both, besides. But you do not sound like yourself today, Legolas, and that strikes me as odd. You do not usually carry such heavy resentment."

Legolas shrugged casually. "I usually do not feel such resentment. It is a sensation that I am loathe to learn to deal with."

Mithrandir smiled. "You both still command together, then?"

"Yes, sir," said Legolas and Ithildim at once, the direct question from an elder triggering their training and prompting them respond thusly.

"We do," said Ithildim.

"Ithildim is our head captain in the southern defense, and I am his second," Legolas clarified.

Mithrandir raised an eyebrow. "The southern defense against Dol Guldur?"

"Yes, sir," they said.

Mithrandir smiled again. "Fitting. You have both grown so since our first adventure together. Moonlight and greenleaves; a creature of the day and the night, illuminating one another—you compliment each other well. It would be a pity for you to be separated."

There was silence for a few seconds as Legolas and Ithildim both considered Mithrandir's words as they continued on the path. Legolas could feel but not see Ithildim's agitation on Mithrandir's other side. Legolas decided not to speak; he knew Ithildim was about to.

"Is that likely, Mithrandir?" asked Ithildim. "That we linger here in Imladris while our soldiers risk their lives, so that we might be sundered from one another or our duties in the end?"

Mithrandir stopped walking and put a hand on both Legolas and Ithildim's shoulders. "I lied a little bit earlier about the intentions of my morning stroll. Lord Elrond asked me fetch both of you. We require you in his study for a conversation."

"The counsel for which we have so long been held here, to supposedy provide?" asked Legolas.

"You shouldn't be uncouth, Legolas," Mithrandir said reproachfully. "Impertinence does not often suit you."

Legolas laughed lightly and grasped Mithrandir's arm. "I am sorry, old friend. I will try to be better."

Ithildim looked at Mithrandir warily. "We will come."

"Good," said Mithrandir. "The quicker we get to his office, the quicker I get breakfast, and I find the hobbits' enthusiasm for the meal so very amusing."

Mithrandir swept off again at a significant pace, and Legolas and Ithildim both started, taking a few bounds each to catch up with him, as they headed off to Elrond's study. Legolas realized, too late, that he still was not wearing any shoes.

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