Title: Footsteps to Rivendell 
Author: Ellwyn Phoenix 
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: jidai_rinoa@hotmail.com
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Chapter Four: Decision
"I have summoned you here to discuss the matter of the One Ring," Elrond’s voice was ringing 
out loud and clear. A strong sense of dread that no one could grasp permeated the air. "Frodo, 
the Ring."
The intimidated halfling slowly approached the center of the circle where stood a pillar of stone. 
And from his pocket he withdrew a small golden circle. Hesitatingly he placed it on the stone, and 
everyone seated around it felt a sudden simultaneous shiver. The feeling of power was immense.
Legolas stared at it, his jaw clenched, his fingers grasping the arms of his chair. He was tense, 
breath subdued and senses wary. Tearing his gaze away from the golden band, he looked 
around at the council and silently noticed that each of them was undergoing a similar reaction.
"…It is a gift," a murmur arose from across the circle. "Do you not see? It has been given to us, 
the power has been placed in the hands of the foes of Mordor!" The man Legolas had seen 
arriving before him the other day, the man of Gondor who bore the hunting horn, was standing 
now, hands beseeching those around him. "Long have my people defended the borders against 
the dark lord…"
"We cannot wield it!" another man retorted reproachfully. He stood and looked the speaker 
straight in the eye. 
"What say have you in these matters? You are but a mere ranger." The man’s voice was full of 
scorn.
Legolas felt a hot anger surge up. He knew the ‘mere ranger’ all too well now—Aragorn, heir of 
Isildur, the ranger known as Strider who had before visited Northern Mirkwood. Legolas knew the 
story, he knew the facts, and he knew the line of blood. The man from Gondor was not in his 
place. 
He stood and looked sternly at the man. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. 
Heir to the throne of Gondor. You owe him your allegiance." His voice came out proud and 
haughty, ringing clearly, much to his surprise, since the entirety of the previous night had been 
spent weeping himself hoarse. There was still a lingering pain in his chest but he ignored it now. 
There were more important matters to attend to. First and foremost, that little band of gold that 
stood in the center of the council. Such a small thing…
Yet he felt the power emanating from it. He could almost hear the foul tongue of Mordor echoing 
in his ears. Ash nazg timbalûk… He clenched his jaw fiercely and pushed the voices out of his 
mind with all his will.
"He is Aragorn? You must jest."
Aragorn hesitated and Legolas saw him push down an angry retort. Instead, he raised his hand 
and motioned for Legolas to sit.
Legolas sat, his eyes lingering on the Ring. There it sat, exuding the very core of evil. Placed in 
the hands of a frightened halfling. Such a thing would decide the course of the future, of the 
world. If the council did not choose wisely everything would crumble. And he was fretting over a 
maiden he had met when he was but a child? He felt the sudden urge to laugh at himself. 
But still, the pain he could not forget or push completely out of his mind. He could still hear the 
council speaking and he listened, but only from a distance. Their voices sounded faint. 
"Never come looking for me. Never speak to me." Erlyannil’s words echoed in his ears but with an 
effort he pushed them aside and brought his attention into focus. It was a pity he had finally 
gotten the chance to see her again in such troubled times. In fact, perhaps it would have been 
better had he not even seen her. He shouldn’t have searched the city last night. Legolas 
grimaced. His cheek below his right eye still stung, but only lightly. All the same, it was too distinct 
a reminder of the pain. The pain he felt. The pain he had undoubtedly caused her.
He saw it in her eyes. That wild look in her eyes, and he felt the fierce beating of her heart against 
his. Yet she only gave it for moments, and in the end it was her…practical side that prevailed. 
Practical? Yes, that was the right word. For Legolas had been the irrational one, thinking blindly 
that after so long a time she would still want to see him and awaken all the memories so long 
gone. 
"Then let us destroy it!" A dwarf suddenly rose from his seat and brandished his ax. It swung onto 
the metal band and suddenly Legolas felt a deafening surge of unmistakable evil around him. His 
ears were ringing as he looked down amidst the chaos and saw that the ax had been splintered 
into pieces. A mithril ax. And the small band lay untouched.
The full weight of the discussion suddenly bore down on him at that moment. Erlyannil was of no 
more importance than the preparation of the autumn festival next year. The council had seemed 
serious enough before, and Legolas subconsciously knew the reality of the power that was held 
in that ring. Yet, not until now had he felt fully the true forces around it. There was evil, and there 
was only one thing to do with it.
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft of which any of us possess here. 
It must be taken to the cracks of Mount Doom, where it was forged, and cast into the fires of 
Mordor. One of you must do this." Elrond looked around at the circle. Legolas glowered at the 
Ring as silence fell upon the council. A faint bird song could be heard somewhere far off and the 
silent sound of leaves falling upon to the ground of the forest.
"I do not understand all this," the man of Gondor suddenly spoke, "Why do you speak ever of 
hiding and destroying? Why should we not think that the Great Ring has come into our hands to 
serve us in the very hour of need?"
"The Ring was made by Sauron and remains for him alone. The very desire of it corrupts the 
heart. Even I will not wield it, Boromir."
 
"Nor will I," Gandalf said grimly.
Then who? The question was running through every person’s mind at the moment. And it 
continued to do so until the noon-bell rang in the distance. Still no one spoke. Legolas did not 
even think twice about answering. Neither Elrond nor Gandalf could wield it, and the power was 
so great that even while it was not in his possession, Legolas could feel it calling to him. He 
grasped the handles of his chair and pushed the black words out of his head. 
Suddenly, the small hobbit spoke out, quietly at first, but the his voice grew in courage. "I will take 
the Ring," he said, looking about at the circle with unmistakable fear in his eyes, "though…though 
I do not know the way."
Elrond looked up at the hobbit. "If I understand aright all that I have heard, I think that this task is 
appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will."
Legolas was amazed at the hobbit’s valor. Yet he knew he must do something…which he did not 
want to do…
"No matter where you may have to travel, Frodo, by my life I will protect you." Aragorn had stood 
and now he was kneeling in front of the small hobbit. "You have my sword."
Legolas shoved all hesitation aside and spoke. "And you have my bow." The dwarf said likewise 
as did the man of Gondor. But Legolas was not paying attention. For his decision rested heavily 
on his mind. There was no other choice—he had to go, to represent his people, and it was in his 
responsibility to see it through. And yet…
What if he was to be killed by the servants of Mordor? He had no fear of them, nor of death, but 
at this point there was nothing more that he wanted than to find her again. For what reason, 
though? Not to convince her that he loved her, or to persuade her to run away with him, marry 
him, or love him again--
But to apologize. For having thought she would love him still. For still having loved her and not 
being able to forget. For seeking her out the night before just to cause her more pain. For having 
come to the same place at the same time so that she was forced to see him again. 
Perhaps it was better, though, that he never saw her again. Perhaps fate meant it to be so. And 
then there would be nothing in his power to do. He would never see her again, most likely, and 
she would live happily forever with whoever it was she had met, with one faint memory of that 
miserable Elf who had remained faithful to her for his entire lifetime. Yes, there was nothing better 
he could do for her. If he truly loved her he would remove himself from her life completely by 
never letting himself have the chance of happening upon her for the rest of his life. So that she 
would be happy, so she wouldn’t have to live with the pain that he felt for the last one thousand 
seven hundred years and that he would most definitely feel for the remainder of his life. If she 
even felt that pain in the first place.
Legolas sighed and stared at the ground as Elrond bestowed upon the company he had just 
interjected himself into, the name of the Fellowship of Nine. This journey would be a long one, to 
put it mildly.
And I’ll never see her again. For you, Erlyannil. This is what I will do for you.
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A/N: I used a mixture of the Council scene from the movie and the book, though the majority of it 
is from the movie (not accurately…I don’t have that good of a memory). Just generally, of course, 
since you all don’t want to have to read through it again since you all know what happens. So 
sorry for inconsistencies or things I left out, but it was for the purpose of shortening it—it had to 
be included to show some of Legolas’ points of view on the circumstances. Otherwise the council 
is irrelevant. From here forth, the journey progresses as we all know it…I’ll just get to the 
interesting part now. :)
Chapter Five: Footsteps to Lothlórien
The soft sound of footfalls in the wild grass reached his ears. Somewhere far away he could hear 
wind whispering in trees. But ahead, no wind dared reach the still forest. He could see spears of 
light penetrating into the woods beyond the trees that fringed the border. Everything was silent, 
and still as if in a dream.
And it was a dream to Legolas. His hands were stained black with dirt and the blood of orcs. His 
tunic was spattered and worn, his quiver empty. After the long darkness of the mines there was 
nothing more he wanted than to escape into the open, and wander through the trees. But when 
Aragorn had proclaimed that they seek refuge in Lothlórien, Legolas’ heart stopped in his throat. 
He was running towards the golden woods now, the halflings struggling to keep up behind him, 
and Aragorn leading the way. There was nothing he could do to avoid going there.
The unspeakable terror he had felt at the creature of fire and shadow was more than he could 
handle. No creature of Mordor could make him shiver as much as he did then, nor the haunting 
spirits of mortals. The only thing he feared more than the Balrog was Sauron. But he did not fear 
Sauron himself—he feared what the dark lord was capable of doing to the beautiful lands he 
knew so well. That terror, and the too-recent grief at watching Mithrandir fall into darkness, 
hampered his mind. And yet the events of the previous month seemed almost irrelevant. 
He wanted more than anything now to rest in the shade and ethereal beauty of the woods before 
him. But there were things that already stirred in him, even before he had set foot inside Lórien.
He could nearly hear the laughter of the Elves in the heart of the forest. He could nearly see the 
silver light cascading onto staircases, archways, groves, he could nearly feel the clear water 
running over his hands. 
And he could hear her ringing laughter chorusing in with the others, he could see the silver light 
illuminating her features, making her dark eyes light up. He could feel her waist and her hand like 
that night he had danced with her, he could feel her body pressed against his as he kissed her.
But then he could also feel the poignant sting in his cheek. And see the pain wrought on her face, 
the tears making rivers down her cheeks.
If only there was some way I could avoid that place. 
But she might not be there, he told himself. She lives in Rivendell, no doubt happily married to 
that elf, whoever he is.
All the same, there was too much pain in that place. Legolas was afraid that the second he saw 
the city, he would break down and weep. He wondered what the dwarf would think of him then. 
He nearly chuckled at himself despite the pain welling up in his chest as they neared the forest.
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A chill wind blew up the valley and endless rustling of leaves could be heard. "Lothlórien… Alas 
that it is winter…" Legolas murmured under his breath. In the night the trees stood tall, arching 
over the road, forming a gold-grey shadow. 
Soon they happened upon a stream that swirled into the waters of the Silverlode. Legolas knew 
the stream meant that they were soon approaching the city of the Elves, and his heart lay beating 
in his throat. "Nimrodel…so many songs in its mellow waters…the voice of Nimrodel." He began 
humming under his breath as the company followed him and waded through the stream. 
An Elven-maid there was of old, 
a shining star by day…
As they continued onward Legolas let his eyes drink in every bit of the forest. The wind no longer 
coursed through these woods as it had so many years before in torment. Now, the wood was 
peaceful in its age. Leaves crunched under his feet and he couldn’t help but feel that that was his 
heart being crushed under his footsteps. 
Beside the falls of Nimrodel, 
by water clear and cool, 
her voice as falling silver fell into the shining pool…
Where she wanders none can tell,
in sunlight or in shade… 
They finally chanced upon a cluster of trees with thick, grey trunks. Legolas looked up then 
looked to the others. "I will climb up," he said, "I am at home among the trees. Those these are 
like none I have seen before…save in song, they are called mellyrn."
"Whatever it may be," Pippin spoke up, "they will be marvelous trees if they can offer any rest at 
all. Maybe the birds—I can’t sleep on a perch!"
"Then dig a hole in the ground." Legolas smiled albeit bitterly and jumped lithely to catch a branch 
above his head. 
But just as he did so, a voice spoke sharply above him. "Daro!" it exclaimed. Legolas dropped 
back to the earth in astonishment. The hobbits looked up in wonder and fear. Legolas whispered 
hastily, "Do not move or speak!" 
"Who are they?"
"They’re Elves," Sam replied matter-of-factly, "can’t you hear their voices?"
Legolas’ breath quickened and he grew wary as the elves began dropping from the branches 
above and surrounded them. The elves immediately aimed bow and arrow at them, and within a 
few moments they were completely encircled by the elven archers.
The dark made it increasingly difficult to see, but Legolas could discern that there were nearly 
twelve elves in all.
Suddenly one of the elves caught his attention. It was so dark that he could not see the features 
of the elf, but Legolas continued to peer at the elf. The elf was standing at his right side, and his 
arrow was aimed at his head. Legolas forced himself to look away.
"Haldir of Lórien," Aragorn spoke up suddenly, "we are in need of rest and sanctuary. Please, we 
come without threat."
An elf Legolas did not recognize stepped forward and nodded to the others to lower their bows.
Legolas turned again to face the elf at his side. A stream of moonlight had managed to penetrate 
through the dense rooftop of leaves and silver light fell on the ground nearby. In the dim light, 
Legolas could finally perceive some of his features. But it wasn’t a he, Legolas quickly 
discovered. The dark green and black tunic, the elf shoes and the black leggings served as a 
disguise and under the cover of dark she could be mistaken easily for a male archer. But he was 
very certain that it was a she.
His stomach tightened and he stopped breathing suddenly. Unless he was mistaken…
The maiden was, she could be…
No, it wasn’t her.
Wait. He peered at her again and saw the tenseness in her stance. She had not lowered her bow 
yet. It was now pointed at his chest. Legolas saw the trembling in her arm, the forced composure. 
It was.
Her eyes met his, but only fleetingly. He could be mistaken, after all. It was very dark. But all the 
same, inwardly his mind was shouting that she was standing right next to him. After all he had 
gone through, to avoid her, after he had vowed to stay away from her for his entire life…
But he didn’t want to, and he knew it. For the entire journey, though most of the time the present 
danger was all her could concentrate on, as they trudged through valleys or over mountains 
Legolas’ thoughts had turned to her. And what he had decided to leave behind. There was 
nothing else to say but that he regretted his decision. Now, it seemed to him that he was getting 
another chance. Perhaps fate was intent on not allowing him to fulfill his decision.
He looked back up, and she looked away at the other members of the Fellowship. Legolas 
noticed the slight faltering in her stance.
He kept his face expressionless and refused to look at her. The Elf Haldir motioned for them to 
follow him and the remaining elves flanked them on the sides and rear. Legolas took his spot at 
the end of his companions. She was walking directly behind him.
He felt unbearably stiff, unable to focus on anything. If someone were to ask him where he was 
going at the time he would have replied with a meaningless mutter.
She was walking at his side and a little behind. Legolas finally brought up the courage to whisper, 
"Lyann," under his breath so that only she could hear. She did not turn or look up, just kept 
staring at the ground before them. "I’m sorry." His voice sounded far away to him. Legolas kept 
his head down.
She still wasn’t replying. So he sucked up the pain welling in his chest and forced himself to walk 
silently. Her all too conspicuous presence at his side, though, was unnerving. 
Finally, after what seemed like eternity, they reached the city of the elves. Legolas looked up at 
the silver light cascading onto the eaves of trees and staircases, his breath caught at the familiar 
scenery. It brought back so many memories. 
The other elves flanking them began to disperse. Legolas’ wanted to cry out when she too 
followed suit without a backward glance. She was calm. Too calm, too composed. Now he knew 
she had already noticed him, but was trying as hard as she could not to. 
Aragorn was ascending a long winding staircase around the base of a tree. Legolas watched the 
uncertain hobbits follow, saw the heart-wrenchingly weary expressions on thei faces. He realized 
he must look the same, though less so. Even if he was an elf, at this moment he felt no more 
resilient than the other members of the Fellowship. He sighed.
Haldir led them up the stairs to an ethereally lighted platform where Galadriel and Celeborn were 
standing. Legolas bowed with the others and then stood. 
The Lady’s eyes scanned over the party, pausing on each member, and when they reached him, 
Legolas detected a change in her _expression. She seemed almost sad in anticipation. Anxious. 
Galadriel, nevertheless, nodded faintly at him to show her recognition. Legolas’ face was devoid 
of _expression, contrary to the raging turmoil within. He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes.
 
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Disclaimer: Some excerpts were taken from The Fellowship of the Ring. This being a work of 
fanfiction, I never intended any infringement on J.R.R. Tolkien, Tolkien Enterprises, or the Saul 
Zaentz Co., or whatever else I’m missing… 
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