Finwë lost his composure completely. He ran his hand through his tousled dark mane, and stared wide-eyed at Sindahir. Suddenly realizing that he was behaving like an Elfling of 30 summers, he shook himself.
"Forgive me. Do you mean...Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, Lord of Ithilien? This is...incredible! He was one of my best friends and I've known him since he was a lad. He is the only other person in Eriador who knows my true descent. Well, the only other person, until now."
Sindahir stared blankly at Finwë for a few seconds, before managing to choke out a few words.
"Why would he have sent me that letter? It almost seems as if he wanted us to meet somehow."
Finwë nodded. His old friend definitely had a penchant for impulsive decisions and complicating situations. After all, he had gone on that suicidal Quest for Mount Doom, as a member of the Fellowship. Finwë found it remarkable that his friend had survived the consequences of his impulsive decision. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be Legolas, and there was only one place to find him. Finwë shook his tousled mane out of his eyes, and with a new glow in his eyes, turned to Sindahir, and took her hand in his.
"You said that you were going to Minas Tirith or thereabouts, were you not? Do me the honor of accepting me as a traveling companion. I know these roads, and I daresay that I can keep you and your party out of danger. It is to our advantage if we find out about our family history... cousin."
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But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Fëanor, and there he slew Finwë King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark.
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