Humans.

I've never really understood the creatures. They're so...different. So odd.

And yet somehow, despite my secluded life, I always seem to run into them. To end up—

Oh, who am I? I suppose I ought to introduce myself, oughtn't I?

I am Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Lasgalen, Greenwood the Great. Oh wait, mortals call it Mirkwood now, don't they? Not that it matters. Those who call it so do not understand that there is still hope for it to return to it's former beauty. And those who wish to see the beauty will see it.

Ah, well. Where was I?

Oh, yes! Those bewildering humans.

They do not care an bit about cleanliness, for their establishments—they call them cities, though, save Minas Tirith, they hardly compare to the cities of the Eldar—are terribly filthy.

How do I know? I live near one.

Esgaroth, or Laketown, is a human city which—well, I suppose her name is rather self explanatory. It is built on many wooden bridges which stand over the lake between here and Erebor.

My people have trade with them, and I have at times entered the city, on errands of my Father, and errands of my own, some of which I will describe later.

However, whether I understand humans or not, there are times that I seem to get stuck with them. Over the two-thousand summers of my life, I have met many humans. And, as Atar says, I seem to have an 'odd habit' of befriending the confusing creatures.

It all began some time back, nigh on forty summers ago in the town of Esgaroth, ere it was destroyed by the fall of Smaug the Golden....