Beyond This World

Chapter 1: The Death of One

Banishing the shadows of night with confidence and grace, the morning sun rose swiftly and vibrantly over the land. Grass greener than imagination could make it and fields of flowers rich in color and beauty rippled as light breezes whisked by, carrying on their wake the crisp, fresh smell of the sea. Far inland beyond the mountains, great bells began to chime, heralding the coming of the day and rousing the few that still slumbered. Forests of golden mallorn locked in a perpetual spring rustled with the sheer excitement of life, trembling with the glory and grandeur of Ilúvatar’s song as it filled Arda. This paradise was the place known to mortals as the Undying Lands, home to the ageless kingdom of Valinor. It was a haven for the elves as they left Middle Earth, trusting in men to carry on the work they had begun. Since the fall of Númenor, only five mortals had beheld the eternal bliss that rested here, and one of those had been a horse. Merely a glimpse of this wondrous realm was a balm to the weary spirit, and after the defeat of Melkor and the rejection of Sauron’s spirit, darkness had never tainted this sacred home.

Until now.

There was one who watched the flowing sea, but he was oblivious to its beauty. He felt the whispering breezes, but he could not taste of their freshness. The fragrance of flowers did little to lift his sagging spirits, and even the rising sun seemed as a cloud of darkness to him. The bells that tolled in the great city of Valimar went unheard by this Sindarin elf, and as the sun surged over the horizon, he huddled within himself, haunted by a growing shadow of misery and grief that was able to eclipse even the glory of the morning.

"Legolas?"

Startled by his name, the elf looked up and sighed to see the speaker. Olórin he was known as here, but to Legolas, he would be forever Gandalf and Mithrandir. "I did not hear you approach," the archer said quietly.

"You have been aware of little these past few weeks," Gandalf remarked rather pointedly, moving to the elf’s side and joining him in watching the sea. They stood together thus in silence for a minute or so, and then the Maia began to speak again when it became obvious that his comrade had no intention of offering conversation. "Very few of your kind look eastward, Legolas, yet without fail you have been here every morning for several weeks now. Why? What compels you to stand and watch the eastern sky?"

"I look for the sunrise," Legolas answered, his voice no louder than the breeze that played with errant strands of his golden hair.

"Do you indeed?" Gandalf asked. "I suppose that is well enough, but do you see the sunrise, I wonder, when it happens?"

There was yet another brief period of silence, and then Legolas dropped his head, unwilling to meet the other’s eyes. "Nay," he murmured. "Nay, I do not see it. I fear that for me, all is dark. Even the sun is lost. I can find no hope in the dawning of the day."

"Elrond told me of his condition. He was here yesterday, was he not?"

"He was," Legolas said shortly, moving away. He did not want to endure this conversation, though he strongly suspected there was no way of avoiding it. Elrond would have spoken to Gandalf and Galadriel both, as well as anyone else that might have inquired. Legolas had actually been expecting someone to come by, but he had hoped that he would have been given more time to collect his scattered emotions before enduring company.

"Elrond reported that his condition worsens," Gandalf called after the elf. "He also reported that you suffer greatly, my friend. I have come to see if there is aught I can do."

"Is there aught that any can do?" Legolas asked bitterly, stopping and once more fixing his eyes eastward out to sea.

"You knew this day would come. You were warned against it."

"And of what use were those warnings?" the elf demanded, rounding on Gandalf with flashing eyes. "How could I have prepared myself against this? Know you of any way? Did not you experience similar feelings when Shadowfax was laid to rest? And did you not also know that his end was bound to come?" Legolas stopped suddenly as though realizing for the first time what he was saying. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I did not guard my tongue and I—"

"It is no matter," Gandalf interrupted gently, knowing all too well what the elf was experiencing. "You are angry and upset. I understand what you face and how at times you seem driven to madness." The wizard stopped, considering whether or not he should continue. "Did Elrond tell you how long?" he eventually asked.

"No sooner than tonight. No later than tomorrow."

The whispered words seemed to be torn from the very fabric of his languishing soul, and Gandalf winced to hear such grief from an elf. It was all the more stark and despairing when contrasted with the surrounding beauty of the Undying Lands, and the darkness that had drawn itself over Legolas now seemed to draw itself over Aman.

"At the moment he sleeps, else I would not be here. But I was in need of fresh air and room to think," Legolas continued with a mournful sigh. "His pain is little, but he is so weak. So very weak. I do not remember ever seeing him thus. It is as though he accepts what will…" The elf trailed off, unable to say more.

"Perhaps he does accept it," Gandalf said, hesitantly placing a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. "And why not? It will come upon him sooner or later. Why not now? He has lived a long life. Longer, in fact, than any of his kindred save Durin the Deathless. He has seen sights never intended to be seen by mortal eyes. He has fought hard against the darkness and won great renown. And now at the end of his labors, he wishes to rest. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Yes," the elf said stubbornly, almost childishly, and Gandalf was reminded of the young prince who had first set out from Rivendell in a Fellowship of nine so many years ago.

"He cannot live forever." It was not the kindest thing to say, but Legolas needed to hear it. Nay, not just hear it, for he has heard it already. He must understand it.

"I know," Legolas whispered. The elf’s tone of voice said otherwise, but Gandalf didn’t feel like repeating himself. He doubted it would do any good anyway. "I must return to him," the elf said, interrupting the Maia’s thoughts. "He may be waking."

"And even if he is not, every moment you spend with him is now precious," Gandalf observed.

"Every moment I have ever spent with him is precious," Legolas answered sharply as he turned and walked away.

Watching the elf go, Gandalf could not help but wince. Legolas’s feet dragged as he climbed the bluffs running along the shore and started for a small dwelling that rested among the foothills of the Pelori Mountains, the range that covered the eastern coast of Aman. With a shake of his head, the Maia sighed heavily. Four mortal deaths had darkened Valinor since the beginning of the Fourth Age. Bilbo had been the first, and years later he had been followed by Frodo and Sam, dying within an hour of one another. Shadowfax had joined them a month later, and now it appeared that the fifth mortal to behold the elven homelands since the fall of Númenor was about to pass away.

Deciding there was nothing else that could be done here, Gandalf turned and started back to Valimar. Gimli’s impending death was affecting them all in some way or another, but the great majority of the elves were not overly concerned for the dwarf. His was the doom of all mortals, and most saw little reason for great grief when confronting the inevitable. Instead, much of Valinor had turned their anxiety toward Legolas. And well they might, for the elf was already mourning and Gimli yet lived. Storing every detail he had observed during his brief conversation with the elf, Gandalf attempted to construct what he would say to Elrond and Galadriel when they asked of Legolas and Gimli. It would not be a comforting report, and Gandalf tried to turn his thoughts another direction. But he could not. They seemed constantly drawn to a small dwelling at the base of the mountains where a mortal dwarf had lived in peace for nearly three hundred years not far from the forests where his best friend, an immortal elf, had dwelt in bliss with others of his Race. But it seemed that all those years were now coming to an abrupt and crashing end. With dark thoughts crowding his mind, Gandalf hastened his steps toward Valimar. There was much to be discussed.

* * * *

"Gimli?"

Tired. So tired. Every movement was aching weariness. The pain was gone now, but the exhaustion persisted like a ruthless Warg on the trail of desired prey. Even the simple act of opening his eyes had become a cruel, arduous process. Better to lie still and wait for a time that was almost come. It was easier that way.

"Gimli?"

But then again, maybe he could open his eyes. Before long, he would be separated from Legolas, this time permanently. He could not part with his friend without looking upon him at least one last time. Besides, what was a bit of effort now compared to all he had endured in his life? Yes, he would converse with his friend. To do otherwise would be to betray their friendship, and he would sooner renounce his lineage than abandon Legolas when there remained left to them so little time.

His resolve set, the dwarf now summoned what waning energy remained in his weakening body and concentrated on opening his eyes. Moving at the pace of a hobbit that has eaten far too much, he eventually accomplished the feat and also managed to send the elf a reassuring smile. "Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service," he whispered with fading breath.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil, at the service of you and your family," Legolas responded with a sorrowful laugh. He reached for the dwarf’s hand and took it in his own, marveling at the mortal process of aging that had stripped the proud dwarven warrior of all his strength. "I watched the sunrise this morning," he said quietly.

"And did you find new hope?" Gimli asked faintly, following what had now become a painfully familiar line of conversation.

"Not today," the elf murmured with a weary shake of his head. "Perhaps tomorrow."

The dwarf grunted, unable to raise the energy for a better response. Closing his eyes, he relaxed back into the silky sheets and warm blankets in which Legolas had cocooned him the night before, but he kept his hold on the prince’s hand, letting him know that he was still conscious by maintaining a faint pressure. In his current condition, it was the best he could do for the elf.

"Gandalf joined me by the sea," Legolas continued, now practiced in the art of the monologue since Gimli rarely had the energy to speak with his friend. "Apparently Elrond told him of his visit yesterday. I suspect he has told most of Valimar by now, as well. Gandalf wondered if there was aught he could do. I wish I could have given him an answer, but I fear I cannot give what I do not have."

The elf paused and brushed back an errant strand of golden hair that dangled in his face. He had changed little over the years, and if anything was different, it was his eyes. They were older now, filled with wisdom and experience and touched with a deep sadness that comes only to elves who befriend too many mortals and are then forced to watch as those mortals eventually wither and die. But as far as physical appearances went, he was the same elf that had set out from Mirkwood on a trip to Rivendell, bearing tidings that Gollum had escaped and that the elves of his father’s kingdom had been attacked.

Gimli, on the other hand, had changed much. His fine beard was completely white, as was the hair on his head. Wrinkles cragged his face, and his deep-set eyes seemed almost sunken. Five years ago, he had discovered that he could no longer wield his axe. It had been a depressing time for both elf and dwarf, but Gimli had recovered first, practically insisting that Legolas also recover or risk dragging them both into his elven mire of misery and despair. But Gimli would not recover from this. Nothing could stop this, and Legolas was nearly beside himself with frustration and anger as the end drew near. At this point, the elf would gladly throw his own immortality to the wind if it would buy Gimli even one more day of healthy life.

"The mountains were beautiful this morning," Legolas eventually continued, dimly hoping to draw some kind of reaction from his aged companion. "Perhaps tomorrow you can rise early and see them. I think you would have greatly enjoyed the sight, Gimli. The peaks glistened as though made of many gems, and the sun was golden on the snowfields. Verily, I was reminded of Aglarond as I watched. Indeed, to you and your strange kind, the sight might have been akin to paradise."

"But still you found no hope," Gimli sighed.

Legolas blinked and studied the dwarf. "Nay. Nay, I did not. Do you find hope in this?"

"Think on it, Master Elf," Gimli murmured weakly. "A glorious sunrise meant to be enjoyed by a dwarf. A farewell gift from the morning. A promise of great joy to come beyond this world. How does this not give you hope for me?"

"I look for hope that you will remain with me," Legolas said sharply, almost harshly.

"But such hopes are vain," the dwarf said, opening his eyes and struggling to muster his strength so that he might help Legolas confront an unpleasant truth. "I can no more remain here than you can embrace the moon. You clutch at the impossible, my friend, and despair when you cannot reach it." A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he continued. "But perhaps that is true of all elves. Ever they reach too high and ever they fall. Better to be a dwarf. We are firmly rooted to the ground."

"Stunted, you mean," Legolas said, allowing himself a bitter laugh.

"All the better to duck stray elven arrows."

"Elven arrows do not stray."

"Oh?" Gimli raised one white eyebrow. "I seem to remember a camping trip in Hollin during which—"

"You were delusional that trip," Legolas interrupted quickly. "It was but a figment of your imagination."

The dwarf chuckled. "And I suppose I also imagined the throbbing pain in my lower leg that persisted for several weeks."

"Purely your imagination," Legolas confirmed with a sad smile, thinking back on that unfortunate incident. It had been the first, last, and only time in his life that the elf had lost complete track of direction. He’d been so certain that the camp had been behind him, and when he’d heard rustling in the distant brush and remembered the warning that Elrohir had given concerning the trolls that had wandered east of Rivendell…

"I remember that you wearied my ears with apologies," Gimli whispered. "Of course, that was before you started denying that it ever happened. By the time we returned to Minas Tirith, Aragorn could not decide whom to believe."

"He never did make up his mind on the subject," Legolas said quietly.

"Oh, I think he did," Gimli said. "On his deathbed, it was one of the questions he asked me. An odd question, but one that had puzzled him greatly. And invoking my honor as a dwarf, I swore to him that you shot me on that camping trip. He died knowing the truth. Your reputation as an archer has been forever soiled, I am afraid."

Legolas made no answer, his thoughts dwelling on the words deathbed and died. Aragorn’s death had been devastating for the elf, and it was the realization that all the mortals around him would someday die and leave him in further grief that had finally pushed Legolas to depart over the sea. He was endlessly grateful that the Valar had received Gimli, and even more grateful that Gimli had consented to come in the first place.

"Legolas?"

But now Gimli was but hours away from following in the footsteps of Aragorn, Merry, Pippin, Sam, Frodo, Bilbo, Boromir, Eomer, Arwen, Faramir, Eowyn, Imrahil, and the hosts of other mortals whom Legolas had befriended and for whom he still grieved. Where was the justice in this? How could such a noble heart cease to beat? How could the gruff, blunt companion that had accompanied Legolas on many a journey and ultimately over the sea simply stop living? Gimli had dedicated his life to fighting the evil that was Sauron and repairing the harms that Sauron and his minions had wrought. And now he was to vanish from the world, remembered only in story and song that were but shallow tributes to his greatness.

"Legolas?!"

How dare he! How dare that dwarf leave him like this! Gimli was his best and dearest friend, the only other being in the whole of Arda in whom he could ultimately confide. He was one of the few warriors Legolas could and would trust implicitly to watch his back in battle. He was a friend who knew the elf’s heart better than the elf himself knew it. He was someone who had never been afraid to bluntly tell Legolas when he was being a fool. He knew when the elf needed time alone, and he also knew when that time had passed and the elf needed a friend even if such a friend was not desired. No, not just a friend, Legolas thought, feeling a lump form in his heart. The dwarf had become far more than a friend. It was as though he were an extension of the elf’s soul. Legolas could not imagine life without him, and yet that time was fast approaching. How dare he! Did he know what this was going to do to the elf? Did he understand how deeply his death would flay the elf’s spirit? Did he realize what Legolas was about to endure?

"Legolas!"

Startled by the dwarf’s breathy shout, Legolas blinked his eyes as though awakening from a deep sleep. He glanced about the dim interior of the dwarf’s home and belatedly realized his thoughts had run away with him. Looking back at Gimli, he smiled apologetically.

"Elves," the dwarf grumbled, studying his friend and reading or at least guessing most of the elf’s inner turmoil. Gimli sighed. He was weary in both body and mind, but he could not leave Legolas like this. "Do you remember the week that Merry and Pippin died?" the dwarf asked.

Puzzled and concerned by this turn in the conversation, and also by the fact that Gimli was exerting himself when he should be resting, Legolas nodded hesitantly. "I do. It was but five years after the passing of King Eomer."

"Do you remember what they said as they lay in the Houses of Healing under Aragorn’s care?"

Searching his memory, Legolas eventually shook his head. The events surrounding that stretch of time were now only a blur to him. His grief had been dark, and for days he had wandered in shadowy dreams, recalling memories of the cheerful, laughing hobbits who had become knights of Rohan and Gondor.

Gimli sighed again and shook his head slightly, wincing at the amount of energy it took him to do that. "It was just before Merry died. He looked over at Pippin and said, ‘Life has been good, but I shall be glad of a rest. Don’t be long in coming.’ And then Merry smiled. Those were his last words, Legolas. The last words he ever uttered. And a few days later, it was Pippin’s turn. Do you remember what he said? He said, ‘Merry has the right idea. I think it’s time for me to take a break, too.’ What do you think they meant, my friend? What do their words say to you?"

"I know not what you hope to gain by this riddle," Legolas said quietly. "But for me it holds no answers."

"Are you truly so blind?" Gimli asked. "Legolas, life is a wearying journey for mortals. By its end, we are tired. Death is rest. And beyond death, there comes greater adventures. Death is not an end but a step. A doorway. An escape for those of us who have not the endurance of the elves, for you and your people do not weary of life as mortals do."

"Don’t we?" Legolas asked softly with a strange gleam in his eyes. "Are you certain of that? Think you that we do not tire of watching all around us wither and die while we remain unchanged? Think you that we do not tire of the loss of dear friends?"

"I did not mean that, Legolas. I meant that you do not grow weary in age as others do. You still have all the energy and youth that you possessed when first I met you, but for me, all that has been spent and is long gone. I am ready for something different, and I will not refuse death’s offer to help me in this."

"You would give up? As simply as that?"

Gimli sighed and closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the elf’s hand. "I am tired, Legolas. Tired. You do not know what that means nor will you ever, I think. But I am tired as only mortals can be. Death is rest, and I long for it as I have longed for little else. Please, at least understand that and allow me to depart in peace."

"Gimli…" Legolas’s voice broke on the name, and he bent down and buried his face against the dwarf’s shaking hand that he held so tightly between his own hands. "I am sorry, elvellon. I cannot understand what you face. I only know what I am about to face, and I fear what it may do to me." He lifted his head and looked at the dwarf. Sensing the elf’s gaze, Gimli willed his eyes back open, blinking at the haze that had clouded his vision of late. "You are my best and most trusted friend," Legolas whispered, a strange moisture beginning to blur his sight. "Never has anyone been as close to me as thee. I can tell you anything, and yet I never have a need to. You know my mind and my heart before even I do. How can I replace that? And how can I live without your presence when it was you who stood by my side in both the darkest and the greatest moments known to Middle Earth?"

"You are an elf, Legolas," Gimli murmured. "And as an elf, you will move on. I am but a mortal, a small moment in a life that will last until Ilúvatar’s song dies. I should not matter that much to you."

"Truly?" Legolas demanded, and Gimli flinched to hear the horror and rage in his friend’s voice. "Is that how I seem to you? An immortal who sniffs at the memory of a departed friend and continues the next day as though it was all but a fleeting moment?!"

"I did not mean it that way," Gimli sighed. "I only hoped to give you a perspective on things. It seems I have failed." The dwarf allowed his eyes to flutter shut, and he felt Legolas stiffen and clutch tighter at his hand. "I remember when I first met you," Gimli said quietly. "I thought I knew all that I needed to of elves. I was burdened by the hatred of my people for your kind. To the dwarves, the elves are arrogant, spiteful, whimsical, and weak. A fading people who cannot adjust to the times." Gimli cracked one eye open and smiled slightly. "They are not all that wrong, you know. Elven arrogance was the first obstacle to our friendship. And spiteful? You keep your grudges long, Legolas. The elves have long memories. Whimsical? I have pulled you out of more flights of fancy than I can begin to count. And as far as Middle Earth is concerned, the remaining elves are a rustic and a fading people. But weak?" Gimli’s smile broadened and he shook his head slightly. "Never. I have seen you endure hardships that would ruin a dwarf. I have seen you battle monsters and demons that would flay a man. I have seen you take the hardest blow and strike back a moment later with the speed of a wizard and the tenacity of a hobbit. My arrogant, spiteful, whimsical, fading friend, you were the greatest adventure of my life, and I thank you for it."

Legolas smiled wanly through his tears and shook his head. "Nay, dear friend. The adventure was equally mine, and for the part you played in my life, you have my eternal gratitude."

Gimli returned the smile and moved as though to say more, but he had exhausted his energy and could no longer keep his eyes open. The elf watched sadly and helplessly as heavy lids fell shut and labored breathing deepened. With a sigh, the dwarf slipped into a heavy sleep that seemed more like death than rest.

And heedless of the struggle that went on in a small stone dwelling on Aman, the sun journeyed across the sky and eventually dipped toward the western horizon, a cruel reminder that even Valinor was not completely immune to the passage of time. And during the long, trying hours of daylight, Legolas sat at Gimli’s side, clutching the dwarf’s hand tightly. He silently begged, pleaded, and demanded that Gimli remain here in the Undying Lands, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his cries were vain. The dwarf’s time drew near, and nothing in all of Arda could prevent what was coming. Feeling the tears beginning to build once more, Legolas shifted his chair closer to the bedside and rested his head on his arm. He fixed his eyes on the rise and fall of Gimli’s chest, fearing that each breath would be the last one. He had no thought for food, rest, or any other needs. They were irritations he could do without.

And so the sun eventually set, casting long shadows through the windows and drawing a darkness over the land that mirrored the growing darkness in the elf’s heart.

* * * *

"Legolas?"

With a start, the elf jerked awake. The room was dark and the outside world slept in a peaceful silence. Furious with himself for having fallen asleep—though in truth he had not slept for almost a week—he looked immediately to Gimli, terrified that the dwarf had passed away during the night. But his fears were allayed when he saw the dwarf’s eyes sparkling at him in the darkness.

"You were sleeping, weren’t you?" Gimli asked with a hint of a smile.

"Sleeping?" The elf stretched and sat up, easing the kinks out of his spine. "I fear I was. My apologies."

"No, I am sorry for waking you. I was uncertain, though. If you elves would sleep with your eyes closed like any normal creature…" The dwarf shifted slightly. "What time is it, Legolas?"

The elf stood, wincing slightly when he felt his back pop. "Close to dawn," he said quietly, glancing out the window.

Gimli nodded, closing his eyes. "I…I thought maybe I would take you up on your suggestion."

"My suggestion?"

"From yesterday," the dwarf clarified. "You said the mountains were beautiful at sunrise. I’d like to see that. I would like to watch the sun rise over the sea." One last time, he added to himself, though he did not say it out loud. An argument was the last thing he wanted today.

"Then see it you shall," Legolas said, a spark of hope entering his voice. "You will not be disappointed, my friend. And perhaps the sun will grant you some of her strength."

"Perhaps," Gimli whispered, not having the heart to douse the elf’s excitement. "How shall we manage this?"

"Take no thought for it," Legolas instructed. "I shall arrange everything. Until then, rest. I promise that I will not be long."

Having no other option, Gimli gave in to the elf’s commands and drifted into a light doze, a state of awareness that had more or less become the norm for him. He was vaguely aware that Legolas was actively doing something around him, but he was too weary to bother with finding out what. Still, he was quietly amused. Elven enthusiasm had never failed to amaze him, and the simplest tasks became great feats if an elf deemed them worthy of consideration. The act of preparing a banquet or feast was nothing less than the most arduous of labors if left to the elves. They were perfectionists to a fault, and when they decided to take an interest in doing something, it was done thoroughly, properly, and flawlessly.

True to his word, it was not long before Legolas’s soft voice was sounding in the dwarf’s ear. "Gimli? Gimli, all is prepared if you feel ready."

The dwarf concentrated and managed to get his eyes open. It was a daunting task but not yet an impossible one. And looking into Legolas’s bright, gray eyes, a sliver of energy crept back into the dwarf’s aged form. "A dwarf is always ready," he murmured. "Let us watch the dawn."

Wrapping a host of blankets firmly around the dwarf, Legolas slipped one arm beneath Gimli’s shoulders and the other arm beneath his legs. A moment later, Gimli felt himself lifted, and then he was cradled securely against the prince’s lean body. Several years ago, this act would have cost both elf and dwarf dearly, one in strength and the other in pride. But Gimli’s body had wasted away until he weighed little more than a small hobbit, and Gimli himself had finally learned to accept the fact that he was no longer strong enough to move himself about. Carrying the dwarf was still awkward for both Legolas and Gimli and as such it was rarely done, but when it did occur, it was not the painful experience that it had once been.

Resting his head on Legolas’s shoulder, Gimli closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the ride. The elf was very gentle, and at times, it seemed to the dwarf as though he hovered on a breeze. Then fresh air laced with the smell of water and salt touched his cheek, and the illusion grew stronger. A slight wind whispered through his white beard, teasing it into a swaying dance as it swirled and rose.

At length, Gimli felt himself descending, and he opened his eyes to find that Legolas was lowering him onto a bed made of grasses and leaves. Blankets and pillows gathered from his room had already been set in place to cushion his weary frame, and he sank into this newly created couch with a grateful sigh. "Thank you," he whispered as Legolas moved back.

"Think nothing of it," the elf answered, sitting down next to the dwarf and turning his attention to the east. The sky was tinged with pink and purple, and faint wisps of clouds drifted along the horizon. Reflecting the sky’s light, the sea began to glow with the vibrant colors of the dawn. "Soon," Legolas murmured, watching the coming sunrise with a smile. "It will be soon."

"Very soon," Gimli sighed, speaking of more than the dawn.

"Look east first," Legolas said. "Watch the sky until the sun first appears beyond the edge of the sea. Then look to the mountains. It is then that you will see them sparkle as Aglarond."

"It will be a beautiful sight, indeed. Would you permit us to join you?"

If he’d had the energy, Gimli would have jumped and cried aloud. Legolas scrambled hurriedly to his feet, berating himself for not hearing the stealthy approach of the new arrivals, and bowed low. "Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. You honor us with your presence."

"Such honors are deserved by two of the famous Fellowship," Galadriel responded with a small laugh. Her golden hair was caught back in a simple braid and her white gown might have belonged to a young maid, but her face and her eyes were ageless as the ocean itself, a mixture of sadness and merriment, wisdom and youth. "Be seated, Legolas. And do not trouble to bestir yourself, Gimli, son of Glóin."

"In any case, I do not think you could rise even if you so desired it," Elrond said quietly, his face touched with sadness. His dark hair was loose and his blue robe was deep as midnight. He sat comfortably next to Gimli’s bed and ran a sharp eye over the dwarf. "I wish I had better news for you," he said at length.

"It may not seem it to you, but that is wonderful news," Gimli answered with as much breath as he could manage.

"Ah, I see you already have company," a new voice observed. "I wonder if I would be intruding or if one more might be welcome."

Legolas smiled at the same time his heart sank. "Come, Mithrandir. Join us here. We are awaiting the dawn." But the elf’s previously bright spirits were steadily falling to new lows. It was no accident that Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf were here together this morning. They were waiting for something, and Legolas had the unsavory feeling that he knew what that something was.

"There," Elrond whispered, pointing to the sea. "Behold the rising of the sun. See how the colors dance and sing before it, welcoming this new morning."

"And so comes another day of hopes and dreams," Galadriel added. "For with each dawn, a new day is born. And with that day come both beginnings and endings. Together they are a cycle, for there cannot be a beginning without an end and there cannot be an end without a beginning. That is the way of the song we live. As one melody falls, another rises to takes its place, and so the order of things is created, both in this life and also beyond the circles of this world."

Legolas could sense Galadriel spoke not only to Gimli, but the elf discarded her message for she was wrong. There would be no ending this day, for such an end could hold no beginning. Not for Legolas. "Look to the mountains, Gimli," he said, pointedly ignoring Galadriel’s words. "Behold one of the many wonders of the Undying Lands."

Knowing that his friend had refused to listen to comfort and knowing that there was nothing he could do to change that, Gimli sighed heavily and looked west toward the towering peaks. It was a sight he’d beheld before, but it never failed to give him chills. And it was a sight he’d not seen for years, for as he’d grown older, his ability to rise with the dawn had been lost. Before him, the snow-capped mountains blazed forth with a golden light, and the streams and waterfalls running down their slopes caught the sun’s rays in a multitude of dazzling rainbows that bewildered the eye. The mountains came alive and became as great gems of unimaginable worth. For a moment and an eternity, two elves, one half-elf, one dwarf, and one Maia basked in the glory of the dawn. And then the sun rose higher, the rainbows vanished, and the golden snow became once more a dazzling white.

Gimli smiled, satisfied and at peace. "You spoke truly, Legolas. It was much like the Glittering Caves. Do you remember when you first beheld their wonder?"

"I remember that a certain dwarf deliberately dropped the torch in a puddle of water and left us in the dark for almost an hour while pretending he’d lost the flint and steel to light another one," Legolas answered with a small smile.

"Strange," the dwarf murmured. "I do not remember that. But I do remember someone abandoning me in Fangorn on our first trip there and then reappearing at the last moment to drive back the Huorns."

"The look on your face was one I will carry with me always," Legolas laughed, though his laugh was tinged with sadness.

"You have lived a long and a full life, lock-bearer," Galadriel smiled. "And you have seen much that is forbidden to mortals."

"Yes, thanks to you," Gimli said, his voice lowering to a tone of deep reverence.

"And what else could I have done for one so courteous of speech?" Galadriel laughed lightly. "You were one of the Nine Companions and both Middle Earth and the Undying Lands owe you a great debt. Indeed, what we have granted you is but little compared to your efforts on our behalf." She rose and then knelt before the dwarf, taking his rough hand in her pale one. "A star shone on the hour of our meeting, elvellon, and it shines now on the hour of our parting. Go in peace."

Legolas cried out and surged forward, but Elrond restrained him, pulling him away from Galadriel and Gimli. "Not now," Gandalf whispered, stepping to the struggling elf’s side. "In a moment, you will have your chance."

"Were it not for you, I would have enjoyed none of this," Gimli whispered, his eyes locked onto Galadriel’s ageless beauty. "And were it not for you, I do not think I would have had the strength or the will to reject my hatred of elves. It is I who owe you, fair lady. And the friendships I have forged because of you are greater in value than any deed of mine."

"It is as I said, dear friend," Galadriel spoke with a soft smile. "The tongue of Gimli is courteous indeed, even as his eyes darken. Know that you have earned a great place in the Ilúvatar’s song, and that beyond this world you shall have rest, peace, and the company of lost friends." She rose and released his hand, turning her piercing eyes toward Legolas. "There are others who would bid you farewell, Gimli."

"I think one would instead beg me to stay," the dwarf answered with a strained smile.

Elrond released Legolas, but the elf couldn’t seem to move. He stared at the dwarf as though comprehending for the first time what this moment meant. Or perhaps he at last understood that there would be no last-minute rescuer. The rest of the Fellowship save Gandalf and himself had already departed, and now it was Gimli’s time. But still, Legolas could neither move nor speak.

Sensing the elf’s inability to act, Elrond stepped forward and knelt beside the dwarf. "It has been long since the great Council when we first met, Gimli, son of Glóin. As I recall, you were suspicious of me then."

"All sane beings knew that elves were not to be trusted," Gimli said with a gasping chuckle. "I fear it has been many years since I was accounted a sane being."

Elrond smiled and laughed quietly. "Many years, indeed, and many hardships. You have endured them well, friend dwarf, and I wish you peace and rest." The half-elf glanced at Legolas, beckoning him forward, but still Legolas could not move. With a sigh, Elrond threw a helpless look at Gandalf.

Gandalf tried to lead Legolas toward his friend, but the elf might have been frozen in place. Realizing it would take a different force to stir the prince, the former wizard glanced significantly at Galadriel and then moved toward the dwarf. Kneeling beside Gimli, the Maia placed a gentle hand on the dwarf’s brow, smoothing away the lines of age and weariness as he did so. "Our friendship was a great one, Gimli, and always I valued your companionship, brief though our time together might have been," Gandalf whispered. "Your valiance earned you a place in Valinor, and your loyalty now earns you a place of rest. Depart in peace. You accomplished much."

"At the very least, I learned to judge between you and Saruman," Gimli murmured, his energy nearly spent.

"That you did," Gandalf said with a laugh. "I fear that knowledge will do you little good now, but it was a comfort then to think there were some who knew the difference." Gandalf turned away and, like Elrond, looked expectantly at Legolas.

"Come," a soft voice whispered in the elf’s ear, and startled, he turned to find Galadriel at his side. She took his arm, and by her very gentleness, she managed to guide his resisting form forward. At their approach, both Elrond and Gandalf withdrew a respectful distance away, and the sheer magnitude of all that was happening finally claimed the elven prince.

"It is time, Legolas," Galadriel said quietly, now backing away with the others and nodding toward Gimli. "Go to him. Let not this friendship be sundered now."

But despite her words, for time eternal, Legolas stared at Galadriel, his mind and heart refusing to acknowledge the bitter truth. He feared to look at Gimli, hoping and praying that this could all be changed if only he refused to believe in reality.

"Legolas?"

A throaty whisper behind him destroyed his resolve, and he found himself turning against his will. His eyes filling with tears, Legolas stepped forward and knelt by the side of his greatest friend, taking the dwarf’s hand firmly in his own. But still, he could not speak. He could not even meet Gimli’s eyes, fearful of seeing the inevitable.

"I wish there could have been another way," Gimli murmured, returning Legolas’s grip with feeble strength.

"As do I," Legolas said thickly, struggling vainly to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Now, more than ever, he had to be strong. He had to impart peace to his friend, and he had to show him that all was well. But all was not well, and the terror clutching the elf’s heart was greater than his will. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, Legolas was falling apart emotionally, and he could not forbear from making one last plea. "Can not you tarry, Gimli? Can you not tarry just a little longer?"

The dwarf sighed, his face betraying his sorrow at leaving Legolas in such a state. "You still do not understand, my friend," Gimli whispered, closing his eyes and squeezing the elf’s hand. "Nor will you ever, and for that I am sorry. Look after yourself, Legolas. Without me to aid you, you may get into great trouble."

"As I remember it, I was usually getting you out of trouble," the elf replied, his voice cracking and the tears flowing freely now.

"Then view this as a rest for both of us," Gimli said, his voice growing faint. "Remember the dawn. Though you do not see it, there is hope. Hope for beyond this world."

"But what hope is there for this world?" Legolas demanded harshly.

Gimli put the very last of his energy together and managed to open his eyes. He locked onto the elf’s gray eyes, finally getting them to meet his own, and tried to answer his friend through a wordless gaze. After a moment though, sensing his efforts were useless, he sighed slightly. There was nothing more he could do for the elf, and his time had come. "Goodbye, my friend." He summoned one last smile, his eyes radiating with the power of a friendship that had given him the strength to leave Middle Earth. "Never did I have a better companion, Legolas, son of Thranduil. Because of you, my life was full and I may now depart in peace." Gimli squeezed Legolas’s hand for the final time as his strength failed him completely. "I love you, Legolas. You were, are, and always will be a brother to me. Take care."

And with these last words, the dwarf exhaled. His chest fell, and his body relaxed completely, the sound of his last breath echoing on the wind. Holding his lax hand, Legolas stiffened and watched anxiously for his chest to rise again, but it did not.

"Gimli? Gimli?!"

Moving next to them, Elrond knelt and gently closed the dwarf’s eyes. "It is over, Legolas. He is at peace."

The elf shook his head violently. "No. No! You lie! Gimli! Gimli, wake!"

"Legolas!" It was Gandalf who stepped in, placing both hands on the elf’s shaking shoulders and trying to impart a measure of comfort. "Legolas, he is gone. His labors are over and he can rest. He is no longer confined to this world. You should rejoice for him, not sorrow over his passing." The glare Legolas shot Gandalf might have given a Balrog pause for thought, but the Maia would not back down. "Do not mourn overmuch, son of Thranduil," Gandalf said firmly. "The appointed time of his death in Middle Earth was years ago. Be grateful you were favored with his friendship for so long."

But Legolas would not be comforted. Shaking off Gandalf’s hands, he moved forward and seized Gimli’s still form, drawing him in against his chest and burying his head in the dwarf’s silky, white hair. And then he began to weep as he had never wept before, shaking with the force of his tears and shrugging off all attempts to draw him from his sorrows.

And so Valinor marked the passing of Gimli, son of Glóin, the last mortal to behold the Undying Lands. But much to the astonishment of all, the shadow of death did not leave with the departure of the dwarf. Its work was not quite finished, for there was another who lay very close to its realm and the darkness that death brought could not depart until that other chose for himself which course he would follow. It was a decision that held all of Valinor in amazement, for what elf would ever forsake Aman because of a mortal? But then, what dwarf would ever forsake Middle Earth for an immortal?

Elvellon—Elf-friend

Chapter 2: The Choice of the Other

It had been almost three days since Gimli’s death. On the evening of the first day, after much coaxing, Legolas had finally relinquished the body into the care of Elrond and Gandalf. Having done that, he abruptly vanished and had not been seen since. Searchers were dispatched, but there was no sign of the Legolas anywhere in Valinor. All waited in vain, hoping for some sign of his return, but the funeral and the burial could not be put off after the end of the second day. And so Gimli had been laid to rest next to the mounds where four other mortals lay, a cairn of stone covering his body. Three hobbits and one horse already slept beneath Arda, and now a dwarf joined them. Gimli had made many friends during his long years in the Undying Lands, and they had all come for a last glance and a final farewell. But the dwarf’s greatest friend had been conspicuous by his absence, and all the hosts of Aman wondered what this might mean.

Now, only hours after Gimli had finally been laid to rest, Gandalf sat outside a small stone house that lay devoid of life but rife with memories. Gimli’s passing was affecting him as it was affecting others, but the Maia’s greatest concerns lay not with the deceased but with his friend, who, hopefully, still remained in the land of the living. All attempts to find Legolas had been pitifully unsuccessful, especially given the fact that the trackers were all elves, and the Maia could only wonder what had become of him. Darkness still lingered over the Undying Lands, and the only being that could be responsible for this was the son of Thranduil. Legolas had to be found and found quickly, or Gandalf feared what the consequences might be.

The predawn darkness lay thick on the land this morning as though awaiting some great and terrible event. The air from the sea seemed stagnant. The fragrance of the flowers was sour. The beauty of the forests and the mountains had dimmed. Even the great bells of Valimar, bells that had tolled since the creation of Arda and had forever called the elves to Valinor, seemed harsh and dull. Death had come to the Undying Lands, and death lingered still.

A soft sigh startled the Maia and he leaped in surprise, swinging around to discover the object of his thoughts gazing sorrowfully at Gimli’s home. Slightly confused, Gandalf furrowed his brow and studied the prince, searching for some way to read his intentions and his emotions through his manner. "Legolas?"

The elf did not respond to his name. It was as though Gandalf did not exist. For that matter, nothing seemed to exist except for the house that Gimli had built nearly three hundred years ago. Legolas had aided in its construction, laughing at the dwarf’s need to have a home more stable than the trees where the elf lived. To this, Gimli had replied that stability was a foreign concept to elves as their minds were too flighty to grasp its meaning. Gandalf smiled as he remembered that conversation. It had been like so many other conversations between the two. Ever had they sparred and parried with words, but beneath it all ran a deep affection and friendship. Both knew how far the other could be pushed, and both knew which insults were acceptable in jest and which were offensive. They knew one another better than anyone had a right to know another individual. And most importantly of all, they accepted each other and gloried in their differences, making their friendship a truly unique one.

Gandalf abruptly shook his head, dislodging himself from memories. Legolas was still standing completely motionless, transfixed by the sight of Gimli’s home, and Gandalf had still not been able to rouse the elf from his stupor. Moving carefully toward the prince, Gandalf eased behind him and gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder.

Legolas didn’t move.

With gentle pressure, Gandalf endeavored to turn the elf from the building. He was met by solid resistance and a surprising strength that belied Legolas’s haggard frame. Tightening his jaw, Gandalf pulled harder, and in the end, Legolas stumbled and turned, reaching out helplessly and clutching at the wizard for support.

"We missed you at the funeral, Legolas," Gandalf said without prelude, bracing himself and holding the elf up as he sagged against the Maia. "I was certain that you would return for it. Where have you been?"

For a moment and an eternity, Legolas stared at Gandalf dumbly as though he could not comprehend what had been said. And then he blinked and seemed to gather himself, but this did not reassure Gandalf. What had previously been a blank stare became a sea of torment and anguish. The elf’s gray eyes were dull and cloudy, and his face twisted as a terrible grief boiled upward from an immortal heart. With a choking cry, Legolas fell against the other remaining member of the Fellowship, shuddering as sobs tore from his throat and tears flooded his eyes.

"Come, my friend," Gandalf said gently, now forced to completely support the staggering elf. He moved them toward a bench hewn of stone that stood a short distance away from the house. "You need rest. If I am not mistaken, you have neither eaten nor slept in days."

"I could not stop him," Legolas whispered into the folds of Gandalf’s robe. "I tried. I tried everything, but I could not stop him."

"No, you could not. There are some things over which we have no control," Gandalf answered quietly, easing the elf down onto the bench and waiting patiently as the grieving prince wept against the Maia’s shoulder. He began rubbing the elf’s back, and sighed in relieve as he felt Legolas relax slightly beneath his touch. After several minutes, the sobs began to subside, and Gandalf gently extricated himself from Legolas’s clutching grasp. Removing his cloak, he wrapped it around the shivering elf and forced him to lie down. "Rest a moment, my friend. I will return shortly. And if you even think of moving from this spot, Legolas, son of Thranduil, you will regret it."

Legolas made no answer but curled into a tight ball and closed his eyes, pulling the borrowed cloak around his body as though it could shield him from the harsh realities he faced. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Gandalf turned and went quickly to the house, making a quick but successful search in the pantry. There was a bit of bread left and some dried meat that was still good. There was also a flask of Legolas’s favorite wine in one cupboard, and Gandalf swiftly gathered all and hurried back to the elf.

To his relief, Legolas was still there, but to his dismay, the elf was once again completely unresponsive to the outside world. He shivered and moaned as though in great pain, but no words of the wizard could rouse him. Rubbing his brow and attempting to quell a rising feeling of frustration, Gandalf grimaced and sat next to the shaking prince. Pouring a bit of the wine into a cup that he’d brought, he lifted Legolas’s head and placed the rim of the goblet against the elf’s lips. As the sweet wine began to pour, Legolas reflexively opened his mouth and swallowed. The wine continued to flow, and it seemed as though Legolas slowly came back to himself. His tear-filled eyes became clearer and Gandalf found that he no longer had to support the elf’s head.

When the cup had been drained, Gandalf withdrew it and watched Legolas expectantly. The elf lay quiet for a moment and then sat up slowly, pausing once to steady himself.

"If you are hungry, I have gathered breakfast for us," Gandalf said quietly, placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder.

"I am not hungry," Legolas whispered, brushing at his eyes and straightening.

"Then will you watch the dawn with me?" Gandalf asked, hoping he was doing the right thing. "You may find new hope this time."

"I have watched the dawn twice since he left," Legolas said bitterly, shaking off the wizard’s hand. "It has brought me no hope." Discarding the cloak, he stood and moved away, walking as though in a dream.

"Then will you at least speak with me?" Gandalf said, his frustration becoming greater with each passing moment.

Legolas stopped, but he did not turn around. "Of what would you speak?" he asked, his voice cold and his posture rigid.

"You already know the answer to that," Gandalf said, rising and moving to the elf’s side. "But perhaps I should rephrase my question. Will you listen to me?"

"I have always listened to you," Legolas said quietly.

"You have listened to no one these past few weeks," Gandalf countered. "You have been deaf to me, to Galadriel, to Elrond, and even to Gimli. Grief has made you hard of hearing and even harder of understanding. Can you tell me now, Legolas, whether or not you are ready to listen?"

"To what?" the elf snapped, turning and advancing on the startled Maia. "What have you to say that I do not already know? And how shall saying it again change what has already happened?" Gray eyes flashed as dark as gathering storm clouds, but beneath the anger lay a river of churning, seething despair that was eating away at the elf’s soul and poisoning his thoughts. Gandalf felt his breath catch at this glimpse into Legolas’s mind, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The elf blinked and his eyes faded into a dull gray that was painfully at odds with their usual brightness. "Leave," Legolas whispered quietly, his voice soft and sad. He sounded as though one who had lost his way and despaired of ever finding the road home. "Leave, Mithrandir. You can do nothing more here." And with that he turned, walking eastward and fixing his eyes on the sea.

But Gandalf was not about to lose the elf this time. Hurrying after him, he fell into step beside him and sighed in partial relief when Legolas did not try to turn away or increase the pace. "Even if you are not willing to listen, I think you must," the Maia said, watching the elf closely. "You bring darkness to the Undying Lands, and you stand on the brink of a perilous decision. At least indulge me as a friend, Legolas. You claim you have always listened to me. Let that not change now."

"Speak, then, since you do not seem inclined to leave me," Legolas said harshly, stopping and folding his arms across his chest.

Anger flashed through Gandalf, but he quickly pushed it down, remembering his own mood shortly after the death of Shadowfax, a death that followed so closely on the deaths of Frodo and Sam. And perhaps that was the key to giving Legolas a measure of light and comfort. The elf had survived the passing of the hobbits. If he was reminded of that, perhaps he could find the strength to survive this.

"Legolas, do you recall a time of darkness shortly after you reached the Undying Lands?"

"What of it?"

The sting of irritation came back, but Gandalf firmly schooled himself in patience, painfully aware that he might be the elf’s only hope. "You were there when Sam and Frodo died, were you not?"

"Again, what of it?"

Short, glib responses were not going to accomplish anything, but at the moment, Gandalf realized he should be grateful that Legolas was even willing to speak. Hoping he could somehow break through the dark melancholy that clouded the elf’s mind, he pushed onward, forcing Legolas to remember and forcing him to think of things other than what had happened three days ago. "They died one hour apart," Gandalf said quietly, remembering the events with a sad smile. "And they left peacefully. You spoke with them ere the end, if I remember correctly." He waited for the elf to give him some kind of response, but Legolas just stood there in a stony silence. "What did they say to you?" Gandalf finally asked. "What were their final words of advice?"

For a long while, nothing happened. And then the elf bowed his head, his voice soft, low, and filled with an ageless sadness that tore at Gandalf’s heart just to hear it. "They said that it was time. They said they were ready to leave." Then the elf looked up, a nameless fear and sorrow burning in his eyes. "And they reminded me that I still had Gimli."

Gandalf winced. He’d forgotten the bit about the dwarf, and that was certainly not going to help matters. But it was too late now, and he had no choice but to plough forward as best he could. "What do you think they meant by that?"

"That Gimli would help me through it. And he did." Legolas abruptly turned and resumed walking.

This was not going the way Gandalf had hoped, and he hurried to catch up with the elf. "No, that was not my question. I meant the part concerning time. What do you think they intended by saying that it was time?"

Legolas came to an abrupt stop and shuddered. "He asked me the same thing," the elf whispered, bowing his head as his shoulders began to shake. "Gimli asked me the very same thing before the end, only he spoke of Merry and Pippin. And then he tried to explain it." Legolas shook his head violently, his voice low and broken. "He spoke of weariness and the fading of mortal endurance. He claimed he had tired of life and that he was ready for the next step. He saw death as a door. A way to rest and greater adventures. A gate leading beyond this world and into the next."

"A great step in the song of Ilúvatar," Gandalf murmured quietly. "A step intended for mortals. Not for elves," he added with sharpness. "Elves are bound to Arda."

"Are we?"

"Legolas!" Gandalf was close to the end of his temper, and patience had done nothing so far. "Would you dishonor Gimli’s memory by leaving us? He trusted that you would recover. His faith was that you would find your way beyond your grief at his passing. But you are not finding your way, my friend. You are dangerously close to dying yourself. You take no thought for your needs. You do not sleep. You do not eat. You wander listlessly, and all the while, death draws near. Its shadow has been felt by all. You cannot say that you do not feel it."

"I do feel it," Legolas admitted. "And perhaps now I understood what Gimli felt. I weary of life. I weary of death. All the mortals I ever knew are now gone. And I still feel the sorrow of each passing as clearly as if it had happened only moments ago."

"You have felt so for years, and yet you have endured."

"Because there was one mortal left," Legolas said. He looked up and met the wizard’s eyes, and in his glance there was a frightening gleam as though he was coming to a decision. "I had one mortal friend left, and it did not hurt that he was the greatest friend I could have ever asked for. With his presence came hope that not all was forsaken. But now, what is he but a memory? Years from now, he will have been forgotten by all save the elves. No mortal now lives who can remember his greatness. The songs they crafted can never do him justice. How can one cast a spirit so strong into weak and meager words?"

"Which is why you must continue," Gandalf said firmly. "You remember. To you, he is not a ghost of the past but a friend who came to you when times seemed darkest. You alone remember him as such, for it was you who journeyed with him. You mourned together, sang together, laughed together, and wept together."

"Together, you say," Legolas said bitterly. "But that, too, is now a ghost of the past. What of the future, Gandalf? What of that? Shall I now mourn alone, sing alone, laugh alone, and weep alone?"

"You are not alone, Legolas, and if you were not so blinded by your grief you would see that. There are those here who yearn to help you, myself included."

"Know this," the elf said, his voice hardening and his eyes glinting like the polished steel of a newly forged blade. "There are none here who could take his place. Ours was a friendship forged in the darkest of times. We faced hardship and evil together, and together we were victorious. Who here can say they stood with me as I faced a Balrog, hid from the Nazgul, raced day and night across the country of Rohan in pursuit of two lost comrades, counted Orc heads in Helm’s Deep, faded from the world of men into the Paths of the Dead, and ultimately crossed the sea?"

"Perhaps none can lay claim to all of those," Gandalf said. "But friendship does not have to be born of trials to be of value."

Legolas narrowed his eyes but made no answer, turning instead to gaze at the sea as the rim of the sun began to edge above the horizon. Beside him, Gandalf sighed and shook his head wearily.

"Do you still see no hope, Legolas?"

"I do not look for hope," the elf said quietly. "For me, there is no hope."

"Then for what do you look?"

"I know not. Perhaps a glimpse of Middle Earth."

"Even the eyes of an elf would be hard-pressed to span the sea’s vast distance," Gandalf remarked.

"It matters not. The knowledge of its existence is enough for me," Legolas said a small shiver. "He loved it. As the sea once called to me, the Glittering Caves called forever to him. Even amidst the glory of these lands, he always missed Aglarond."

"Yet he was content here, Legolas. Your friendship was greater to him than all the riches and all the beauty of Middle Earth."

"He was content, but it does not change the fact that he left." The elf shook his head, a trace of amazement and wonder in his eyes. "When he chose to journey to these shores for the sake of our friendship, he gave up his world for me." Legolas blinked and turned to face Gandalf, a tear trailing its way down his cheek. "How can I do any less for him?"

Gandalf stepped back, at a loss for words. The resolve in Legolas’s eyes hardened at the Maia’s hesitation, and Gandalf hastened to change the elf’s mind. "He trusted you to continue," Gandalf said softly, hoping against hope that Gimli’s faith in the elf was not misplaced. "Can you fail him in that? He did not ask it of you, but you know as well as I do that he wanted you to go on. He did not want you to follow in his footsteps. Death is not the destiny of an elf."

Legolas bit his lip and dropped his head. "I know what he would have wanted," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the faint crash of the distant surf. "But I fear that without him beside me, his wish may go unfulfilled."

"Try, Legolas. Try! You have not walked through so many years of darkness only to fail now."

"I’m sorry, Gandalf. I must leave. I…I have need of thought." And saying this, the elf turned and ran, stumbling as he fled blindly from the wizard and eventually vanishing into mists of the early morning.

* * * *

"The shadow deepens," Elrond murmured, standing before a tall, arching window in one of Valimar’s many towers. From afar, he could sense the presence of death lingering just beyond the shores of the Undying Lands. Its taint was felt throughout the kingdom and the rising of the sun did not fully drive the night from Valinor. Darkness lingered, relishing the chance to poison the elven paradise which had previously denied it access for years uncounted.

Beside the half-elf, Galadriel stirred, her eyes distant and searching. "Olórin returns," she observed, marking the halting progress of Gandalf as he made his way to the city of Valimar. "I fear he does not bring good tidings."

"The growing shadows are tidings enough for me," Elrond sighed. "Legolas has still not chosen a course, and the longer he delays, the greater the darkness becomes. If he does not choose his own destiny, then it shall be chosen for him. And I fear the consequences of such an event, both for his sake and for ours."

"But what are his chances, Elrond?" the lady of light asked. "He has lost his dearest friend, a friend who outlived all other mortals and was granted access to this forbidden land by the Valar. Can Legolas find the strength to live beyond this lost friendship?"

"He is a Sindarin elf, but in him is much Silvan blood, and the Silvan elves are more firmly bound to Arda than the Noldor. Because of this, I have more faith in his decision than I would if he were of a nobler lineage."

"And yet as an elf in whom there is much Silvan blood, he is more passionate about the things of Arda, and gives his love and trust more freely than would one of the Noldor," Galadriel argued gently. "He and Gimli were inseparable. Legolas reverenced him, and Gimli in turn reverenced Legolas. Legolas’s Silvan love of Arda transferred itself completely to the dwarf when they left Middle Earth, and his Sindarin heritage made that bond as tight and intense as any he might have forged with the things of the world." Galadriel sighed softly and shook her head. "I fear his ties to Gimli are far stronger than his ties to Arda."

A silence fell, each lost in grim thoughts, and so they remained until a door behind them was pushed open and Gandalf stepped through. "I found Legolas," he said quietly without prelude when the two glanced back at him. "He grows weaker."

"He is still so young, and to face such a decision…" Galadriel murmured, trailing off as she considered the elf.

"Young he might be, but he has seen more darkness than many elves twice his age," Elrond reminded her. "He has faced difficult decisions before. He tarried long on Middle Earth once the call of the sea had stirred in his heart."

"But will he tarry now?" Gandalf wondered. "I wish I had an answer to that. My words with him were dark and I gained no significant insight from our brief conversation." The Maia closed his eyes and leaned against a white pillar, shaking his head slightly. "He is torn. He does not wish to stay, but he is afraid to leave."

"Afraid?" Elrond queried.

"Afraid of failing the dwarf. Gimli would not have wanted him to mourn to the point of death. Legolas knows that well, but he cannot help himself. For him, the world is dark and the way unclear. And I fear it will be so until he chooses a road."

"But if he does not choose soon, the way shall be chosen for him," Elrond pointed out, repeating for Gandalf what he had already told Galadriel. "He will cease to eat and he will cease to sleep. Every breath shall be weariness until the thought of drawing another throws him even further into despair."

"What you say is true, and it has already begun," Gandalf said quietly. "I managed to give him some wine this morning, but he took no food and it was obvious that he has taken no sleep. We parted because he ran, but had I wished to, it would not have been difficult to overtake him. He could not see the path before him, and he stumbled much as he fled."

"I would not have him waste away," Galadriel whispered, closing her eyes and casting her thoughts toward Legolas in the hopes that she might somehow comfort him, but Legolas could not be reached. "For his efforts in the War of the Ring, he deserves so much more than a fading end. Even were he to choose death voluntarily, it would be better than the creeping weariness he now endures."

"But it seems as though he can choose neither death nor life," Elrond sighed. "Perhaps he does not even realize the choice that lies before him. And in this it seems we cannot help him. Remember his words and deeds as Gimli was dying. Legolas would not listen then. He will not listen now. He is too blinded and overcome with grief to heed the counsel of others."

"Elrond has it aright," Gandalf said wearily. "Cold as stone he seemed to me this morning. At times his anger flashed, breaking through his grief as lightning might burst through a cloud, but then it was gone, leaving only agony and destruction in its wake. He grieves mightily, and when that grief is released, it is released as a flood of emotions. But once under control, he becomes again a blank wall that none may touch. Counsel cannot breech his guards. Wisdom cannot pierce his grief. For perhaps the first time in his life, Legolas is truly alone. Whatever guidance he finds, he must come by it himself."

"And so we wait," Galadriel said quietly, turning back to the window and looking eastward with far-seeing eyes.

"And while we wait, the shadow grows," Elrond murmured. "May the Valar aid him, for I fear we can do no more."

* * * *

Legolas could not say how far or how long he had wandered after fleeing Gandalf’s presence. He eventually became aware of the passage of time when the sun set behind the mountains, but he did not comprehend what this passage of time meant. Instead, he continued to wander, caring not where his feet took him so long as he did not have to control their movements. His mind swam in a sea of grief and pain as memories of the dwarf sprang to life. Conversations that now seemed as though they had happened in another lifetime surfaced, and Legolas lived through their moments with a sorrow and a despair the likes of which he had never before known.

If I were to have been born an elf, what kind of elf would I have been?

A poor one.

Jealous, Legolas? Afraid that I might have made a better elf than you?

You grasp at straws, son of Glóin. You are hardly a proper dwarf. I shudder to think what you might have been as an elf.

Not a proper dwarf?! Master Elf, I will have you know that I am accounted a great and hardy dwarf among my people!

"You were accounted a great and hardy dwarf among my people as well, Gimli," Legolas whispered to the darkness. "And you would have made a most interesting elf. I wish now that it had been so."

The darkness did not answer him, but its shadows seemed to coil around his shivering frame and the night grew colder. But Legolas took no notice. He was lost in his mind and his grief, heedless of the outside world. The surrounding forest of golden mallorn might have been a barren wasteland for all that Legolas cared.

Trees! Trees are useful for firewood if you are cold.

Trees are life, Gimli, and as such they are reverenced by the elves.

And are stars also life? For you seem to reverence them as well.

I hardly expect a dwarf to understand. You spend so much time delving for treasures that you do not see the glories that surround you. You are as moles—ever digging, ever searching, and ever blinded to the wonders of Middle Earth.

And you are as moths—fluttering between so many wonders that you can never appreciate one for all its worth because another comes to steal your attention.

"I appreciated your worth, my friend," Legolas murmured, vaguely aware that he was yet again weeping. "Never did another wonder take your place. Never will another wonder take your place." And as he said this, the shadows around him grew even darker, ensnaring the elf and tightening their hold on the Undying Lands.

You cannot go!

I cannot stay.

Why?! Explain this to me!

Gimli, you could never understand. It is not a thing I can readily put into words. But I must go!

And leave everything behind?

My friend, I—

Were you waiting only for Aragorn’s death? Was he the only thing that bound you to Middle Earth? Does our friendship mean that little?

NO! By the Valar, no! Our friendship was what kept me here. But now…Gimli, I cannot sit by and watch as mortals fade and perish. I have to leave. And the sea! I have denied its call for so long, and I weary of pushing it to the back of my mind. You cannot understand and I do not ask you to do so, but…

But?

I must go, Gimli. Please do not ask me to tarry. I cannot.

"And despite my request, you followed me to the ship, begging and threatening the entire way," Legolas remembered. "Much as I begged and threatened you these last few weeks." The elf stopped and looked around. He was slightly surprised by his surroundings, but in a way, he realized that he’d expected it. His wandering feet had led him to five mounds, one of them set apart from the other four by the fact that it was covered in stones. In the dim starlight above, they glowed slightly, nestled as they were beneath green ferns and drooping mallorn boughs.

Contrary to the beliefs of the rest of Valinor, Legolas had actually been present when Gimli was laid to rest. He watched from afar, hidden in a copse of trees and veiled by what had now become a perpetual shadow. He had started forward once when they began to raise the carin, but then he’d stopped, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. The finality of it all. And it still eluded him to some extent.

Kneeling reverently next to the newest grave, he traced his hand over the smooth stones that had been laid in place and shuddered, spilling tears onto the mound. A gray stone marker carved with elven and dwarven runes lay at the head, and Legolas moved to its side, leaning against it and burying his face in his arms.

For several hours, Legolas wept, caught in a sea of memories that would not release his grieving mind. The darkness closed around him, tightening its grasp and drawing him further into sorrow and grief. The elf shivered as the shadows began to claim him and pressed himself firmly against the marker at the head of Gimli’s grave, painfully conscious of the fact that the one being who might have been able to pull him from the darkness now lay buried beneath the ground.

Eventually, exhausted by his grief, Legolas moved away from the stone marker and stretched out beside the grave on his stomach, resting his upper body on the mound and pillowing his head on his arms. "Gimli," he groaned, wishing with all his might that he would wake and find this to be naught but a dream. But he wished in vain and the dark night continued, reaching out with its cold hand to clutch at the heart and soul of the grieving elf. Legolas felt his will crumple before it, and it seemed that he fell into a deep chasm from which there could never be any escape.

I have seen you endure hardships that would ruin a dwarf. I have seen you battle monsters and demons that would flay a man. I have seen you take the hardest blow and strike back a moment later with the speed of a wizard and the tenacity of a hobbit. My arrogant, spiteful, whimsical, fading friend, you were the greatest adventure of my life, and I thank you for it.

Legolas froze as Gimli’s words came to him as though spoken from the grave. Breaking through the shadows and the darkness, it was as though a light appeared where no light had thought to come. Shaking, trembling with what was happening, Legolas slowly raised his head and for the first time beheld the coils of death that ensnared him. They fed off his weariness, drank from his grief, and gloried in his misery.

He saw death as a door. A way to rest and greater adventures. A gate leading beyond this world and into the next.

A great step in the song of Ilúvatar. A step intended for mortals. Not for elves.

Remembering his own words to Gandalf and Gandalf’s response, Legolas managed to shrug off some of the darkness. In a way, the wizard was right. This death, the death that even now sought to steal his breath, was not intended for elves. This wasting, sucking, leeching death was a thing of evil and despair. And with this realization, Legolas suddenly came to himself and broke free at last from the darkness that had chained his soul. For the first time, he saw clearly the choice that lay before him. There were but two paths for him to choose, and once the choice was made, there would be no turning back. He could remain in Arda and live in the Undying Lands until the end of Ilúvatar’s song. Or he could leave Arda and journey beyond this world, an uncertain road but one that might lead him to his lost friends and companions. The latter choice was death, but it was not the dark death that preyed on the weak. It was a death by his own will and a road of light, free from weariness.

Remember the dawn. Though you do not see it, there is hope. Hope for beyond this world.

Legolas smiled slightly, remembering some the dwarf’s last words. Gimli had known. Ultimately, he had known what Legolas would do. But why should that surprise the elf? The dwarf had always seemed to know what Legolas was about to do long before the prince himself was aware of it. And how could he disappoint such a friend? His smile growing and a measure of peace finally settling in his heart, Legolas relaxed and looked eastward, searching for the dawn as light began to glow along the horizon. And as he looked, hope flared in his elven heart while darkness was driven back.

"I come," the elf whispered, contentment settling over him and grief fading away. "Wait for me yet a while longer, my brother, for I am coming."

Thus the sun rose, swift and glorious as ever, on the undying shores of Valinor. And as its light touched his pale skin, an elf made his decision. With a grateful smile for the wondrous friendship with which he had been gifted and the final wisdom imparted by a dying dwarf, Legolas released his hold on the world and prepared to journey beyond.

* * * *

Elrond found him an hour after sunrise.

Walking in silent thought and pondering what the shadow’s abrupt departure might mean, the half-elf’s steps had gradually led him to the site of five graves. Before the dwarf’s death, he had often come here to think and contemplate. The memories of the mortals he had met and befriended had always given him a measure of solace and comfort. So it was quite natural that on this day, confused by the sudden absence of darkness, Elrond journeyed to this hallowed place.

Entering the glade where the mounds were kept and tended, he did not see Legolas at first. It was only after taking a few more steps forward that his sharp eyes spotted the elf. He froze, unsure of what to gather from the scene. It appeared as though Legolas slept, his head resting on Gimli’s grave and a smile of bliss spread across his peaceful face. But something about him said otherwise. His eyes were unblinking, and there was no light in their gray depths. Feeling a twinge of fear while at the same time realizing that this was not totally unexpected, Elrond rushed forward. Kneeling beside the still elf, it did not take him long to realize what had happened. With a sorrowful sigh for this new loss, Elrond bowed his head and closed Legolas’s eyes.

They buried him next to Gimli. As in life, so in death were they together, side by side. And all of Valinor marveled that a mortal friendship could cause an elf to break with Arda. But it was not a surprise for some, and in the end, three remained by this newest grave in silence, comforted by the presence of the others.

"He chose his fate," Gandalf said at last, breaking the stillness that had fallen over them. "Death did not claim him. He claimed death. In the end, he triumphed over the darkness."

"And perhaps this is for the best," Galadriel murmured, closing her eyes and listening to the talk of the trees and grasses around her. "There is a greatness in the song of life that was not there before. It is a greatness born of an unlikely friendship."

"A friendship that was not destined to end in this world," Elrond murmured. "Nor was the tale that bound these two together. When they journeyed to these shores, an end came in Middle Earth. The last of the Fellowship had departed its boundaries. And now the same has come to the Undying Lands, save for you, Olórin."

"And I fear I am bound to Arda in a way the others were not. They are no longer constrained by this world," Gandalf said, smiling sadly as he recalled memories of an unlikely band of nine that set out from Rivendell bearing the fate of the free world. "And mayhap they will gather together in the song beyond, bound for all eternity."

"It is strange that out of a great evil, a great friendship was forged," Elrond said quietly, speaking as though to himself. "Elf, dwarf, men, and hobbits. Their fates collided in the last years of the Third Age, and together they overcame."

"And together they journey on," Galadriel said, turning her eyes to the sun overhead and smiling as its rays shone golden on her hair. "And even from afar, they are woven into this world, lending their friendship and their courage."

And with Galadriel’s words, the three bearers of the Elven rings fell silent once more, listening as whispers in the breeze and rustles in the grass rejoiced for a broken Fellowship that was at last made whole again.

The tale is now told in Valinor of how eight friends, bound by fate, were reunited that day and set by Ilúvatar himself to watch and maintain the glorious song of life, for their friendship, greater than any Arda had ever seen, could not be broken. Beyond this world, it continued. And made whole once more by the arrival of elf and dwarf, the companions passed into the eternities together, never again to be sundered. Never again to be broken. A Fellowship forged in darkness that endured until the end of time.

Epilogue: Beyond This World

"The hobbits wondered if you would come."

"Did they? Why is that?"

"Is it so unusual? I wondered myself. To forsake paradise and bliss…that was a heavy decision, my friend."

"No heavier than the one you made to journey with me away from your home and kindred."

"In that you are greatly wrong. I did not have the option of living forever as you did. It was a choice of spending my last days in familiar surroundings or with familiar company. For some reason unfathomable to me, I chose to be with you."

"If it is any comfort, I am equally puzzled by the fact that I requested your company. Still, I cannot say that I regret the decision. I became a source of great wisdom for others. Many desired to know how stunted creatures like yourself could have ever survived the long ages of Middle Earth."

"Are they not baffled by their own survival?"

"How can one be baffled by superior skills and knowledge?"

"Arrogant as ever. It will yet be your undoing. …You should not have come."

"You tire of me already?"

"I tired of you the moment I met you. But you should not have come. You should have remained with your people."

"You are my people. You and the others. What greater friends and what greater kindred could I have wished for?"

"I…thank you. That means much to me."

"In any case, I could not leave you alone. You would immediately find your way into trouble, and without my assistance, you would be helpless to find your way back out again."

"Hmm. I fear my memory of older days grows faint. Remind me again who accidentally started a fire in the basement of Minas Tirith’s citadel by knocking a torch into an aging barrel of wine during the festival of the New Year."

"I believe that was Faramir."

"Faramir might have been in the vicinity, but he was not raiding the wine cellar where the fire began. I believe he was with me looking for you. And it was through our craftiness and sleight of hand that we managed to get you back to Ithilien and safely hidden before Aragorn’s wrath could descend."

"Aragorn was impressed by the speed with which I contained the fire."

"Aragorn was furious that a dress he’d ordered made for Arwen had gone up in smoke. It was nearly a year before his anger cooled enough for you to set foot west of Anduin. …He believed you would come here."

"Aragorn?"

"Yes. He asked why you were not accompanying me when I first arrived."

"…I was lost, for a time. But I found my way in the end."

"So you did. Shall we join the others? They await us."

"Lead on, Gimli, son of Glóin. Let us bring the Fellowship together once more."

"This way, then, Legolas, son of Thranduil. And though you should not have come, I am glad you did."

"You speak for us both, elvellon. Come, let us go. Eternity may lie before us, but it would not do to keep the others waiting. Boromir was never a patient man."

"He has not changed, I assure you."

"Then we had best not try his temper. …Thank you for waiting, Gimli."

"Thank you for coming."

"I could do no less for you."

"Nor I for you. It seems we are fated to journey together until the end of time."

"What a discouraging thought."

"Pardon?!"

"It does not seem long enough."

"Ah. No, I suppose it does not. Still, I do not doubt I shall weary of your presence ere we even reach the others."

"And I am already weary of yours, Gimli. And I shall gratefully be weary of it forever."

"So long as I can be weary with you."

"Who am I to speak against fate? Come. Let us be weary together, my friend."

"For all eternity and beyond all worlds, Legolas. I am glad I will be able to share it with you."

"As am I, Gimli, dearest and greatest friend. As am I."

The End

Elvellon—Elf-friend

Author’s Notes

Greetings, dear reader. First of all, I want to express my most sincere appreciation and gratitude for everyone who read this story during its first incarnation and then reviewed. The barrage of positive feedback was overwhelming. To be completely honest, I never expected such a response for this little work. There aren’t many characters, there’s no action to speak of, and the crux of the plot is carried by dialogue, which is always a risky thing. But for some reason or another, this story seemed to go over well, and I thank you all once again for assuring me of this. Hopefully, my latest tweaking hasn’t altered the tale for the worse. I like it better now, but I suppose that this is really a matter for readers to decide.

I initially wrote this story on a whim, almost as an afterthought, and also as an escape from writer’s block. But once I began the first chapter, I think I was as caught up in it as the characters. I don’t think I’ve written anything faster, either, because the entire thing was finished in three days. But I was completely driven once I started. I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to, and I’m glad I didn’t. Of all the things I’ve written, I like this best, and I’m glad that so many of you like it, too.

But I stray from my purpose in this section, and that purpose is to answer some of the questions and comments that came up in the reviews, so here I go.

First of all, there will be no further epilogue with a reunion for all the Fellowship. I think such a reunion is better left to the imaginations of the readers, because I could never do justice to it. Far too many personalities, emotions, and complications to deal with. I like the ending as it is, and that’s the way it will stay.

To all who wanted Legolas to live…I just couldn’t see it. Remember that Legolas is an elf, and a Sindarin elf at that. Also, at least according to several statements in LotR, he seems to have quite a bit of Silvan blood in him. The connection between the Silvan elves and Arda is a tight bond that is painful when broken, as the sea-longing demonstrates when it is stirred in Legolas. On top of that, Legolas had made friends of far too many mortals during his life, and when the last of these mortals died, it was as though a part of the elf died, too. Gimli was his last real connection to Middle Earth. Legolas never truly left it behind because he took the dwarf with him when he crossed over the sea. When the dwarf died, the final bond was broken, and so was Legolas. He’d been too young to befriend mortals when he did, and when the last of those mortals died, Legolas was lost.

As far as the plausibility of an elf giving up life and following a dwarf into death…I admit it’s a bit of a stretch but considering everything that was allowed for others who were valiant in the service of the Valar, I decided it was an acceptable stretch. After all, the Noldor received Gimli when he crossed to the Undying Lands. Legolas needed a break, too. And as far as the Halls of Mandos are concerned, once again, I’m stretching canon a bit but I think that because of his help in destroying the One Ring and his friendship with Gimli, an exception was made for Legolas.

And I believe that is it. Once again, sincere thanks to all who have supported me in my writing and to all who continue to support me. I hope the revision of "Beyond This World" is as enjoyable as the first attempt. Please don’t hesitate to review with suggestions, comments, likes, or dislikes. In another six months or so, I’ll probably revise it again. It’s a bug I get from time to time. Thank you again!