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It was difficult to determine his date of birth with the shift in calendar from Middle Earth to the Nexus and, furthermore, Legolas had been alive for so long that the years had all become something of a blur. Still, this was the time of year that he usually celebrated his birthday and it felt wrong to let the occasion go without even a passing mention.

Birthdays among elves were normally quiet affairs. Unlike the hobbits who loved to give lavish parties and bestow gifts upon their friends and families and unlike humans who lavished the celebrant with their own gifts, elves used their days of birth to reflect upon the world and how much had changed in it over the long years they had been alive. The older an elf was, the harder it was for he or she to remember what it was like when the world was young and the forced contemplation on a birthday was a good reminder.

When Legolas had left Middle-Earth, it was in the autumn of the world. The world was changing, swiftly, and the age of elves was ending to make way for the age of men. He had left the relative isolation of Mirkwood and embarked on a grand journey with the company of nine, only to get separated at Amon Hen and cast his lot with Gimli and Aragorn. They fought for Gondor and for all men, seeking to end Sauron's reign of terror, and Legolas did not know if they were yet successful - all hinged on the will and heart of a hobbit and his ability to bear the ring.

Not knowing the outcome of the war was something that disturbed him but Legolas had, as of yet, been unable to return to the battlefield. The few times he had made it into Middle-Earth, it was a younger Middle-Earth and the world seemed less troubled. The leaves shone with spring green and not the autumn he knew was the harbinger of war.

So today, he had decided to set up a target in the gardens and loose his arrows into it, wanting to hone his skills even if he could no longer go home and fight for his people and all the peoples of Middle Earth. When he heard the soft footsteps of someone behind him, he did not turn and, instead, merely spoke softly and evenly.

"It is impossible to startle an elf, even one who is far from home. Careful that you do not wander into the path of the arrow, please?"

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Archery on Asgard was not considered quite so lofty a skill as the other warring arts, that was for certain, but he considered it valuable. Loki himself was not an archer, though he worked with spear and dagger, and his aim was one of the best on Asgard. It was easy to recognize similar talent, and he noted the natural grace of the archer, the ease in which targets hit home - as if they were drawn to the target, rather than leased towards it. As he considered sparking his war on Earth, naturally he was curious regarding the deadly skills of any acquaintances in the Nexus.

He had not meant to creep; rather he was always somewhat silent of step, though perhaps it was a touch heavier, now, that the Tesseract weighed upon him. "I'll do my best," he said, his voice soft and mostly flat, but with a tint of humour existing in it. Even if he was foolish enough to wander in the way, he was not quite certain an arrow would harm him terribly, even though he wore no armour just then - clad mostly in the wools and soft leather he had taken to wearing when he was at the Nexus for a rest.

"You are no elf of my realm nor any other realm I know," he mused, circling into sight from behind. He stood a few feet away from the elf, respectfully out of the way of the targets.

"I am an elf of Mirkwood, in Middle-Earth," Legolas explained, nocking another arrow and letting it fly. There was a bit of a breeze today and without compensating for it, his aim was not as true as he wished it to be. He would have to be more careful in his next shot.

"What sort of elves do you have in your realm, then?"

"Ah," Loki replied, though that did not sound familiar to him. He tipped his head to the side, noting the slight pull of the arrow off-centre, but did not comment when the aim was not quite so true.

"None in my realm, particularly," he said. "Unless they are travelers. But many kinds, all across the worlds we are connected to. Light elves, bright elves. Dark elves, too, though they were said to have perished long before my birth." He said the last sentence with a twist of his mouth. "Then again, I do think that is yet another lie of my father's house."

"I have never encountered a dark elf," Legolas said, letting his arrow fly true and, now with compensation for the wind, it hit its mark. "All the elves of Middle Earth are bright and beautiful save for one, though he is no longer an elf. He is something twisted and evil now and cannot be considered anything living."

"Sounds familiar," Loki said, with a somewhat crooked grin.

He watched the arrow fly, finding it to be a beautiful thing to look at, for the moment. There was something so elegant in the savage simplicity of a weapon well-handled. "Who taught you how to shoot?" He asked. "I can imagine you have had many years of practice." Unless, of course, elves of Middle-Earth did not have so lengthy a lifespan as those Loki knew of.

"My father's royal guard, when I was young, but I have had centuries of practice since then. I was always precocious with a bow," Legolas said, smirking a bit. He had never been modest about what he could do with arrows and his pride in that area had led to significant arrogance.

Arrogance, in and of itself, wasn't a bad thing but Legolas knew it could eventually lead to madness like that of his father and sought to keep it in check as best he could.

"That so?" Loki repeated, smiling. Naturally he did not miss the reference to a royal guard, but then again, he found it a very human thing to describes oneself in terms of rank and status as a way of identification. It was never King Odin, nor Queen Frigga. Where he came from, titles were always secondary. He did not find it surprising this elf did not so readily declare himself royalty. Loki, himself, rarely mentioned it in the Nexus, even though he was aware of the burning presence that was his birthright.

"I am Loki," he said. "What are you called?"

"Legolas, of the woodland realm," he said, offering a quick bow to Loki in greeting. "I am far from home but even an elf who wanders is still an elf. I hope to return someday."

There were things left undone in Middle Earth that Legolas desperately wanted to get back to. He needed to aid his brethren and the Men of Gondor in battle.

"I would not have considered an elf anything but an elf," Loki replied, amused at what he found to be a rather strange detail to mention, to be sure. "Does your door not take you where you wish to go? How fickle they are."

"It does, but not always at the time that I wish to be there," Legolas explained.

"I have lived a long time. Sometimes it puts me far into the past and I have not yet been able to get it to take me back to the battle I left behind when I came here originally. I will have to keep trying and see if there is some trick to it."

"Perhaps you aren't focusing enough," Loki suggested, though he was well aware that some of the doors definitely operated on greater forces than pure intention. Still, he couldn't help but needle a little, and he grinned. "Maybe you don't want to go back badly enough?"

"That would imply cowardice which, while it would be understandable considering the situation, is not a flaw I find myself possessed of," Legolas said simply.

"I fear it is simply a magic that is beyond my ken and it will take more attempts to decipher the nature of it."

Loki had to laugh at that; he must be one of those sort, who used terms like 'cowardice' so easily. Loki hated the word. "I was implying that your desires might have changed," he said. "Not your courage."

"I will always desire to protect Middle Earth," Legolas said softly. "I will always want to fight for elves and men and dwarves and defeat the dark. It is not an easy path but good things are never easy. Not in my experience."

"I suppose not," Loki allowed, still with that smile hovering on his mouth. "There might be some here from your land, however. I do believe I've met one other already."

"Oh? An elf like me or have you met someone else?" Legolas thought he would know if another of elvenkind had entered through the doors but perhaps he had simply not paid enough attention to the comings and goings through the door.

"A dwarf," Loki replied, mildly. "And I daresay he was far more interesting than you." Or maybe this elf just wanted to seem uninteresting? But he struck Loki as not truly caring either way, so he didn't really believe that.

"It is not my aim to be interesting," Legolas said, equally as mild in his reply. "It is my aim to simply be and whichever side of the scales I fall upon, so it is. Interesting quite often leads to war."

His father, for example, had been very, very interesting. Legolas was not in the least bit interested in following in his footsteps.

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