Grief and Endless Hope
By Vana

Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing that looks vaguely familiar.

I’ve already been jumped on about this, so I’ll just say it here. I know that men aren’t allowed in Valinor, but I’m bending Tolkien’s rules ever so slightly. Other Tolkienites please accept my undying apologies.

Many thanks to Dyth and Acacia for their invaluable input, and especially Acacia for her grammatical aid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Though it’s hard to let you go,
In the Father’s hands we know
That a lifetime’s not too long…
To live as friends.

Michael W. Smith
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas rested his forehead against the stone platform he knelt before; unshed tears burning in his eyes. His long golden hair fell about his face, shielding him from any prying eyes; but the prince did not concern himself with the thought of outside observers. All his attention was focused on the body lying with its hands folded over its chest on the platform and the aching grief that carved a potent hole in his chest.

Aragorn was gone, gone where Legolas would never be able to follow. Never again would the friends play a joke on Gimli, or one of Elrond’s twin sons; never again would Legolas have to sacrifice his tunic to bind up Aragorn’s life-threatening wounds. Legolas’ delicate lips quivered in a weak attempt at a smile, and an unbidden tear ran down his pale cheek, dropping off his chin onto his dark green tunic.

Looking at the still, solemn face, Legolas tried to find a trace of the mischievous boy that he had met outside of Mirkwood decades ago…to little avail. The embalmers had done their work well–perhaps a little too well. Legolas’ long hand reached out to touch Aragorn’s face, tracing the scars that were barely visible anymore, the firm jaw-line, continuing upward until his fingertips rested on Aragorn’s closed eyelids. He reached up a little farther until his slender fingers were resting on the silver hair that crowned the king’s head under the winged crown.

A thick hand rested on Legolas’ slender shoulder, startling the Elf slightly. Without looking up, he knew it was his friend, Gimli son of Glóin, one of the only Dwarves he had befriended. “It was his time to go,” Gimli said quietly, his voice only a low rumble in his chest.

“I did not even say goodbye.” Legolas’ voice was barely audible, choked as it was by tears.

This was mostly true, but not entirely. The Elf closed his eyes as he remembered the last time he had seen Aragorn living…

Legolas, who normally lived in Ithilien, had wintered with Aragorn, Arwen and their children. He had worked with Eldarion, teaching him how to shoot a bow in the Mirkwood fashion and taunting Aragorn with old memories of their adventures together, usually at the same time.

When winter ended in early February, Legolas had said his farewells to everyone…not realizing it would be the last time he ever saw Aragorn alive. His last conversation with Aragorn was imprinted on his memory…

“Have a safe trip, Legolas,” Aragorn said, clasping his friend’s shoulder. “May the Valar watch over your every step.”

“Hannon le, Elessar,” Legolas replied, returning the gesture. Somehow, though, the normal shoulder-clasp didn’t seem like enough, and the Elf pulled his friend into a tight, brief embrace, which the king returned gladly. When they pulled away, Legolas thought he saw a shadow of some sort over Aragorn’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving only the twinkling eyes of the king.

“Be sure and return as soon as you can, mellon,” Aragorn said. “I know Eldarion would welcome more training by a true Elf of Mirkwood.”

“I shall indeed,” Legolas replied with a grin. “And perhaps I should give you more training as well, since your skills seem somewhat rusty.” He ducked his friend’s playful swat.

“Be that as it may…” Aragorn didn’t bother finishing his sentence.

Looking at his old friend, Legolas realized that the Man looked far more tired than he ever had before. “Are you all right, Estel?” he asked, reverting to his friend’s childhood name.

“I am all right…just very tired.” Aragorn replied with a reassuring smile.

“All right, then…if you are certain…” Legolas said slowly.

“Of course I’m sure!” Aragorn laughed, gently pulling one of Legolas’ trailing braids. “I’m Estel! I’m always sure!”

The friends shared a laugh as Legolas reclaimed his braid from his friend. Flinging last taunts at one another, Legolas mounted and rode away from Minas Tirith.

Legolas came out of his memories with a barely repressed sob. Word had come to him in Ithilien a month later that the king was on his deathbed. As soon as he heard, Legolas had told Gimli, and the two of them had ridden to Minas Tirith as fast as possible, Arod’s legs seeming as fast as light itself.

But even the fast horse was not fast enough to bring Legolas to his friend’s side in time. They had arrived at the door of the king’s chambers, covered with sweat and dirt, in time to see Arwen leaving her dead husband’s room, tears glistening on her face. She had clung to Legolas, sobbing softly, for a few moments, before telling him to go on into Aragorn’s room. Gimli had made some lame excuse and gone with Arwen, leaving the friends alone.

Now Legolas, still kneeling, looked on the face of the man who had become a friend- nay, a brother- one last time. Stretching a bit, he kissed Aragorn’s forehead gently, whispering in Elvish, “Athrado ah sidh, Estel.” Pass with peace, Estel.

Bracing a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, the Elf stood to his full height, stretching the kinks out of his knees.

Gimli watched his friend, concerned. He had heard that Elves could die of grief, and he had seen something like that in Arwen’s face. He feared that he would lose both of his friends in a very short time. A memory stirred in the back of Gimli’s mind, something Galadriel had told him at Aragorn’s and Arwen’s wedding, but he brushed it aside for the moment.

“What will you do now?” The simple question was quietly spoken as Legolas, a hand still on his friend’s shoulder, turned towards the door. The Elf paused to consider the question.

“I suppose I shall leave soon. The time of the Elves is over. I am the last that remains,” replied the Elven prince, his face set in sad lines.

“‘Tis a pity,” Gimli said, his gruff voice gruffer for his sadness. “Something wonderful will go out of this world when you leave…something about Elves adds light and joy to an otherwise dark and sad world.”

Legolas looked down at his short friend, surprised. “And to think that when we first met, we hated each other because of our racial differences,” he said quietly, remembering the time before Lothlórien. “I could not see the beauty in your race…”

“And my eyes were likewise blinded,” the Dwarf finished quietly.

Legolas nodded. “Come, my friend. There is naught more for us here,” the Elven prince said as he led his friend out of the room.

Their time in Minas Tirith was short after that. They bade Arwen and the children farewell, and headed back to Ithilien. Even Arod seemed to know that speed was not needed or wanted now, and he walked most of the time. Legolas and Gimli talked quietly all the way home, remembering this and that incident with Aragorn, laughing and crying by turns.

Legolas returned quickly to his usual level of responsibility…but the Dwarf noted over the next couple months that the Elf slipped away at times into the forest alone. In and of itself, that was not unusual, as Legolas had always been the type to retreat to the forest when he was in pain, but it was unusual for him to wallow so long in such potent grief.

After a few months, Gimli became suspicious and followed Legolas. The Elf was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his friend behind him, and Gimli followed him all the way to the river.

There, in a sheltered cove, was the beginning of a ship, small but well crafted. Only the hull had been built so far.

Legolas waded out to the ship and lovingly ran a hand over the worked wood, a hint of a smile on his face. His mind was wrapped up with the gulls that flew overhead often, the smell of the sea, and the pounding surf.

“So this is why you’ve been disappearing these past months.” Gimli’s voice made the Elf literally jump. His landing was complicated by the fact that he tried to spin to face the voice while jumping. The result was that he lost his balance and disappeared under the water briefly.

Sputtering and blinking, he resurfaced to glare at the Dwarf, who wasn’t helping matters much. His booming laughter rang out over the cove, setting even the leaves to shaking. That kind of laughter was contagious, and soon Legolas found himself grinning as well.

“You must have been paying attention when Estel and I taught you how to be stealthy, Gimli, for I never once heard you.” Legolas finally said, wading back toward shore while wringing his hair and clothes out.

“I did pick a few things up from the two of you, but you, Master Elf, were so caught up in your thoughts, that a herd of oliphaunts could pass by and you wouldn’t have noticed,” returned Gimli with a grin. Making a show of elaborately examining the ship, he glanced up at the Elf as he gained the shore. “So, when were you planning to tell me of this?”

Legolas’ face twitched a bit. Because Gimli knew him so well, he knew the Elf was wincing. “I did not know how to tell you,” he finally said quietly, staring at the ship instead of Gimli.

“All you had to say, dear Elf, was that the Sea-Longing was at last getting the best of you. I understand.” Gimli’s voice was gentle; for all that his words could be interpreted as harsh.

“I do not like the thought of leaving you and Ithilien…” Legolas began, but Gimli cut him off.

“Legolas, there was something I never told you. At Aragorn’s wedding I spoke much with the Lady Galadriel, and she told me something most interesting.” Now Gimli was taking an unusual amount of interest in the gently rocking boat. “She told me that she would speak with the Valar on my behalf when she got to Valinor.”

“Your behalf?” Now Legolas was really confused. He turned to look at the Dwarf, dropping on one knee so that their faces were on the same level.

Still refusing to look at the Elf, Gimli nodded and said, “She would like me to come to Valinor.”

Legolas’ mouth dropped open. “How…only Elves may come there!” he cried, his normal poise disappearing in his sudden wild hope.

“I know, but Galadriel is great among the Elves as one of the three bearers of the Elven-Rings…and she was from Valinor originally. She was sure I could go.” Now he turned to look at his friend, hope written on his face. “If I help to build your ship, may I come with you?”

Legolas’ eyes filled and his throat closed off. He pulled the Dwarf into a firm embrace, saying hoarsely, “I would not that you went with anyone else.”

The days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months turned into a year as the friends worked busily on their ship. Legolas worked best with wood, so he did much of the actual work on the ship, and Gimli put his axe to good work to provide the wood Legolas needed.

On March 1, the first anniversary of Aragorn’s death, Legolas was again standing in hip-deep water, putting finishing touches on the ship’s detail, for he quailed at the thought of making anything that was not beautifully detailed, even if it was only to be used once.

On the deck of the ship, Gimli hammered the last board down and stood back, admiring his handiwork. Over the past year, Legolas had been teaching him the ways of wood, how to build straight and true, how to make it look beautiful, though the dwarf decorated his share in Dwarven fashion.

A soft, soggy thump came from behind Gimli, and he turned to look at Legolas, who had just climbed onto the deck of the ship. Silently, the Elf looked at Gimli’s handiwork with a tiny smile. At last, he turned to Gimli with the same smile traced on his fine lips. “As the Three Hunters were counted a marvel among all races, so our boat is a wonder of both Elven and Dwarven craftsmanship.” A tone of teasing underlined his words.

Gimli grinned at his friend, pleased with their work. Silently, the friends got out of the boat, Legolas helping Gimli on their way to shore. Once on shore, the equally soaked friends looked at the boat for a long moment before they headed back to the main palace. They had many preparations to make, and the people of Ithilien heard Legolas’ plans for the first time. The elf refrained from mentioning the fact that Gimli was coming as well, as almost every Man knew that Valinor was for the Valar and the Elves.

Legolas’ last week or so was packed full of last-minute details and last farewells. Merry and Pippin had died several years earlier, as had Eomer. As the Elf sent messages to Eldarion and his sisters in Minas Tirith, he realized just how few people from his greatest adventure were actually still alive and still on these shores. Aragorn was dead. Sam and Frodo had passed over the Sea, as had Mithrandir. Word had reached them just the day before of Arwen’s death in Lórien, though who had sent the message Legolas did not know; the note had not been signed. Even Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, had passed over the sea with their father. It was just Gimli and Legolas now.

One afternoon, as Legolas wrote on a document in his sticky hot office in Ithilien, his long hair bound off his neck, he remembered the Red Book. He had seen Bilbo writing in it in the three months the fledgling Fellowship had been in Rivendell, he had watched Bilbo interview Frodo and add more to the book after all was said and done, and he had heard that Frodo had passed the Red Book to Sam to finish. Now that Sam was gone as well, the book would have been passed to Elanor, his oldest daughter. ‘It is not right that the last of the Fellowship should pass without some mention of it in the record,’ thought Legolas as he set his paper aside.

Taking up another sheet of parchment, the Elf paused for a moment, tapping his quill against his bottom lip. At last, he dipped it into the ink and began writing. ‘To Elanor Gardner, daughter of Mayor Samwise Gamgee, who should be called Fullwise, from Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, greetings. As you know, all that remains of the Fellowship that set out from Rivendell is Gimli son of Glóin, and myself. Rumor has passed this far of the Red Book of Westmarch, which Bilbo Baggins started with his account of his quest and Frodo continued with the tales of the adventures in which I was privileged to play a part. Gimli and I are taking sail for Valinor as soon as details may be attended to here.’ Legolas paused to re-read that last part. It was abrupt, but it was true.

‘We felt that it would not be fitting to have the Red Book end with no mention of to the passing of Gimli and myself, which brings me to my reason for writing. If it is not too much trouble, might you add a small paragraph saying that Gimli and I are leaving this Middle-earth? Respectfully yours, Legolas Thranduilion.’

Legolas set down his quill and sprinkled sand over the wet ink, his mind elsewhere. As soon as the ink was dry, the Elven prince folded the paper, addressed the letter properly and placed his seal on it. He paused for a moment, looking down at the cooling seal. The green tree of Mirkwood was on it, with Legolas’ own sign of a crossed dagger and arrow. Beneath the tree was Legolas’ name in the graceful Elvish script.

With a small smile and a soft sigh, the prince stood up and went to the door. A boy that typically ran errands for him was lounging in front of the door, looking bored. The boredom disappeared in seconds as the boy saw the Elf with a folded paper in his hand. He scrambled to his feet and bowed slightly.

Legolas smiled at the boy, and then asked, “Could you see to it that this letter gets sent to the Shire?”

“Certainly, milord,” the boy said in his rough city accent. “Ye’ve sent enough letters thataway, we have a special hobbit messenger for that purpose.”

“Thank you, lad,” Legolas said and watched the enthusiastic boy trot off down the hall.

That evening, Legolas and Gimli met in Legolas’ personal chambers to talk over their course of action.

“There is simply no way around it, lad,” grumbled Gimli as he played with his pipe. “If you wait until all the business here is concluded, I’ll be long dead and you’ll be ancient before we ever set sail, and I wonder if the people aren’t putting more on you for just that reason.”

Legolas sighed. “It would seem, friend Gimli, that you are right, for once.” His blue-grey eyes twinkled as the dwarf growled softly. Taking a sip from his wineglass, the Elf continued, “When would you recommend leaving?”

“Tonight, or tomorrow at the latest,” Gimli replied promptly. Lifting his ale stein to his lips, the Dwarf took a quick swallow, and then continued, “If we go much later than that, I fear I will not be able to pry you from this place.”

Legolas smiled a bit wistfully. “As far as it concerns me, Master Dwarf, you need not worry. The forests of Valinor are the dreams of every elf born on this side of the sea. However, I fear you may be right as far as it concerns the people of this fair land.” He stood, running a finger over his cloak-clasp. He still wore the cloak Galadriel had given all of the Fellowship, and not just because it was Elvish work. He wore it as a symbol of the life-changing journey that resulted in his friend’s kingship and his own friendship with a dwarf. “Very well,” he finally said, turning back to face Gimli. “We will leave tomorrow. Now, go pack and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a very big day for all of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guided by the lonely star
Beyond the utmost harbor bar
I’ll find the havens fair and free
And beaches of the starlit sea.

Ship my ship I seek the west
And fields and fountains ever blest
Farewell to Middle Earth at last
I see the star above my mast…
–JRR Tolkien
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Legolas rose slightly before the sun and began packing a small pack. Once he had packed everything he couldn’t bear parting with, he dressed quickly in his old traveling clothes, marveling that they hadn’t rotted away. Removing the intricate braids that normally adorned his head and revealed his status to all who could read Elvish braiding, he tied his hair back in the simple warrior’s braids that he had worn during the War of the Ring. Pulling his cloak about his slender shoulders, he strapped his quiver into place on his back, ensuring that the white-handled knives were still in their sheaths on the quiver, and picked up the bow.

Slipping out of his room in the pre-dawn light, the Elf silently walked towards Gimli’s room. Just as he reached the door, it swung open and Gimli, dressed as he had been during the Quest, came out, nearly running into the Elf in front of his door.

Legolas jumped back nimbly, deftly avoiding a collision. “Good morning, Gimli,” he laughed softly as the Dwarf cursed quietly in Khuzdul. “Did you sleep well?”

Gimli recovered his balance and glared up at the Elf. This was a tricky job, since said Elf was wearing the cloak of Galadriel and blended nicely into the dark hallway. Only Legolas’ faint natural glow showed where he was. “Well enough, thank you,” he growled. “And you?”

Legolas shrugged. “As much as an Elf *can* sleep…” he teased gently. “-I did sleep well, as you would count sleep,” he added quickly when the Dwarf threatened him with the big axe he carried in his hand.

“Good to hear,” Gimli said, his temper subsiding a bit. “Have you any more work to complete before we leave?”

Legolas thought that over, and then nodded. “I must at least leave a note for my second-in-command,” he explained as he led the way to his office.

“Elves…”muttered Gimli with a small smile. “Were it just me, I’d sneak out of here and let everyone wonder where I got to.”

“Yes, but you are not of Elvish race,” retorted Legolas as they walked into his office. “We have a polite reputation to keep up, and as I am the last of the Elves in Middle-earth…” his eloquent shrug summed it all up. “Beyond that, you *are* simply sneaking out. I am the one who has to make excuses.”

Legolas sat down at his desk and began quickly writing before Gimli could think of a proper response. Within moments he was done. Standing, the elf said quietly, “I will be back in a moment. Wait here.”

Grumbling, the Dwarf settled back in his chair. Legolas left the room quickly, before Gimli could see the broad smile stretched across his face. His steps absolutely silent, the Elf made his way down the halls of the palace, mentally saying good-bye to everything. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a sad experience to be saying good-bye, more like the releasing of chains that had held his body while his heart yearned to be in the home he had never seen.

Reaching his second’s office, Legolas paused in the doorway. The office was not as empty as he’d hoped. The owner of the office was there, sleeping on his crossed arms. The Elf smiled as he remembered when he’d first seen Aragorn sleeping with his eyes closed. He had thought the Man was dead, forgetting that Men slept with eyes closed. Creeping into the office, Legolas silently laid the letter in front of the Man’s crossed arms and left, not disturbing a thing.

Re-entering his own office, Legolas picked up his bow and nodded to Gimli. As silent as two wraiths, they exited the city and went to the river. The pre-dawn light turned the pale grey ship almost silver, and Legolas caught his breath. At last! At last he could drop every responsibility, every chain that had bound him.

Gimli had already waded out as deep as he could go without help and turned back to look at the Elf. Tears ran down the Elf’s face as he stared at the ship. He whispered, “I am going home!”

“If you don’t get on the boat, Elf, you’re going nowhere!” Gimli’s voice broke through Legolas’ thoughts, and the Elf smiled.

“Impatient, Gimli? I never thought you one to show impatience,” Legolas teased gently as he waded out into the water, careful not to get his bowstring wet. Gimli took Legolas’ arm and was towed out to the ship like a sled being pulled by a horse.

“Impatient? Me?” Gimli grinned up at his friend.

“Yes, you,” joked Legolas as the pair reached the boat. “It must come of associating with Elves too much: you have caught the Sea-Longing.”

“Perhaps,” Gimli replied as he grabbed the rope ladder and clamored up. “Perhaps I shouldn’t go with you, eh?”

Legolas had been halfway up the side of the boat when Gimli said this. Grabbing onto the helm, Legolas looked at his friend. “Do you not want to go?” he asked, his voice so soft and full of pain that Gimli’s conscience was pricked. “I would not force you to live with Elves forever if you did not wish it.”

Gimli shook his head with a bellowing laugh. “All these years you have been around me, and yet you still do not understand my humor!” he laughed.

The look on Legolas’ face was mingled relief and annoyance. “My pardon, Master Dwarf, but I do not often lower my mind to understanding Dwarven jokes,” was his parting shot as he finished climbing into the boat.

Gimli shook his head and finished the climb. Time was, he could remember, that he would be up this rope ladder in half the time it took him now. But though he did not often show it, Gimli was old. Old even as the long-lived Dwarves counted age. At present, he was 209. He knew Legolas would laugh at the notion of 209 years being old, but he also knew that few Dwarves ever reached that age. Hauling himself over the rail, he glanced up to see Legolas perched in the high rigging, looking downriver.

“Are you going to sit up there all day or are we going to set off?” The Dwarf’s voice startled Legolas a bit. He looked down at the Dwarf with a misty smile traced on his slender lips, showing just a hint of dimples.

“We are going to set off. Toss me that rope there,” replied the Elf, pointing to a rope by Gimli’s foot. Gimli bent and picked up the rope, tossing it easily to his friend. Legolas stood on the slender rigging, balancing as easily as if he were on solid ground, and attached the rope to a pulley system. “You had best move!” he called to Gimli before beginning to pull on the rope. Gimli quickly saw what he meant as the sail began rising to its place. It was literally coming from under his feet, and he scrambled out of the way.

A short time later, the sails were in place, and Legolas cast off with a last wave to Middle-earth.

A day or so passed as the friends worked their way down the Anduin and to the open sea, switching jobs back and forth. Again, Gimli was the pupil, and Legolas the teacher as the Dwarf learned to tack a sail, work the rudder and gauge the winds.

“How did you learn all of this?” Gimli asked the Elf one evening as they were working to catch the best westward wind. “Aren’t you a Wood-Elf?”

“I am,” Legolas replied with a grunt of effort as he tied the sail in a different position. “But the basic sea-knowledge is inherent in every Elf, as our hearts always long for it. I could not maneuver in a ship-sinking storm, but I can manage.”

He paused, facing the direction the wind was coming from, allowing his long hair to be whipped about by the sweet wind. “I think this may be the best we are capable of doing,” he added at last, walking back to the rudder. Carefully moving it so it was keeping them going west, he lashed it down. With a huff of relief, he sat down and leaned against his hands. “Come join me, friend Gimli,” he invited, patting the seat beside him.

Gimli sat down beside him with a bit of a chuckle, and they sat in silence for a long moment, enjoying the peace of the sea and the stars above. Legolas shoved his boots off and dangled his feet off the side of the ship, his long toes barely brushing the water.

“What is it like?” The question was unexpected, and it jolted Legolas out of his silent contemplation.

“What is what like?” he asked, turning to face his friend. The Dwarf was lying on his back, studying the stars. With a shock, Legolas noticed for the first time that much of his beard and hair, now visible with his helmet in the little deckhouse, was silvery grey and wrinkles adorned his face that hadn’t been there before. Legolas realized what had been true for some time, but what he had been too blind to see. Gimli was old.

“Valinor,” replied the Dwarf, oblivious to his friend’s scrutiny. “What is it like there?”

Legolas thought for a moment, remembering all he had read and been told while in Rivendell. “I have not been there before myself, but from what I have been told, it is incredibly beautiful. Even Lothlórien itself is a mere shadow of the beauty of Valinor. There is no winter.” The dwarf raised his thick brows in shock, and the Elf chuckled, “Yes, no winter. No tears exist for any who live there. No pain. No grief. No fear, nor anything that could cause fear. There is only light, and beauty, and joy everywhere.” He sighed slightly, his eyes betraying his inner feelings.

“Are you afraid it will not be so for you, with Aragorn gone?” asked the astute Dwarf.

Legolas turned a rueful smile on his friend. “You know me all too well, friend Gimli. Yes, I am afraid that I will be the only one there who is incomplete.”

“And what of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir? They have lost their sister and daughter as well as their son and brother.” Gimli’s words were common sense.

Legolas stared at his friend for a moment, and then began to laugh. “I suppose you are right. I am being blinded by my selfishness, forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” shrugged the Dwarf. “I understand how you feel, to a point. Aragorn was my friend too, and I will miss him dearly.”

Legolas was silent a long moment before he stood and helped Gimli to his feet. “You had best get some sleep, otherwise you will be tired and grouchy when we reach Valinor, and I would not wish to have them kick you out for it.”

Gimli laughed and headed into the deckhouse.

Legolas remained stationary for a long moment, his bare toes stroking the surface of the water. After a moment, he got up and climbed into the rigging again, settling on the top brace easily. His far-seeing eyes could not yet see Valinor, but they were tantalized by the patterns of the stars that pointed west.

Lifting his fair voice, Legolas sang the song he had sang years and years before, shortly after the War of the Ring was over and the Sea-longing was taking possession of his heart.

“To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave; I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!”

The song ended, and Legolas smiled. He was now on the sea that had called his heart for so long. He should be completely happy. With a small sigh, he acknowledged the fact that he wasn’t. He missed Aragorn; missed his friendly banter and natural clumsiness, his quick grin and laughing eyes.

Pulling a knee up to his chest, Legolas sang again to keep his mind off Aragorn.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
Silivren penna mìriel,
O menel aglar elenath.
Na-chaered palan-dìriel
O galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, sì nef aearon!”

It didn’t work. Legolas had learned that song in Rivendell when he was on one of his many visits to Aragorn. With a groan, he gave up and submitted his mind to the torrent of memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gimli!” The shout woke the Dwarf, and he sat up, displacing the covers that had covered him.

“Gimli! Come quickly!” Legolas’ voice rang through the cold morning air. “The shore is within sight!”

Gimli dashed up the stairs, blinking away sleep. Three days and nights had passed in their journey together, and though Gimli enjoyed the peace, he was ready for the journey to be done.

He joined Legolas on deck. Apparently, the Elf had had time to change and get himself pulled together, for he didn’t look like the rumpled Elf he had throughout the entire journey. He looked like a prince, down to even the circlet of silver leaves on his head.

Lights shone on the bay, and Legolas smiled. “I am sure Mithrandir has turned out all of Valinor to meet us,” he murmured, having the advantage of better sight.

Fireworks suddenly colored the skies with a deafening boom, and Gimli laughed. “Aye, Gandalf is most definitely there,” he remarked casually.

At last, the boat touched the shore. Hands, known and unknown, helped the pair off the ship. They were eagerly and quickly borne above the water to the sandy beach, where they set them down and stepped back. All the assembled Elves, most bearing torches and candles, backed away from the pair quickly, leaving a half-circle of empty sand around Legolas and Gimli. They exchanged worried glances as Gandalf stepped forward.

“Mithrandir, what is wrong?” Legolas asked, starting to move forward to the white wizard, but Gandalf held up his hand, effectively stopping the Elven prince.

“There is naught wrong, Legolas. But you are the companion of the first Dwarf to set foot on these shores. Would you two mind stepping forward a bit?” Despite the way it was phrased, Gandalf’s words were not a question, but an order.

Puzzled, the Elf and the Dwarf did as they were told. As they did so, a blinding light seemed to come both down from the heavens above and from the earth below, encircling the friends. Legolas’ eyes widened and Gimli let out a startled cry, as the very air around them seemed electrified.

Legolas inhaled, pulling the sparkling particles into his lungs and into his very being. As he did so, hands seemed to encircle him, pulling him into an embrace of sparkling light and a voice whispered, “Welcome home, my son.” Tears flowed from under the Elf’s eyelids as he accepted Iluvatar’s love.

For Gimli’s part, he had lost sight of the Elf in the shroud of rippling light that surrounded both of them right at the beginning…but he really didn’t care. Firm love surrounded him, firmer than the gemstones and mithril he prized so much, deeper than the deepest cave of Moria, and broader than he could ever imagine. The same voice, one he knew he would never forget, whispered to him, “Welcome home, my child.”

Both beings dropped to their knees in the sand, overwhelmed by the immense love of the Creator, as the light shimmered a lighter color…then vanished. Legolas recovered fully first, standing with tear-streaks running down his radiant face. He walked over to Gimli and gently touched his shoulder.

The Dwarf looked up, and Legolas gasped. Gimli, whose beard and hair had been so light-colored and whose face had been pressed with the wrinkles of care, was now again the Dwarf he had first met in Rivendell. Worry, care, and age had dropped from him, and what was more, he seemed to shimmer with the same light that had always enclosed the Elf.

Legolas did not realize it, but he too had changed. Gimli saw that the care and the sadness that had been a part of the Elf since Aragorn had died was now gone. His eyes shone with a brighter light than they had ever shone before, and his natural light was brighter than ever before.

They would have stayed that way forever, but shouts broke through the night. “Legolas!”

Gimli shook himself free of the spell and got up, assisted by Legolas. He made his way over to where Galadriel stood as Legolas was engulfed by a swarm of Elves, all shouting enthusiastically. Legolas laughed as he was caught up by this very different love.

Ducking out of their grip, he came face-to-face with his mother, his father standing behind her. Legolas’ eyes shone as he embraced her firmly, his father taking the next turn at hugging him.

Hugs wrapped around Legolas’ knees, and he looked down…to see Frodo and Sam both there. The Elf’s eyes opened wide and he dropped to his knees to hug them properly.

Frodo looked better than he had ever before, even in Rivendell, and Sam was still steadfast Sam…with dirt on his hands and dusting his clothes lightly, testifying to where he had been when the boat had been sighted.

The Elf rose again…to be greeted with a proper hug from Gandalf. Right behind him were the twins, followed by Elrond with a beautiful, beaming woman on his arm. Legolas had never met Celebrían, but he recognized her from the descriptions of Elladan and Elrohir. The twins attacked Legolas, dragging him down to the ground and playfully rubbing sand into his clothes. After a moment, Elrond broke them up, allowing Legolas to get up and dust himself off before he greeted him himself.

“Welcome home, young prince,” he said, pulling one of Legolas’ braids straight.

The prince caught his breath before replying, “Thank you, Lord Elrond.”

The Peredhel shook his head. “Nay, it is only Elrond here. There is no rank.” He turned to Celebrian. “My love, this is Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil.”

Legolas bowed to the beautiful Elf-woman, one hand over his heart. “My lady Celebrían,” he murmured. “It is a tremendous honor to meet you in person.”

“After hearing so much about you from Elrond and the twins, the honor is all mine,” replied Celebrían. She exchanged glances with Elrond, who nodded in response to a silent question. The regal pair stepped away from Legolas, off to his left. To Legolas’ surprise, Elladan, Elrohir, his own father and mother, and every Elf that had comprised the welcoming party parted their company, creating an open walkway across the sand and onto the grass.

For an instant, nothing happened. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, a figure separated itself from the main body and started walking down the beach to Legolas. He looked away from his father as his eyes caught movement…and froze. For an instant, time stood still as the Elf’s eyes were fixed on the figure approaching him.

The figure coming down the beach was muscular and walked with the ease of long practice, but not especially gracefully. It was the last person Legolas ever expected to see in Valinor.

The Elf backed away slowly as the figure continued advancing on him, certain that his eyes were deceiving him, or were cheated by a spell of some sort.

“Iluvatar,” he whispered. “This is too cruel…Do not do this to me…”

“Legolas! Legolas, it’s me, Estel!” The voice was the same as it ever had been, but that was not proof enough for him.

Legolas shook his head, still not believing. “It cannot be,” he whispered. “I saw your body…and Men do not come here.”

“Legolas!” The apparition of Estel seemed exasperated by the Elf. He strode forward, backing Legolas up to the water line, and thrust his hands out. “Touch me!” Legolas hesitated, and Estel said, more forcibly this time, “Touch me and confirm it for yourself!”

Slowly, keeping his eyes on the face that was so like his friend’s when he was younger, the Elf reached out and touched the apparition.

Except that it was not an apparition. Legolas’ fingertips brushed lightly against Aragorn’s very solid hands. Gathering his courage–he feared no ghosts of Men! — he gripped Aragorn’s hands. They were calloused and rough from long years of work with a sword…and very real. Legolas’ blue-grey eyes dropped to examine Estel’s hands, turning them over in his own. Old scars decorated the backs and palms of the weatherworn hands, and Legolas remembered almost every story that the scars had to tell.

Lifting his eyes back to Estel’s face, Legolas dropped one of the human’s hands and reached out to gently brush back the long black hair that still hung into the human’s eyes. His hands trembled as he reassured himself tactilely that this was Aragorn.

It was. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar, greatest king of Gondor, Estel, foster son of Lord Elrond, Strider, Dunádan, Ranger of the North, stood before his friend, his eyes hopeful. In the expectant silence that surrounded the two beings, only their breathing was audible.

Legolas could not take his eyes off the human. The man had *changed* in the time since Legolas had last seen him. No longer did wrinkles mar his face, nor did silver hair crown his head. No, the human looked precisely like the young, inexperienced ranger Legolas had met on the eves of Mirkwood all those years ago. Even the pain of long, hurtful memories had dropped from Aragorn’s eyes, leaving the dancing, carefree joy Legolas remembered so well.

~~~~~~~
And friends are friends forever,
If the Lord’s the lord of them.
And a friend will not say never,
For the welcome will not end…

Michael W. Smith
~~~~~~~

“Estel!” Legolas cried, accepting the reality at last. Silver tears ran down his face, following the tracks of his previous tears as he grabbed the man in a hug.

“You made it…you finally made it,” said Aragorn, his face streaked by tears as well. “I was afraid…when so much time had passed and you didn’t come…”

After a moment, they released each other, but they kept staring at each other, as if they were afraid the other would vanish if they didn’t keep their eyes on him.

Quiet applause rippled from one side of the beach, spreading like ripples in a pond, and the formerly silent beach erupted in cheers within moments.

Legolas glanced over Aragorn’s shoulder in time to see Arwen walking towards them, beauty radiating from her smile. He released Aragorn and gave Arwen a gentle hug, looking carefully into her eyes. The sadness had vanished from her eyes as well, and serenity seemed to hang over her like a draping veil.

As Legolas released Arwen, Aragorn took one of his arms and Elrond the other, guiding him towards a large, well-lit meadow. “There has been a feast prepared for your homecoming, Legolas,” Aragorn said, bouncing a bit as he walked. “All of Valinor has been turned out for welcoming the stragglers.”

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks, jolting Elrond and Aragorn to a halt. “By the Valar, how did *you* get here, Aragorn? You died, I saw you, and men are not typically allowed out of Mandos and into Valinor.”

“That is true for most men, Legolas,” Elrond replied, pulling on Legolas’ arm and making him walk forward. “But when a man is spoken for by one or more elf, the Valar at least give consideration to the request.”

“Ada and Galadriel and Celeborn all spoke on my behalf, and Gandalf joined them, though he mentioned something about keeping his fireworks out of my hands.” Aragorn laughed.

“With so many influential elves speaking for him,” continued Elrond with a smile, “the Valar all listened, and gave their approval. When they went to retrieve him, however, they ran into a small problem.” Elrond gave his foster son a pointed look, and Legolas was interested to see that Aragorn’s ears turned a bright red.

“What problem was that, my lord?” asked a very curious Legolas.

“Aragorn, tell him yourself,” prompted Elrond.

Still blushing, Aragorn filled in his side of the story. “I had reached the Timeless Halls and was enjoying exploring time with Arwen by my side. When the Valar found me and told me that I was spoken for, I refused to go unless Arwen could go as well.”

Legolas laughed. “So typical of you, Estel.” The trio turned into the light-filled meadow, and Legolas blinked at the sudden light.

“The Valar decided that was a wise decision, and they brought both Aragorn and Arwen here, as your eyes can well confirm,” Elrond finished the tale.

Gimli joined them with Galadriel at his side. “Elrond, will there be ale at this feast of yours?” he asked, looking hopeful.

“Gimli,” laughed Elrond, “Sam and Frodo have been here for years now. They insisted on teaching the wine keepers how to make ale and the gardeners how to grow pipeweed. They are most proud of the pipeweed; they say it is better than all of the Shire pipeweed, and, in the words of Sam, ‘And that’s saying a lot!'” All those in earshot laughed, knowing Sam well, and the mentioned hobbit turned an interesting beet-red color.

Elladan and Elrohir ran over to Legolas and Aragorn and dared them to a race to Legolas’ house. The pair quickly took them up on that and took off, Legolas pacing himself so he was running beside Aragorn as he always did. They were together again, the elf prince and the human ranger, as it had been for long decades on Middle-earth and how it would be through the long years of eternity.

So it was that the last of the Fellowship has passed the sea, and the tale of that Fellowship has ended. But, one day, when you weary of this life and pass over the sea, when you are greeted by the cheerful chorus of friends and family, all bearing torches and candles, when you are enveloped in the love of Iluvatar, and his voice welcomes you home, perhaps, if you look hard, you will see a blue-eyed elf and a silver-eyed ranger among those there to welcome you home.

Never lose hope; home is just beyond that distant horizon.

The End