AN: Please do not flame me for this one. This is a bit out there. Hopefully, you will be able to accept the idea and hold on for the whole story.
There is one truth that we do not question in our lands: A creature who cannot die may never know the heights of bliss and pain. I am one who has seen the great trees shed their leaves close to five thousand times. Surely mere men and woman would believe that I have shed tears for both joy and despair. I am Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, and I am immortal. I have fought wars against evil, emerged victorious; I have traveled the earth until the land broke into the clumps today. The creatures of yesterday are now legends in the eyes of men. As the belief in my kind fades with the years, so does the truth of our existence. I walk alone, searching for another moment, another touch, even another glimpse of the one mortal who had bound my heart to hers unfairly. Mortals die. For having illicitly broken the mores of Elvenhome, I have cursed myself to wander forever.
Arwen had the right of it. She had long since passed away, yet happily. Her body, as had her husband's, had been blown away as dust by the west wind. The years had been kind to her mind and her heart, if not to her beauty. Yet one thing separated my choice from hers. She had the chance to live and die with Aragorn.
I will never rest in Elvenhome, far from men, until I have lived with her completely. Every time, man has destroyed my chance. I will search for her with no regard to the number of lifetimes I will pass. A hundred years is but a little while to us.
The slender man walked along the fields, heedless of the dark still night and the dark eerie moon that hung overhead. His golden hair fell on the sides of his face, shielding his visage from anyone who happened to be on the road. His thin shoes barely made a sound, nor disturbed the dust as he made his way. From the appearance of his clothes it was apparent that he had traveled a long way, yet his brisk and soundless strides belied that. He could have vanished in the night, so silent was he. Yet when he made his way into the quiet town, his appearance made it impossible. To the few who were fortunate enough to witness his approach, the conclusion was simple and unanimous.
Legolas took his moss green cap off and looked up at the velvet sky, revealing his features to the townsfolk. He was fair beyond any man's measure. The people were so enraptured by the visitor that all movement stopped and they watched him.
Legolas used a slender arm to reach up, almost as if he were reaching for the stars. The still night shifted as a breeze blew softly to please the elf. He read the position of the stars and moon, and then smelled the breeze's kiss on his palm. "To her, I grow closer."
He trudged on, unmindful of the fixed gazes of the people around him. Seven days he had not slept nor eaten. Soon he may feel faint, and that would not do. Losing her again was not an option. He hoped this little town had an inn.