"He is a miserable creature," Legolas agreed, thinking back to Mirkwood and his days guarding Gollum. They had been so lenient with him, letting him move with such freedom, and in the end, it had been their great failure. How terrible it had been, telling his elven-lord what had happened when orcs attacked, and having to tell the tale again to Lord Elrond. That wretched creature had started so much of this, and been such a burden, yet he, too, had his part to play. Fate was such a strange thing, a strange and terrible thing.
"Yet if he were to die now, who would have led you and Frodo through Mordor? Gollum is a wretch, this is most assuredly true. But he played his role in all that happened, one no other could fill. That is how fate is, Master Gamgee, and it cannot be altered, no matter how much we may wish otherwise. Or so my people say. We have many sayings under the trees of Mirkwood."
The Shire was unfolding around them, and Legolas' face turned to open curiosity as he looked at the little houses, the Hobbit holes set into the ground. How different this was from anywhere else they had been, how different from Gondor and Rohan, from the homes of Men. It was so tidy and small, so perfectly matched to the inhabitants, and he suspected the inside of the houses was just the same.