Work Text:
It was the beards.
Legolas was fascinated by anyone who could grow facial hair. It was one of those things you didn’t tell other elves. They tended not to understand.
It was a recent thing. He had gone for almost 7000 years deliberately not mixing with other races and now he was confronted by beards on every side.
He blamed Aragorn. Sixty years ago, when the heir of Isildur was just out of puberty, Elrond had evidently decided the young man should learn a little about the elf culture of Middle-Earth. He had accompanied Aragorn to Mirkwood to introduce him to some of the distant relatives. Most of the Mirkwood elves remembered Isildur himself – Legolas certainly did.
For over 3000 years he had dreamed of the legendary man. He had never been as happy as in those few brief years – when there was the potential for elves and men to mix freely. He had admired Isildur, but never approached him. Even though the opportunity had been there, Legolas had always been careful to stay on the elf-side of the fighting. He certainly did not want the other elves to find out about his foible.
There was something of Isildur about Aragorn. But it was the beginnings of a downy beard that drew Legolas to the lad.
When they first met, he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Aragorn was bold enough to question the elf.
"Have you never seen a real man before, elf?" Aragorn said haughtily. Legolas laughed at this, and Aragorn seemed hurt.
"I have not seen many men for many years, good sir. Pray tell, are they always so well disposed?"
"You mock me?"
"A little, sirrah." Legolas sighed a little and bowed his head. "May we meet again, when your countenance is worthier."
Aragorn looked confused at this, but Legolas made no attempt to clarify his meaning.
He did not see him again for many years, until Elrond’s little meeting about the one true ring.
Aragorn was looking well – although still a child in elf years, he had surpassed the normal life-time of men.
Legolas tried to rein in his excitement at seeing the now decidedly hairy man again. He was even more thrilled to be finally meeting the fabled dwarves again, especially one who he had seen a picture of long ago. Fate, maybe.
He had heard so many tales when he was young – many of them emphasising how rough and hairy they were. Legolas was delighted when he first laid eyes on a dwarf, but most of the dwarves he had met on their way to the Misty Mountain had seemed hostile. This one was a lot more friendly.
And Gandalf was there too.
And another man – Boromir, from the once mighty Gondor.
All bearded, calloused and more than a little rugged.
And the little hobbits seemed to possess no evidence of beards. But those feet!
Of course he volunteered to go with them. How could he say no?