13. In Thranduil’s Halls (Legolas)
He ran lightly through the branches and they, old friends all, welcomed him back with soft rustlings. He had known Fangorn and the song of sleep he sang stilled their voices to rest once more. Landing lightly on his balcony, the familiar trappings of the room with rock-hewn walls tugged him inside. He turned his back to their embrace and moved to his accustomed place looking out over Greenwood in the sun.
Trees rolled away to the unshadowed south and birds called a welcome to the wandering son returned at last. Gripping the wrought stone ledge, his hands felt the stone both rough and smooth under his fingers. Startled, he looked down. He did not remember the feel of grit that chafed at his fingers. Dancing lightly, his hands found the shape of themselves. A child of this age, he was not old as the Eldar counted old. Trees grew and died but the rock of Arda should endure. Yet his hands' touch had worn down the very stone of the mountain. Could anything to hold him here? The sea called. The flame of Aragorn and the rock of Gimli held him fast. He would stay awhile for friendship.
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