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For the love of Eru, Legolas could not begin to describe why he was so anxious. It was not as if he were facing his father, about to confess to having loosed spiders in the wine cellars. Being a prince was no crime, but for some reason he felt as though it were at this moment. Maybe it was more the fact that he had purposefully kept the fact concealed from Strider. Legolas had never had compunctions about letting mortals only know what information suited his purposes. This was different. Strider was not only his host, but rapidly approaching something close to what Legolas would call a friend.

Strider for his part did not as much as pause. Gesturing to a seat by the hearth, he waited for Legolas to sit before doing so himself. "Of course, Legolas. What is it?" Seeming to sense that a confession of some gravity was about to be forthcoming, the man spoke no more, allowing the elf to gather his thoughts.

Sitting stock still and ramrod straight, Legolas felt himself slipping into the formal tone he presented whenever faced with an uncomfortable situation. While Thranduil tended to use an icy, dangerous smile as a warning to offending parties that he disliked the present interaction, his son became perfectly expressionless. One of the royal guards, Tanwë, had once remarked that if the prince should ever be under interrogation, those doing the asking would have better luck getting information out of a rock.

This was not an interrogation though. With a deep breath that rose and felled his shoulders markedly, Legolas began.

"There is something about myself that I had not yet shared with you. You have been generous to me, since my arrival, and I can no longer in good conscience keep you ignorant of it." Strider's remained silent, bidding the elf continue without need of words. "I admit that I have been enjoying some degree of anonymity, here among your folk. It helps to calm the mind, and has in some measure freed me from that which I came here seeking to leave behind."

"And that is?" Strider spoke in a low tone, his grey-blue eyes watching Legolas.

"Myself."

For some reason, the answer got to the present moment ahead of its speaker. It was true though. Insomuch as Legolas had told himself that he needed time away from grief, Tauriel's fresh and Thranduil's hundreds of years old, it was actually his own identity that he had been hoping to forget. He had seen himself hardening like clay in a mold into Thranduil's image, and in light of that now understood why Tauriel had been unable to return his feelings. Legolas couldn't imagine his spirit was very appealing, constrained as it was by the lingering loss of his mother which Thranduil could never properly put to rest. Her death had hardened the king, embittered his heart, and in the process began to do the same to his son. Legolas liked to hope he was not near as imprisoned behind his own eyes as his father was. Nonetheless, that day on RavenHill his heart had told him that he must either flee now, or be forever unable to grow and heal. He only could pray to the Valar that Thranduil would find his own path to change...and renewal.

Continuing, Legolas felt his mask of self-defense crack; just the slightest of hairline fractures about the edges. It was a start though.

"I told you that my name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and in that I spoke the truth, but only part of it. Properly, I am called Legolas son of Thranduil, who presides as lord and king of that realm." Spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement and helplessness, Legolas met Strider's gaze. "I have forgiveness to ask; it was not my intention that I should be keeping information from you as chieftain of this village."

Strider sat in thought for a long moment, watching Legolas with an unreadable expression as he stroked his index and thumb along the stubble of his chin. Standing, he went to the hearth...and tossed another log onto the fire.

"Would it surprise you, Son of Thranduil, if I told you that I recognized you by your name the very first time you introduced yourself?" When Legolas's head jerked in astonishment, the Dunedain held up a hand to forestall comment. "Legolas, son of Thranduil, son of Oropher, who first departed from Doriath with a host of followers to take up residence among the Silvan folk of the Greenwood." A sudden wry smile twitched at the corner of Strider's mouth. "I have been educated at great length regarding the history of the Eldar, as well as their current politics and houses of note. My tutor saw to it that every last name was committed to memory." He chuckled, clearly evoking an old memory.

"...Then why did you not say as much when first we met?" Legolas was confounded. It seemed his revelation was not much of a revelation after all, and he wasn't sure whether this relieved or annoyed him.

Sitting back down once again, Strider leaned forward to balance his elbows on his knees. "Because you did not make a mention of your rank, and so I decided to allow you to set the tone of your presence here. Given the lack of royal escort or heraldry of any sort, I gathered that you were not here officially representing the Woodland Realm. We live simply in this village, Legolas, and titles perhaps mean less in the wild than they do in the wider world."

This had been an entirely anticlimactic conversation. Reminding himself to drag the Peredhil twins out into the woods and give them a piece of his mind, Legolas attempted a smile. "You are not angry then, that I was not entirely forthcoming from the first?"

Strider laughed then, a rolling, comfortable sound that filled the room. "Angry? Of course not, my good elf! We all have our secrets, kept for reasons that are sound for each set of personal circumstances."

"If I might ask you a question then?" Strider paused, but nodded. "Why do Elrond's sons call you 'Hope' in our tongue?"

Whatever question Strider had been expecting, Legolas seemed not to have asked it, and the man's shoulders relaxed. "Now that is a very good story, if you have a moment to sit and listen to it?" When Legolas nodded encouragingly, Strider cleared his throat. "It was actually a name given to me by my mother, when I was a very small boy. Elladan and Elrohir have been traveling north to visit our people since before I was born. When my father died, they brought my mother and I to Rivendell to live under the roof of Lord Elrond. I was fostered there in the Hidden Valley, hence some of my more peculiar habits." At this statement Strider winked at Legolas. No doubt he had seen Legolas taking notice of his elvish style of greeting.

"Ahh..." Legolas smiled slightly. "That does explain much. But, if I may ask, why is it that Elladan and Elrohir felt you and your mother should be brought under Lord Elrond's protection?" Gesturing out the window, he looked at Strider questioningly. "I grant that these are harsh lands, full of orcs at the best of times, but mothers seem to be bringing their children up quite effectively in this village."

Strider opened his mouth to speak when a sudden shriek from outside brought both man and elf bolting up out of their chairs. Whatever else might make one different from another, Legolas and Strider were both warriors by nature. Instinctively they went for their weapons first before rushing out of the door into the winter afternoon.

Beringil, who had been patching his roof earlier when Legolas passed by, hung from the apex of his roof by his fingertips. The morning frost had left the thatch slippery, and from the looks of things the man had slipped while working on the highest point. It was a good fifteen foot drop to the hard ground below; not far enough to be mortally dangerous but certainly enough to break a leg or an ankle.

The shriek had come from a woman who stood below where Beringil dangled, most likely his wife. A number of people had already come rushing out of their homes, and already many were dashing about looking for a suitably large blanket to try to catch the man in.

Even from a distance though, Legolas could see that Beringil wasn't going to be able to hang on for more than another few moments. A vein at the side of his face bulged from the effort of trying to grip the chilly wood beneath the thatch. Another few inches of fingertip, and one of Strider's best rangers would fall.

An idea sprang to mind, and immediately Legolas drew his bow and loaded an arrow to the string. Gasps went up as the elf appeared to take aim directly at Beringil.

"What are you doing?!" Shouted Daernon, waving his thickly muscled arms like a distressed pelican. The man fancied himself a storyteller, 'so let him talk rather than act' Legolas thought before shooting.

The arrow flew straight and true, lodging itself in the crossbeam of the roof directly above Beringil. Not a moment too soon; the ranger immediately caught the purpose of it and grabbed a hold with his right hand. The thin shaft quivered, but Legolas knew the quality of Greenwood arrows well enough to trust it would not break for at least a few minutes more. Another arrow hissed through the air to strike the wood directly beside the next, providing Beringil with two semi-solid handholds until the folk on the ground could get their wits together.

Nerwen emerged from her home with an enormous quilt rolled up over one shoulder. "Come on, help me get this unrolled!" Directing men and women alike around her with the efficiency of a commanding officer, Nerwen positioned them underneath where Beringil dangled.

"Hold it up high, as high as you can get it!" she ordered, making room for Beringil's wife to grab onto one side of the quilt. "Give him room to fall a bit more once he hits it."

"You sure this will hold?" asked Andris, nervously eyeing the seams between the quilt patches.

Nerwen gave him a withering look. "My mother's sewing is strong enough to make ships' sails out of, and don't you forget it!" Looking up to Beringil, she shook escaped strands of dark hair out of her eyes and called out. "Aright, are you ready up there?"

"Not as ready as you'd better be!" Came the anxious shout down, its gruffness barely hiding nervousness.

Strider, who had already made his way over to take a corner of the quilt, spoke in a loud but calm voice. "We're ready for you Beringil. Let go and you'll have both feet firm on the ground in a heartbeat."

Elladan and Elrohir appeared on the opposite side of the houses, their identical faces turned upward to watch the unfolding scene intently. Seeing Beringil's reticence to let go of the arrow-handholds, Elrohir put his hands to his mouth and let out a hoot.

"Come on now old man! I saw Raelin's seven year old son scampering along a roof easily that high just last summer. Get your wits together and let go!"

No words of encouragement could have prompted Beringil to release his grip on the arrows and drop faster than Elrohir's goading did. The fall was a very short one, and he hit the quilt with a muffled 'thwump'. Just as Nerwen had said, they could not keep the quilt and its load from dropping another foot or so after impact. It was far enough up to begin with though that by the time Beringil touched the ground, it was because he was being lowered by dozens of relieved hands.

He was up and running before anyone could even offer him a hand up.

"Old man?! That's rich, coming from a relic like yourself Elrohir Peredhil!"

The dark-haired elf in question was already off like a shot, his feet flying as he bolted toward a fence and vaulted over it. Beringil chased him to the fence before contenting himself with picking up a handful of cold, damp earth and slinging it after Elrohir. Elladan for his part was too busy laughing to even consider helping his twin.

After the tension of the previous moments, a rush of laughter traveled through those assembled like a cleansing tide. Many slapped Beringil on the back when he returned to their midst, and he thanked each one of them heartily. Strider clasped the man's wrist as well, after extracting a promise from Beringil that he would watch his footing on wet thatching from now on.

When Beringil reached Legolas, he appraised the elf for a moment before sticking out his hand. "I owe you thanks as well, Legolas. Those arrows of yours made a bloody better thing to hold onto than that roof!"

It was the first time the older ranger had properly called Legolas by name. With a nod of acknowledgment, Legolas took the offered handshake. "Think nothing of it, Beringil." He said, purposely using the man's name in reciprocation.

Turning and pointing, Beringil spoke loudly to all present. "What do you think of my new crossbeam decoration?" Many laughed, marking the two arrows still sticking out high above the ground from the side of Beringil's house.

It was Elladan who stated the obvious. "I think our friend will be wanting his arrows back!'

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