Disclaimer: I own nothing of this but the character Anaran. Everything else is the creation of Tolkien. This was done purely for fun. No profit (believe me) was made from this endeavor, though reviews are nice tribute for the effort.

A/N: Well I thought I had all my angst worked out when I completed my first tale, "Cry of the Gull". But it turns out I was wrong as it just keeps spilling out in this forum. I guess you could call this a sequel of sorts, though I never really intended to write one. Still, if you've read "Cry of the Gull", this fits in well. And if you haven't, you should still be able to follow it without any problems. And maybe you'll find it good enough to seek out "Cry…" (rather humble plug!). Anyhow, this story is told many, many, many years later, Post-RotK. In a nutshell, it tells what happens to Elves who ignore their longing for the Sea (much suffering I warn you).

I would like to dedicate this story to my mother. She has walked Gimli's path and knows well the effect of living with the ugliness of disease and losing a loved one. The emotions conveyed here could easily be hers. In the end, she has come out with a richer soul.

*************** 

Then Legolas built a grey ship in Ithilien, and sailed down Anduin and so over Sea; and with him, it is said, went Gimli the Dwarf. And when the ship passed an end was come in Middle-earth of the Fellowship of the Ring.

"Return of the King"

by J.R.R.Tolkien

Appendix B, last entry

The story that follows tells how that journey came to be…

 
Part One: Illness

The Dwarf awoke to hear his friend's cry and every particle of his being came to life. Oh no! It has returned! he frantically thought.

A scream of agony filled the night air from within the house. Newfound energy coursed his veins as Gimli ran with driving force, making his way through the dark corridors to where he had heard the sound originate.

He found the Elf lying in the center of the great hallway, the lithe body racked in sobs. Legolas lay curled on the hard inlaid floors, the silken robe and gauzy shirt beneath billowing out from his body as golden hair cascaded down to cover his face. Gimli knelt down to his friend and pulled the light form into his arms.

He was so thin. The flowing garment about Legolas hid the frailty of his body. Gimli could feel jutting shoulder blades and collarbones beneath the gown and adjusted his grip in deference to the Elf's comfort. He pushed the mane of hair away from the fair one's face to reveal the contorted expression of pain that labored there. Tears streaked Legolas' face and his breathing came in short pants. His hands opened and closed, clenching as muscle spasms gripped the ailing Elf's arms. "No!" he cried out as silent torment enveloped him.

Gimli pressed his friend close to his body, firmly, gently, whispering soft assurances, "Legolas, hush… hush. I am here now. I will help you."

The Elf's hands folded into the Dwarf's embrace, fiercely clinging to his forearms as wrenching cries escaped him, "Oh Gimli….please make it stop….please!" His eyes were lost and a wimper came out as he winced back his agony, "I can control it no longer…"

The disarmed Dwarf felt dread and helplessness clench his gut. He knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing more than this – to hold his friend and console his misery.

The sound of light footsteps interrupted Gimli's fears and he looked up to see the servants arriving, anxious, struck dumb, staring at the uncertainty of the situation. "Help me get him back to his bed," the Dwarf ordered and they immediately rushed to his aid.

Tenderly Legolas was lifted and carried back to the bed chamber. Gimli had left the room only a few short hours ago and he scolded himself now for his own foolishness in doing so. I thought he was doing better, the Dwarf reasoned with himself. I thought he finally slept. I am such fool! I was wrong to think it was safe to leave. He could have been seriously hurt! I should have called one of the servants to spell me. Then he scowled and thought, More evidence of the ugly deception of this illness.

He relit the candles on the side table and watched as the Elven staff laid their lord back into the soft comfort of bed. Legolas' eyes were once again trapped in that other world, vague and forgetful of the harm that had just assaulted him. Tears dried on his cheeks and his eyes betrayed none of the horror that had caused them.

Gimli pulled the coverlet over the Elf's lean body and was struck by how small his friend now looked. Legolas' once strong body seemed a mere shadow of its former self. Grimly the Dwarf considered this another sign of the long suffering this affliction brought. Gimli looked hard at his friend and his heart felt pierced. The horrible decision he had been avoiding had to be made. There was no retreating from it further.

As the servants drew away, Gimli pulled the head of staff aside, and whispered to him, "Anaran, bring me the healer." His voice with brusque, but it conveyed the deeper emotion this request held.

The tall, dark Elf looked down at Gimli's face. He looked tired and Gimli could not help but think that this decision affected him too. He had been more friend than servant to Legolas in the last several years, and had been faithful in that more than any others Gimli could recall. Gimli had grown fond of the stoic Elf, and he thought he had detected a hint of affection in return from the other as their time at Legolas' side had grown. He said, "You know what he will say, Master Dwarf."

"Yes, I know," said Gimli with a loud sigh, glancing again at the pale form lying on the bed. His heart was pained by his decision. "But I do not think your lord can go on much longer like this. Nor can we," the Dwarf said grimly, looking at the other and placing a consoling hand on the taller Elf's upper arm. "We must do what we can to ease his misery and, if the Valar allow, possibly restore him to health."

Anaran hurried away on his task and Gimli sat on the bed next to the limp Elf who had been screaming in pain only minutes before. Gimli pulled Legolas' slender fingers into his own thick hands and watched him. The Dwarf felt bone-weary and his emotions were raw. It seemed like it had been quite a long time since he had been free of this. Now the pressure about him was growing ever greater. He longed to be done with this and it was all he could do to sit there quietly when every impulse within him was telling him to run away. But he knew he could not run, nor would he. He bolstered himself, remembering time and time again when he had faced dire circumstance and come out of it stronger, more secure in his prowess. And yet, he reminded himself, never had he held the life of a friend in his own hands.

Gimli looked about the room, composing himself and assessing the needs of the coming situation. He spoke to a servant standing at ready in the corner. "Make up a bed for me on the couch and draw it nearer," he said. "I will stay with him now through the duration of this."

As the servant fluttered away, Gimli was left alone with his friend. The Dwarf started as he felt the Elf's hand flinch within his own and braced himself. When will this stop? he thought.

"Where is that cursed healer?" he muttered, steeling himself for the screams that he knew were about to fill the room again.

****

Gimli mused the name. Cuivëar*. It was the Elven word for the affliction. The word had such a beautiful sound, and yet it veiled such horror. It translated literally to 'awakening of the sea.' But that means so little, thought Gimli. The Westron tongue called it 'sea-longing' and still those words could not convey any real meaning. For as Gimli watched Legolas battle the wretched illness, he saw and realized the true extent of the disease. It emulated its name. It was like the Sea. It came lightly at first, lulling its victim into dreams, gently as if buoying one on caressing waters. It stripped the beholder of memory or place and saturated the senses with beauty. Gimli had looked on Legolas' face at these times and almost saw him smile. Yet the dream had its nightmarish turn, bending and pulling its victims as it progressed. Like the waves of the Sea, Gimli saw it crush in on Legolas, ripping at his heart, driving him back into the ugliness of reality and causing pain from unquenchable desire. Gimli grimaced as he had seen it, feeling it like it was happening to him. All the feelings, all the happiness were pulled away from his friend like the tide drawing back to the Sea. In their place Legolas was left with anxiety, despair and loneliness. Over and over again it would occur, peaceful revelry, gentle forgetfulness, and then crushing anguish. Over and over until Legolas' heart began to tear and his soul began to suffer damage. Over and over until there was nothing left but for the Elf to surrender to it. Gimli wondered how long could an Elven heart endure such torment?

The medicines worked well on Legolas. He fell deeply under their spell and Gimli waited anxiously, praying this decision was the right one. He felt dizzy and weightless, his stomach knotted in anxiety. His head hurt with a dull ache that started at the base of his neck and moved to the crown of his head as he worried. Tension played on his face. He watched carefully, ever vigilant for any affect the medicine would take. He waited, not knowing how long this coma would last.

The Elven physician offered no other solutions. "He needs sleep," he had said in hushed tones, shaking his head at the sunken figure lying in the bed. "He needs to be drawn away from the cuivëar. Sleep is the only thing that may do that now." But simple rest was not a luxury available to the captive Elven lord. The disease would not allow him such pleasure. Gimli knew the choices: leave him to suffer as he had and hope he would find sleep through his own exhaustion; or induce the repose needed through medicinal means.

It was risky, the Dwarf knew. There was a chance the Elf would not recover, in which he would linger in twilight until his heart ceased from the effects malnourishment offered. Or he could awaken to be right where he had left off, tormented again and only strengthened by his rest for the new assault. Or he could die while he slept, his heart slowing with the toxic cure until it beat no more. Or he could be returned, weak, but whole. Eight days before the same risks had been presented, and Gimli had chosen none, opting to let his friend come out of this on his own. But Legolas was now eight days further progressed and still without rest. Gimli did not think he could delay this intervention any longer. He looked at his friend and knew he no longer had options. The Dwarf had consented to the risk and the potent elixirs were drawn and given to the sick Elf.

Gimli watched Legolas' eyes as he slept. They were sealed tightly, in a dream akin to mortal beings and it horrified the Dwarf. To Gimli's mind, the peaceful, slumbering face of his friend revealed fully the extent of the Elf's illness, for Elves in fair health did not sleep with eyes shut. The Dwarf remembered how Legolas' means of sleeping had frightened him when they had first met. Gimli had once been prejudiced, as had Legolas, and the two were fiercely wary of the others intentions. They avoided each other as much as they could, but in the small company of the Fellowship, that was almost an impossibility, and for safe protocol, unwise. There was only so far they could distance themselves in the camp and they were forced to learn of each others habits. None had struck Gimli as too peculiar except for the resting patterns of the Elf. Those eyes. Gimli was certain that the blank stare of sleep, so common among Elves, was this Elf's way of unnerving him and the Dwarf was certain he was being spied upon for weaknesses. It had taken assurances from Gandalf before the Dwarf would allow his defenses to come down. In time the Elf and Dwarf came to know each other and any misconceptions were pushed away. And now as Gimli watched Legolas in his illness, he would have traded all his wealth and good fortune to see the Elf's eyes in sleep as they should be, as they had been.

Never had Gimli seen the illness so bad in Legolas before. They had fought a bout several years back, but not to this extent. It had lasted a week and Gimli had worried then that it had been severe, so frightened was he. Now, with hindsight, the Dwarf realized that that occurrence was a mere sampling of how far the disease could go. For the visit of which he now partook was in its third month, and nearly all of it had been under the veil of sickness. And Gimli suspected there had been many more episodes between that the Elf had not revealed to him.

Gimli had come with Anaran's message. It should have been Legolas who sent for me, Gimli thought angrily. Surely he saw the signs that this was coming. When he arrived a few days later, he found his friend far gone into his malady and was surprised at how it had progressed so far, so fast. "How long has he been like this?" Gimli demanded.

Anaran answered, "Many weeks now."

"Why was I not informed?" Gimli asked in shock.

"He did not want you to come," was the other's melancholy answer.

"But why?" was the forlorn question.

"He did not want you to see him die," came the curt response.

"And yet you sent for me?" Gimli asked perplexed.

"Yes," Anaran answered. "I thought you may wantto see him." It was the most compassionate thing Gimli had ever heard the Elf say.

Undaunted, Gimli set out to get Legolas well. He ordered fresh food and demanded light be brought forth, drapes thrown open wide. He commanded soothing songs be sung in place of those of lament. He dispatched Legolas' duties and delegated what he could. And the Elves of the house breathed a collective sigh that perhaps the presence of the Dwarf would revive their master and influence him. Gimli became the Elf's constant comrade and eventually Legolas recovered.

Twenty-three days. For twenty-three days Legolas regained himself, going so far as to be cheerful from time to time. He had even sung, Gimli remembered. Will that be the last time I ever hear his voice? For as the scene about him revealed, the cure did not last. Without warning, the disease ripped into the Elf again, and Gimli lived in dread and fear as he watched, unable to stop it.

****

As the days wore on, Gimli refused to leave his friend's side. He was tormented with grief, constantly doubting his decision. Numbly, he watched and found solace only in tending Legolas' needs.

He fed the Elf broth, propping his head with pillows and forcing small spoonfuls to his mouth. It gave him comfort to think he could try to nourish the frail body back to one of more substance. He reminded himself that he too should eat and rest or he would be no help at all to his friend.

He made sure the Elf was dressed in fresh clothing each day and helped bathe the Elf's face and body. He felt sure his friend would want to keep a neat appearance, and Gimli consented to it willingly as the others around him considered it an integral part of the Elven healing process.

Gimli brushed out the Elf's long hair, arranging it away from his face and keeping it tidy and unknotted.

He massaged the Elf's legs and arms, moving him into different positions to prevent chafing and sores.

He had the bedding changed daily so the Elf would feel freshness about him.

He made sure crisp foliage and sweet spices were brought in so the room smelled alive and inviting.

He sat and he waited for his friend to come back.

And sometimes he would look up to see Anaran had taken a place in the room, though the Dwarf had not heard him enter nor knew how long he been there. Silently they watched for a sign that Legolas was returning.

****

The healer came and left many times in the days that followed. He always said the same, "He will wake when he is able." It was not the reassurance the Dwarf wanted. And then the physician would add as an aside, not knowing the guilt he was inflicting on the Dwarf, "He really should have left long years ago. Had he gone, none of this would be necessary."

Scorn rose in Gimli's chest. What does this healer know? He is Noldor. The pain Legolas must endure is far greater than any he would know. How can he know to help a Mirkwood Elf? Gimli thought. He considered going to Greenwood, though Thranduil's prejudice still lingered there. Still, for the sake of a Silvan Elf, they might have helped a Dwarf. Gimli shrugged it off. The idea of leaving Legolas for so long a journey was impossible to broach, and the Elf was certainly unfit to travel.

The Dwarf reflected on the healer's words and on Elven society in general. He was already angry at the Elves of Ithilien, and these words only fueled his ire. While the staff of the house remained faithful and attentive, he was dismayed by the lack of aid by other Elves in Ithilien. Certainly Legolas was loved by the citizens of this land, Gimli knew that well. And yet few had offered comfort. Gimli gathered the impression that they had grown uncomfortable with Legolas' illness, as if it had gone on for too long, or that Legolas had brought it upon himself to suffer so. It was as if they scorned him for condemning himself to earthbound love and refusing to turn away from it. There had been a time when none would have flinched at the sight of Legolas in the state of his illness. It was all so normal to them. But as the cuivëar progressed and took on greater dominance, the Elves began to turn away. If there was any positive side to these events, it was the proof that the mortals that had settled near the colony deeply sympathized with the Elven leader's plight and openly mourned his illness. Gimli thought. Elves do not like pity. They ask not for sympathy. And in turn, when they see the ugliness of pain and sickness, they look away in repulsion. They have to face it in their own way, and the ease that mortals face such realities makes them all the more adverse. Had there not been mortal beings about, the Elves most likely would have offered more compassion to the Lord of Ithilien. How disappointing that they still bore the inability to show weakness in the face of humanity. But then again, maybe it is only self-preservation they sought. To feel too deeply is the frailty of these beings. They can ill-afford to become too emotionally fixed.

I suppose that that is the heart of the Elves' behavior,

And in that was the flaw to this idyllic community. It was the keystone of Legolas' rule, to live side-by-side without prejudice. He opinioned that if Elves stood any chance of survival in Middle-earth they must forego their old ideals and adapt to the societies of Man. He opened the colony with free invitation to any who thought with like minds. Legolas' first step had been the removal of fenced borders, implied or real. He did not want territories to stand in the way of any relationships there were to be forged. In his mind, all past sins were forgotten, and with the coming of the fourth age, it was time for all creatures to find harmony among one another. It had given the Elf much pleasure to see all the children of Ilúvatar living as happy neighbors. And of course, he owed this reward to the wholehearted endorsement of the Elessar and Arwen. They, above all others, were living proof of the favor of such ideals. But Gimli knew for all his friend's good intentions, this experiment was destined to fail. Elves were susceptible to emotion far greater than any other. The mixing of mortals and immortals was dangerous, for those friendships would ultimately be ended by death. Mourning was a pain most dreadful to Elves. Though choosing to live beside mortals the Elves could not help to know this, and consciously or not, they held their feelings for Men at bay. Even Aragorn and Arwen had to face this reality. After all, she had given up her immortality to be at his side.

Sadly, Gimli's mind drew back to the king. It had been many years since Elessar had taken rule and now he was quite old, his health, too, failing. In former days, Gimli might have sought the king for a cure, for his healing abilities were nearly as great as Lord Elrond's. But then Gimli shook his head, remembering what the Ranger had said to him once. "There is no cure for what ails him." Doubtless, he knew he could do little more than what had already passed. Gimli felt great wariness grow on him as he recalled the rest of Aragorn's prediction. "It is like a dream," he had said, "and as time goes on it will become worse. He will fall more and more into that dream until he has no other choice but to seek sanity on the other side of the Sea." He thought back on how he had accused Aragorn of bringing this illness on the Elf. "You have doomed him!" he had screamed. Yet the Dwarf knew Aragorn could no more stop the Elf from this affliction than Gimli could stop the wind. It had been an unavoidable outcome, and Gimli shuddered at the thought of what may have happened had events not followed their course.

No choice. No choice. Gimli's mind echoed the words and guilt invaded his heart. He had to face the reality that the progress of Legolas' illness was the fault of no one but himself. His memory would not leave behind the scene he held blame for the Elf's current state. It had haunted him long and now most mercilessly as he had sat vigil at his friend's side.

No choice.

"Stupid Elf," he yelled at the mute body. "You should not have listened to my miserable lament. You should have followed your own heart!"

He remembered the scene as it replayed in vivid detail before him though it had taken place almost sixty years before. It had been late Summer, and Legolas had visited Gimli in his home at the site of the Glittering Caves. A colony of dwarves had established themselves there under the son of Gloin's direction. Gimli remembered that Legolas looked tired, but the Elf had dismissed it as road weariness. He was eager to talk and seemed agitated if he stayed in one place too long. Still, Gimli barely noticed, so happy was he to set eyes on his best friend. He wanted to show the Elf all that he and his men had accomplished and Legolas had patiently complied. After many hours of idle converse, Legolas came out with the intent of his visit.

"Sam will be departing soon," the Elf had said. "He has been granted a place among the Valar. It is most unusual, but a great thing truly. He is the last of the ringbearers, and so a place more fitting could not be found for him in these waning days of his life."

"I will be saddened to see him go," Gimli had said with deep emotion. "While I know he breathes still, for me it is the same as if he were to die. I will miss his jolly ways and his companionship."

It took Legolas several more minutes to muster up the courage to say what he next thought. "I was pondering…" the Elf said as he looked up at the Dwarf to register his reaction, "I was pondering the thought of taking Sam on this journey myself." His face was a mask, but there was something in the Elf's eyes that belied hope.

"You would leave?" the Dwarf roared, losing himself in his surprise.

Legolas flinched slightly at the might of the Dwarf's response, but quickly recuperated and once again slipped on a placid expression. "Sam should have a companion to ease this trip for him, do you not think?"

Gimli fumed, "There are no shortage of Elves making this journey. He has been befriended by your kind for many years. He will not be alone. And when he does arrive, Frodo and Gandalf will be there. Nay, he does not need your assistance," the Dwarf said dismissing the subject.

Legolas looked away and Gimli thought he saw the Elf's true feelings. A pang of sympathy combined with anguish ripped through him. Gimli felt confused. He did not want to see his friend hurt, but neither did he want to see his own pain. It was many more minutes before words passed between the pair.

"I think it may be time," the Elven lord finally said, his eyes cast down as if unable to look upon the Dwarf.

Gimli released his breath. He had long feared this day would come, and now that it was here, he was no further prepared for it than the day when the sea-longing started. They had not spoken of it much since that day so long ago and Gimli had assumed it had receded to just a memory. In his mind, the words spoken were fresh and he was not ready to digest the hurt behind them. No! he said in his head. I do not want this! He cannot leave yet! And in his anguish, he refused the statement access to his mind. He turned his fear to anger and lashed out at his friend for the harm he was causing. Did Legolas not know the depth of his affection? For surely if he did he would never consider broaching such a subject.

"How can you say this thing? Do you not realize how many rely upon your guidance. There is so much here you are needed for. And so much yet to see. We have not nearly traveled as extensively as we said we would. We have a lifetime of events yet to explore. Would you deny this of me?" the Dwarf demanded.

"The cuivëar," Legolas said vacantly, sadly, "it haunts me. The yearning grows greater."

The Dwarf silently gasped. This was a bold confession. Gimli knew the Elf's pain must be great if he was willing to allow himself to be portrayed in self-pity. And yet the thought of his friend's leaving overwhelmed him to tears. He could not bare it, he was sure. He had to stop it from happening, though he was somewhat astounded that he was putting himself first. He felt torn, as if he were two creatures at once: one sympathetic to his friend's plight; the other loathsome and vile. But the beast was the one speaking and the better part distanced himself from the scene.

The Dwarf shook with a fierceness that startled the Elf. "No! We will fight it. There is no other choice," he said with a set face. "We will find reason to make your place here justified. Your life in this world shall have meaning."

Legolas stood silent, hiding his face though Gimli knew that the Elf's eyes shone misty. As if to refuse himself their effect, he too looked away. Yet the silence wore on until his emotions rode over him. His voice quaked as he said in a quiet, pleading voice, "Legolas, please do not leave. My life is but short in comparison to yours. Surely you could tarry until I pass. It is but a blink of the eye for one so immortal, but for me, my heart aches at the thought of your departure. I fear I may die from the sadness it would bring me."

With the power of hindsight, Gimli could see it had been a cruel blow and he hated himself for it. He had said this to a being who knew heartbreak as the most fatal wound of all. How could he not resist my plea to spare my life? How could he realize I was not so susceptible as he thought. He looked at my pain through Elven eyes as I put my needs before his, he thought.

With great power over his own emotions, Legolas swallowed his loss and stiffened his resolve. He righted his posture and turned back to the Dwarf. In a blithe voice he said, "It was only a ponderance my friend, for the sake of Sam." He smiled as he turned Gimli to face him, "I told you once before I would stay so long as our friendship holds and I do not see it diminishing any time soon. I pledge to you, Gimli, I will not depart before you. I will find meaning to my life for that time at least."

Gimli had looked at him and smiled, allowing his weaker self to win this battle. He never looked back. All forgotten. All forgiven. So heartless was I, he thought. My motives I thought were for both our goods. How wrong I was.

****

Legolas' eyes fluttered and the Dwarf jumped in surprise. Tentatively he waited, gently holding his friend's hand as the blue eyes blinked awake. Another agonizing minute passed before the Elf's mind roused any action. Slowly, Legolas' eyes moved about, focusing carefully on each object in the room as if trying to remember their place and purpose. Finally they rested on Gimli. The Dwarf held his breath in anticipation, fearful but joyous that the Elf had returned at last. He had lost track of the days and weeks since the Elf had been forced into a world of dreams. Legolas' eyes registered Gimli's face and a broad smile spread across the Dwarf's lips at seeing recognition there.

Legolas' voice was barely a whisper, coarsened to a rasp due to lack of use. "You are still here?" he asked.

Gimli could not read his friend's emotion. He appeared so blank and devoid of feeling.

"My departure was delayed by a bout of ill-health," the Dwarf jested, trying to make light of what had been so frightening only moments before.

"You should leave," Legolas said, his eyes closing again as if to dismiss the Dwarf.

Gimli frowned. Was this an aftereffect of the medicines? Perhaps a dream still invaded the Elf's thoughts? "I could leave, but I would rather stay for a while longer. Spring will soon approach. And you know I have a fondness for the new vintages," Gimli said merrily, pretending there was nothing wrong.

"You should go home and stop fretting over me. I have caused you far too much grief. You should not be seeing me like this," the Elf said weakly, angrily, as if something private had been invaded.

Gimli leaned in close to the Elf on the pretense of pushing a stray hair away from his face. "My friend, I am old. I have no other tasks that require my service. I am free to come and go as I please. For now, I would choose to stand at your side. Please do not push me away."

Legolas eyes opened again and he searched Gimli's face. Then he said in a pleading voice, "You do not understand. I want you to leave. I wish to die, but cannot so long as you are here. You bring too much hope. Let me die, Gimli."

The guilt of that summer so long ago crept up on Gimli again. He would not let his friend give up. Not if the Dwarf had a chance to make it up to him and to send him on to the life he should have. "I will not go, my friend. I am sorry, but I will not see you die if I can help it. I choose to fight for you."

A silent tear slipped from Legolas' eye and dropped to the pillow beneath his head. "I am…so tired," the Elf sadly said, and Gimli was uncertain if he meant the exhaustion creeping up on his drawn face or the weariness he felt at fighting to live. The Elf's eyes conveyed an age that his body disguised and the blue orbs which mirrored the light within him were dim. Gimli knew he had much to make up to his friend to bring that light back. But he intended to try.

"Sleep then, my friend," Gimli said in a whisper, wearing a small smile as he stroked his friend's brow. "Do not be troubled further. We can talk when you awake. I can wait that long at least."

The Elf seemed to lose strength then and he gave in to his weariness. Gimli watched intently as Legolas' eyes fixed into a stare and his breathing slowed to a soft, steady pattern. Heavy lids drifted down, but did not shut entirely. Gimli smiled, encouraged as he saw his friend sleep as an Elf at last.

TBC…

* Cuivëar –derived from Sindarin and Quenya word roots: cuivië, meaning 'awakening'; and ëar, meaning 'sea'. Reference "The Silmarillion" by J.R.R.Tolkien. Just to be clear, this disease is a concoction of my own imagining, not Tolkien's. My first story, "Cry of the Gull" focuses on the time when Legolas incurred the illness and you'll find more details on it's symptoms and effects there.

Disclaimer: As before, everything is the creation of J.R.R.Tolkien. I claim nothing and receive nothing in return, except for a review every once in a while. Thank you to those who offer them.

Part Two: Recovery

"You do much to build me up," Legolas laughed as he sprang to retrieve the arrows that vibrated still in their landing sites. His steps were light and his laughter rang in the cool winter air. Reaching out, he pulled his arrow from the exact center of its intended target and then turned to retrieve the shorter arrow fired from the crossbow, now lodged in a tree some two meters away from the target. He tugged and felt the arrow give as he said, "You make me feel like I am a master again."

The Dwarf shrugged in his resignation, "Who would not look expert when compared with a student as inept as I?"

"Patience, my friend. My skills have been practised over the course of many long years in training, and yet I still find myself needing to learn more. You have been at this for a mere hour or so. Give yourself at least a little time to learn this weapon," Legolas said with a clap on the Dwarf's shoulder as he ran back to their starting point.

It was a glorious day, and the Elf's spirits were high. In his joyous romp, Legolas had convinced his friend to accompany him in target practice. After a few disastrous attempts at the Elf's longbow, the pair had opted for a training crossbow that Legolas was able to locate for the Dwarf. While Gimli admired the beauty and craft of the weapon, he grumbled at the idea of learning to use such an instrument. But Legolas had been undaunted and had patiently directed Gimli's feeble attempts. In the short course of his first lesson, the Dwarf could fire the weapon with the arrow going at least near the mark he intended, and at considerable distance. Despite his protests, Gloin's son showed promise.

For Legolas' part, he was disturbed by his own lack of endurance and his fatigue showed in small slips of the bow that the Elf could not ignore. But he would not be discouraged on this beautiful day.

"I have yet to see the point in learning this. I am old and set in my ways. I will never be happy with any weapon but my axe," Gimli griped.

"The point is you are never too old to learn something new," Legolas chided.

"In that case, since you are the elder between us, oh ancient one," the Dwarf said bowing deeply, "Let me give you some lessons on a true instrument of war."

"An axe? An axe is only good if you are sitting on top of your opponent or felling a tree," the Elf said with a superior tone, then he cocked his head as he said reconsidering, "Though I suppose you could shave with it in a pinch." Then dismissing the idea, he said, "No, a bow is a much finer weapon as it is deadly from either a distance or near."

"Ah, but can you take down a tree with your arrows?" the Dwarf asked as if he had won the point.

"I have yet to be attacked by a tree so I have never attempted it," the Elf laughed.

"Well at least my weapon is superior for its use in close shaves," Gimli said. His eyes sparkled at his poor joke.

Legolas scrunched up his face and said, "Perhaps, but if that has been your method of grooming, please allow me to introduce you to a barber."

The Dwarf responded with a gentle push that met Legolas' laughter as the Elf said, "I am renewed because you are here, my friend."

"You may feel renewed, but I feel tired. Just watching you makes my bones ache. Is there any chance this game may end soon?" the Dwarf said referring back to their target practice.

"You spend far more time complaining of your aches and pains than you do in actually causing them. Nay, your problem is you sit about too much. You need to frolic more, Gimli."

Gimli snorted. "I am a Dwarf. Dwarves do not frolic." But he could not help laughing. Legolas was practically dancing in his own mirth that day, and the Elf's exuberance was contagious.

They were spending the day in the garden, much as they had been for the past many weeks. Legolas found it refreshing to be out of doors, and being there had done much to revive his spirit. Although it was still winter, spring was nearing. He could feel it would come early that year, and signs of life were evident everywhere about them. The birds were marking a return from their wayward journeys and the air was littered with the sound of their calls. Smaller creatures, who would normally be locked in their wintertime dreams, flitted about, scurrying up and about the trees and rocks, enjoying the frivolity of this wonderful day. The sun arced down on the landscape, unhindered by any canopy of leaves or branches and warmed their bodies in its pleasant gaze. Blades of grass showed signs of giving up brownish hues as green tints teased their form. And smells of the earth pervaded the air, freshening the world as if dousing it in a cleansing bath.

Looking at his companion as they put their weapons away, Legolas could only think his attitude was the result of the undeterred nature of the Dwarf. The Elf felt eternally grateful to his companion, for Gimli's resolve had never dimmed in the long weeks of Legolas' recovery.

It was the Dwarf's idea that they make a daily habit of going to the garden. Even on the days when the scenery had been draped in a blanket of snow, Gimli had insisted they walk in the landscape. And like the crocuses that drew out small spikes from their wintertime cocoons, Legolas had found his spirit revived.

It had been slow progress. But then, injuries such as the ones Legolas had taken were the slowest to heal among Elves. Legolas had been despondent at first, desiring nothing more than his own death and a languorous recovery followed in the apparent apathy of the Elf. It was a full week before he was able to rise from his bed, and yet another before he could do it without aid. To the Dwarf's credit, he said nothing about the delays, and almost seemed to encourage them, perhaps for fear the remission would end if he pushed too hard. And slowly, Legolas began to feel encouraged. His hands shook involuntarily, but neither he nor Gimli made mention of it until it ceased on its own. Color came back to his cheeks, and as their stays in the garden grew longer and more vigorous, the light slowly returned to the Elf's eyes. His appetite grew as well, and the Dwarf laughed when he saw the Elf racing through the midday meal, reminding Legolas there would always be more if he so desired. The young lord showed every sign that he was healing well.

Yet despite the coltish feelings he displayed, Legolas had fears that weighed on him. The cuivëar, which had receded to a quiet whisper in the back of his mind, was beginning to creep back into his conscious thoughts. On days like this, it was easy to keep the haunting quality of his affliction in check, but the Elf knew he would not always be in such good form. He was eager to see himself fully recovered and he thought that perhaps, if he could mend his broken spirit, there was a chance he could still survive. It had been a long time since Legolas had had any hope that he could make this last. Thanks to Gimli, he was feeling almost young again. He wanted to keep that sensation. It was what defined him as an Elf and he realized it was what had been missing in his ever-long preoccupation with the illness.

His mood was bright at that moment. A beaming smile drew across his lips as the sun glowed on his face. A wisp of wind caught a few tendrils of his golden hair and feathered them about his cheek and all fed his happiness. His strength had grown and with it his desires. He felt the world's beauty and innocence and he wanted to experience them again firsthand. The idea of new adventures thrilled his soul, and he longed for it more than he had much else in many long years. He looked up to the sunny sky and smiled.

And then the universe melted away.

****

"Legolas! Legolas!"

Someone was shaking him, and he tried to recall where he was. Blinking his eyes, the world came back into focus though it seemed dimmer than he could recall. He found himself still within the garden.

"Gimli?" he called. His legs felt weak and his heart was racing erratically.

"I am here," said a deep voice at his side.

Legolas looked down at the troubled face of the Dwarf. He felt dazed and nauseated. "Gimli, what happened?" he asked.

"I was about to ask the same of you. I believe you had another attack. One moment you were fine, and the next you were lost. You would not answer me when I called you," the Dwarf answered with great concern.

Anguish washed over Legolas. "No. Not again." he whispered regretfully, bringing his hands up to his temples as he tried to will out the sound of his longing.

"Come sit," the Dwarf said pulling Legolas aside to a bench.

The Elf nodded as he dejectedly yielded to the seat. But then his eyes grew wide and his breathing increased to quick pants as the world began to spin around him. "Gimli!" he cried, "It is coming again!"

Gimli grabbed his arms and held the Elf steady as he started to sway back. He pulled his friend's face down to meet his. "Look at me!" he yelled. The Elf's eyes fell away. The Dwarf pulled him in tighter. "Look at me!" he demanded.

Legolas' eyes fixed on the Dwarf's. His breathing was ragged and a look of terror crossed his face. He was shaking in fear. His voice quaked as he spoke, "Gimli, why is this happening? It should not be happening like this?"

Gimli held his gaze and made quieting noises in a soft whispered voice. "Keep your eyes fixed on me and stay calm. Calm now. Do not speak…Relax…relax and listen for the sound. Do you hear it?" The Elf nodded his head, his breathing still panicked. "Good. Calmly, calmly focus. Concentrate and control it. Control it and gently push it away." Legolas closed his eyes and wrestled the sound of the cuivëar away from his mind. "Turn the sound away. You are in control. You are here now." The Elf's breathing slowed to normal, and shaking his head as if he now could manage, he slowly opened his eyes.

They sat quietly for a few minutes before either of them spoke. Legolas was shaken and withdrawn. Gimli watched his friend's face protectively to see if the symptoms were truly released. Finally, he spoke.

"How do you feel?" he asked in a kind voice.

"I feel very old and tired," said Legolas defeatedly. "May we go back to the house now?"

"Of course," said Gimli as he rose and, with great gentleness and concern, wrapped an arm about the Elf's waist. Slowly the pair walked back to the house.

The day was destroyed. No more laughter would be found. Even the birds ceased their chatter.

****

A blazing fire crackled in the hearth and a log shifted in the andirons sending sparks flying as the wood reordered itself. Legolas stirred his gaze up only to see the warming flames stayed contained and the fire did not need attendance.

He was feeling much improved. A few days rest had done much to restore his health as well as his composure though much of his hope had been lost. Still, he felt fit enough to draw himself to the library where he had always found comfort. Much of the tasks of his title were done in this room and he always found something to occupy his mind there, even if it was just to gaze out the windows and think of the past. He had never really been fond of closed spaces, preferring to spend his time out of doors when he could. But his duty required he live as a lord in this realm and as such he had many tasks requiring studious labor. Although he would have preferred to work out in the park-like settings of Ithilien, that was not always available to him. So instead, he found this one place in the house that met to his liking. It was bright and airy, yet intimate and inviting and it was clearly his favorite room as he easily spent hours there in quiet contemplation without even noticing the time passing.

And so he was there, diligently reading the scrollwork document spread out before him as he jotted notes on a separate sheet of paper.

A soft tap on the door interrupted Legolas' thoughts. Glancing up, he saw Anaran framed at the threshold quietly waiting for permission to enter. Legolas sighed and stood up. "You do not need to say it, Anaran. I know. I missed supper." The grey-eyed Elf's slight smile told Legolas he had hit his mark. The Elven lord smiled sheepishly in return. "I suppose the cook is upset."

"She has rather enjoyed your return to good health, my lord. She fears your absence may be due to something she has done," Anaran said taking a few steps into the room.

"Assure her that all is well. I merely got caught up in this reading and lost track of the time," Legolas said waving back at the papers spread out on the desk.

Anaran walked over to the table and fingered one of the top sheets, "Trade Agreements. Not exactly light material, is it?" he said with a raised brow.

"They only arrived today. I thought I might look them over briefly before passing them off," Legolas said rounding the desk again to take his place in his chair. Leaning back, he scrutinized the other Elf's face and laughed lightly, "Do not fret, Anaran. I know my limits. I will not take this on myself."

Noting the thickness of the stack, Anaran said, "You have always seemed to enjoy your duties, my lord," he shook his head as if unable to comprehend such a thing, "even if it meant dealing with trade agreements."

Legolas arched an eyebrow as a small smile pressed his lips. "I was a prince of Mirkwood before I became Lord of Ithilien. My father taught me well the art of diplomacy and negotiation. It is as important to protect out peoples' rights as it is to protect their homes. While it may not seem so to you, there is as much talent to drawing up an agreement as there is to drawing a bow. My skills are not limited to either."

Anaran looked skeptical as he said, "If you say it is so," then he returned to his own concern. "I just would not want you to overtax yourself in your indulgence of such personal pleasures, strange as they be."

Legolas sighed, "It seems more and more that the things I enjoy are diminishing." Then shaking off the mood, he turned back to Anaran, "Tell the cook I would have her make up a plate for me. I should not sacrifice one of her meals for the trivialities of my silly vices."

"Then you will dine. That is good," said a baritone voice from the doorway.

"Does everyone in this household notice my eating habits?" Legolas said with bemusement toward the Dwarf.

"Only when you do not participate in them," Gimli growled.

"Peace, Gimli. I have already been scolded. Anaran, tell the cook she may punish me by taking away my desert," Legolas laughed, truly brightening now.

"Egad, no," exclaimed Anaran. "She would take off my head. I think she would have it the other way around until you have regained your full health."

"Twice as much desert?" asked Legolas as Anaran smiled back. "She will not be satisfied until I look like a stuffed partridge!"

Gimli sat in a plush chair and made himself look comfortable. "Take the desert, my friend. It was exceptionally good tonight." And in a false whisper he said, "I will happily assist you in your punishment if it will satisfy the cooks indulgence."

Legolas laughed. "Very well, Anaran," he said as he walked over to take the seat next to Gimli. The servant left quietly. "The cook wants me healthy. I fear I may disappoint her. I may never be quite as strong as she would like me to be."

Gimli looked concerned. "Are you still fatigued from the other day's attack?"

"No. It is not that," he said furrowing his brow. He frowned as he thought on the recent event. It had been a small one, he knew, but it frightened him all the same. "The swiftness of this last occurrence is what troubles me. It was untypical as it came on without warning. I seem to be losing my ability to contain the attacks. This last episode took me completely off-guard and I believe it foretelling of worsening times. I am only grateful you were there."

Gimli leaned forward in his seat. A distressed look creased his face. "It worries me as well," he said quietly. Pausing, he looked hard at his companion. He hesitated before speaking, then finally said, "I fear we have long delayed talking on this topic. It has not been pleasant watching you suffer like this, Legolas. Do you not think it is time you answered the call of your affliction's desire?"

"Gimli, how long do you intend to stay?" Legolas said in a casual voice.

The Dwarf looked confused. "I have not made any alternative plans. I will stay as long as you desire it. Why do you ask?"

Legolas smiled brightly, touching the Dwarf's forearm as he softly spoke, "Because you are a comfort to me. I would not have been able to stave off the most recent demon were you not here. It is assuring to me that I can depend on your companionship to fight this. That is all I require at present."

Gimli sighed deeply, and then spoke in a firm voice, "Legolas, I think it is time to stop fighting. I believe you are long overdue for your voyage to the Undying Lands."

Legolas looked hard at Gimli for a long moment and then laughed aloud rocking back in his seat. He reclined fully in his chair and looked incredulously amused at his friend. "You must think I am daft. No, I heard your words well and I have indeed noticed the effect the cuivëar has on me. And on you, for that matter." He laughed again looking at his friend's confused face. "So many of my own people think I am mad to not have gone on to Aman. They think I have succumb to the illness one too many times and have lost my wits as a result." Seeing his friend's expression of remorse, he said gently, "Do not lament for me, Gimli. I have long given up caring what they think. It is what you think that matters to me." He sobered and said, "But you see, my friend, I am very aware of my predicament and I long ago tried to remedy it. Sadly though, it cannot be resolved. I have already tried to leave Middle-earth and have failed."

Gimli was shocked. He shook his head as he tried to make sense of what the Elf had just said. His deep voice sounded reproachful and hurt, "What do you mean you tried? When would this be? I thought you had made a pledge to me?"

Legolas' laughter rang loudly again, "You amuse me so, Gimli. You are here telling me you think I should go against my oath. And when I tell you I already have, you grow angry? Silly Dwarf! Would you not have forgiven me for breaking my vow? Especially since you now attest to the harm of such folly?"

"Of course I would forgive you," Gimli said stung. His eyes looked troubled as he remembered his long guilt, "You just do not know how I have held myself to blame for your plight."

Legolas' mirth disappeared and was replaced with genuine concern. "Then I apologize to you for bringing you anguish. It was never my intent to harm you. Will you forgive me?"

In a humble voice, Gimli said, "You need not even ask. But it is I that feels sorrow for forcing such a pledge on you. You should have never have felt compelled to go against your word. It was wrong of me to push you to say words you did not feel and I know breaking your vow would not be an easy thing for you to do. Forgive me. Your need must have been great to do so."

Legolas gazed fondly at the Dwarf and sadly smiled, "So it was. But do not apologize, my friend. My words were true when I spoke them. I would not hold you to blame."

"But you said your attempt was failed. What happened?" Gimli said moving his thoughts back to the event to which Legolas had alluded.

Legolas stared reflectively into the fire as it sputtered, "There is a reason we have not talked on this subject much: it is physically discomforting to me. But, you are right to say we have put this off too long. If we must talk on it, the light answer I give is that I befriended mortals and have fallen under their spell. I am bound to this world by my love for my companions."

"And the more ponderous answer would be…?" Gimli asked with raised brows.

"I cannot break the spell my heart holds for you. The anguish I feel at the thought of departure is as great as any the Sea-longing can sunder," Legolas said with a distressed face as he concentrated still on the fire. "My heart will break if I leave and I shall die as surely as I will under the cuivëar."

"I think I need to know more to understand," Gimli said with a slight shake of his head.

Legolas sat up straight and leaned forward looking directly into Gimli's eyes as he spoke. His face remained disturbed. "I went with Sam. I escorted him to Mithlond," he confessed quietly. He looked back into the fire, then shut his eyes to the memory, "Forgive me Gimli, but I truly would have broken my vow. I had every intention of escorting him through his journey. Thankfully I did not speak of it to him, and in hindsight I am glad, for it would have made his troubles even greater." Then opening his eyes again a look of despair pressed his eyes. "My fears loomed fiercely, for the cuivëar was pressing hard on me, even then. I thought sure I must leave, for the idea of mortality was a terror to me, and mortality is most certainly what I would be trading if I did not go."

"My despair grows greater for having inflicted this on you," Gimli said in a scared whisper. "And yet you did not leave."

Legolas turned his gaze on the Dwarf. Earnestly he said, "I should have felt joy at my decision to leave, as that is the way of my people. The departure for the Undying Lands is supposed to be a wondrous event and though we are sad to remove ourselves from Middle-earth, overwhelmingly we are supposed to look happily to our new venture."

"You did not."

"Oh that I could!" he said with an agonized grimace. Gimli could see the revelation still tormented his friend, so anguished was his expression. "It was painful. Every step toward that appointed realm brought me such grief as I have never known. The symptoms of cuivëar were upon me, but it was not that illness that befell my fate. My hands shook and my head throbbed and my chest ached with every breath I took in of the Sea air. Gimli, I wanted to go so desperately, and yet my legs would not carry me across the plank to that bridge." His eyes filled with tears, "Such anguish I felt. A torrent of despair. I could feel my heart ripping at just the thought of departure. It was heartbreak as I had never felt it before. Such grief! And poor Sam!"

"What of Sam?" Gimli asked as if now remembering his other friend.

"Poor Hobbit!" Legolas said with a sorrowful smile. "He did not know what to make of it. He only saw me weaken and fall. He was beside himself with worry and he would have stayed to mend me had I not had the foresight to deliver him to Círdan. And then he only left when I assured him I would recover, that it was only a momentary lapse. I am sure his departure quite troubled him. He cried such sad tears as he sailed away. I cried too, for I felt truly torn between two worlds at that moment," Legolas said reliving the moment.

"And since that time?" Gimli's voice broke.

Legolas mustered himself bravely, and looked again at his friend, "I have learned to accept my fate. I am dying. I am as good as mortal. Given a choice, I would want to go to the Undying Lands. This world has grown quite gray to me. But I know my heart will not allow it." His brow creased to a deeply pained expression, and he closed his eyes to it as a gasp escaped him, "Even now, just the thought of it renders agony to my breast. I wish not to speak further of it. The pain is so great!"

Gimli held his breath as he grasped Legolas' hand. It gripped the arm of his chair and the Elf's knuckles had gone white. He watched as his friend pushed the thought back and the torture receded.

"Do you know what is amusing?" Legolas laughed weakly and scornfully. "My father. My father said, 'Such is the price you pay for associating with mortals. They will rip your heart out in one way or other. You should have departed long ago and yet you remain. Such foolishness! Lingering for the likes of a Dwarf!'" He shook his head defiantly "And do you know what I said in return? I said, 'But you are wrong Father, for I would not trade my friendships for all of the gold in your realm. My mortal friends have been my greatest asset.'" Legolas looked again at his friend as tears brimmed his eyes. "And they have been. You have been, Gimli. He does not know the price of immortality is small compared to the richness of your friendship."

Gimli looked down, afraid to look in his friend's eyes for the emotions that welled in his own chest. "But he is right. You will die because of us. Because of me."

"I have tried to die, Gimli. I had given in to the disease and was prepared to go to my death. But you intervened and I was saved, for a time at least. Is that not a gift? Should we not try to enjoy it while we may?" He smiled bravely and squeezed his friend's hand. "My heart is no longer strong. I fear my death will come soon. A trifle could bring me down." Tears began to spill from his eyes. "But you are a brightness in this prison life has become, and I am thankful for the light you bring to my gray world. If my friendship with mortals means my own death then I welcome it. Gimli, knowing you has been a greater experience to me than any I have known among my own kind."

"What should we do?" the Dwarf said choking back his own tears.

"Pray for salvation. And beyond that nothing. Enjoy what we can still have." Legolas looked back at the fire.

"Should we travel? Would that be fitting?" Gimli looked up with a brighter expression on his face as a tear gleamed in his eye.

Legolas smiled sadly, "It would bring me great pleasure, but it would be asking a lot of you. The cuivëar still looms. You would be taking a risk of watching me succumb to it in the unprotected world."

Gimli bolstered himself. No longer thinking of his own fears or guilt, he said bravely, "Legolas, you should well know I care not for the risks. Your happiness is what concerns me. Where would you rather die? In your bed or under the stars?"

"You know my answer," Legolas said in a whisper.

"Then so be it. We will plan a long journey. We shall have an adventure," Gimli said with finality. And then he smiled at his friend who returned his with a melancholy smile, yet the Dwarf noted a touch of hope returned to his eyes.

****

There was a knock on his door the next morning and when the Dwarf opened it he found Legolas on the other side. The Elf stood before him with eyes locked in fear, his skin an ashen hue. He wore a dazed expression. A sheet of unfolded parchment was in his hand and he entered the room without asking entrance.

"Legolas, what is it?" Gimli asked with trepidation, fearful another attack was gripping his friend.

"I am afraid we must set to the road sooner than expected. It is not quite the journey we had anticipated," Legolas said absently. He dropped the note that had been dangling lightly from his hand. "I have ordered a horse made ready and suitable goods and attire for our journey."

Gimli bent down and picked up the paper. The broken seal was that of the House of Elessar.

"We can leave as soon as you are ready. It will not be a long ride. Not even a day," the Elf continued.

Gimli opened the letter. Elegant penmanship contrasted harshly with the curt message scrawled there. The note was from Arwen.

"I hope we are not too late."

The letter read: My king is dying. Please come.

TBC

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Part Three: Losses

"Do you think you can do this?"

"I do not think I have much choice in the matter," the Elf said despondently as he tied their packs onto the horse. His appearance told much of the inner struggle he was enduring. His skin was pale and dark circles ringed his eyes, giving the Elven lord the outward properties of fair exhaustion.

Gimli had already made comment to the Elf on his appearance. But asking Legolas to convey what his insides felt was akin to asking Thráin to be parted from his gold. Such event would not be forthcoming. But still, he needed to ask. "What of the affliction?"

There was no answer. The Elf carried on with his task. Gimli reflected on this and concluded a response would not come, even if he were to ask it a dozen times over. Candor was something Legolas reserved for truly bad times. And so in such that he did not receive a reply, Gimli opted to see Legolas' condition as passable. He really had little choice, though he told himself to be wary. He knew he would need to watch his friend carefully in the next few days. He knew their travels could not go well as they were already starting inclined toward the bad.

Apprehension lined the Dwarf's face. Not only did he have need to concern himself for his friend's welfare, but the message they had received foretold of imminent doom. Though this day's arrival was not unexpected, it could not have come at a worse time. But then, Gimli thought, is there ever a good time to hear of a friend dying.

Two friends dying, he corrected himself. For there was no doubt that Aragorn's death would lead to the untimely departure of Arwen as well. The fair lady was strong in many ways, and Gimli admired her much, but her love for her husband went beyond mortal love, and Gimli felt sure her plight would be dismal - that is if she remained long at all.

And then looking at Legolas and his somber face, he thought, Perhaps even three will part ere we are done. With that true tragedy though, Gimli shook the thought back, refusing to allow himself reflection on the subject. Still, he could not help but ponder the beauty and frailty of the two Elves in his circle of close friendships. It struck him unfair that the Valar had graced the Elven race with so much. They were greater than all other creatures for their wisdom, their strength, their beauty. But it had been a cruel blow for the gods to gift them with feelings, for as abundantly as they adorned those other virtues, they lived equally so in their emotions. And so they hid themselves to all but their own. It was no wonder that those who did not know Elves pronounced them aloof and quite distant, for it took much to bring an Elf to concede to real feelings. Their reactions were deeper than any Man could know. Surely a mortal granted with such emotions would be driven to madness. And yet Gimli's two Elven friends had knowingly given in to their feelings and loved mortals in the truest sense of their being. They would pay for their weakness with their lives.

Gimli took his place on the horse, much as he and Legolas had in earlier days. In all his long years, Gimli had never learned to ride, and still held great trepidation for the beasts. He preferred to have Legolas drive them, and never wavered in his mistrust for the seemingly handsome, four-legged creatures his friend so admired.

The Dwarf looked up to the sky and worried for their ride. The weather, as was typical for that time of year, was unpredictable. It was still Winter, but Spring was nearing, and the chaotic nature of climate was prevalent. The air was fair for the day, but Gimli noticed gray clouds looming ahead as they prepared to draw themselves West. He was amused that for the unseen qualities of the weather, he had become, in his old age, fairly as good at predicting the elements as the Elves. He almost opened his mouth to speak on it, but knew Legolas was not in the mood to banter this trait. And yet he knew it would rain soon and he sensed a temperature change as well. His discernment of climate, however, was based on atmospheric moisture and its ability to raise aches in his old bones, and not to the innate charms that gave Elves this talent.

Gimli considered the road ahead. Bad weather would not make their journey easier, and the pall it would cast could not aid in the dire circumstance they faced. He sighed deeply, bracing himself for what he knew would be one of the hardest journeys he had ever undertaken.

****

Aragorn's son was as handsome as his father had ever been. Tall, graceful, lean and well-muscled, he exuded the finest qualities of his father and was a walking tribute to the elder's noble bearing. He had become a champion in the field, and he was highly esteemed by his militia. And he had won reputation in the courts and council chambers for his abilities to debate all matters of state. He was renowned for his fairness and consideration and was not one to be pigeonholed into stereotype. If anything his unpredictability made him refreshing as a leader even if it cost him allegiances at times. He was loved by his people, and he in turn loved them back. His heart was in Minas Tirith and he was undeterred in his devotion all things of Gondor. And for that, his greatest love was for his father. The two had been inseparable from early on and the king's son had learned his stewardship well and directly from the kingdom's master. Eldarion was every inch a Man Aragorn could take pride in.

Looking at him, Gimli admired the way in which he bore his worry. It was plain that the Man was anguished, and yet he remained composed and decisive. It was foretelling of how he would rule, for Gimli knew the strain he must feel at seeing someone so dear being parted could not be easy. Yet he felt confident the reign Aragorn had started would continue in good stead, if it did not indeed surpass the elder's good intent.

And despite Eldarion's troubles, he remained a fair host. As he escorted the Dwarf and Elf to his father's chambers, he asked of their travels and of news in Ithilien and Rohan. And then knowing them well as he did from their many years as a companion to his father, he expressed his concerns.

"He will not live much beyond this day," the prince said with sorrow.

"And what of your mother?" Legolas asked with kind intent.

"Alas, she grows thin in her worries and she almost never speaks now, save to him. I fear her parting grows near as well, and I will lament two deaths, not one," Eldarion uttered with a pained expression.

"Your grief is great and we share it with you, for we love your father and mother with an equal adoration, though it cannot rival your own love. These are not easy times, my lord, and we are here at your need. Call on us for anything and we shall serve," said Gimli with a humble bow.

"Your gesture is grand, dear ones, but I would also offer you my service, for I can see that this event is deeply troubling for you as well. You are more than just friends to my father and mother, and even my sisters and I. More in keeping, you are like family to mine. Let us compromise and offer our support to each other, and let it stand at that," Eldarion said as he bowed more deeply to them.

"You do your father justice, Eldarion," said Legolas with quiet admiration. Gimli scrutinized the Elf's face carefully. He was pleased to see Legolas managing without falter.

They proceeded their long walk until they reached the king's rooms. Eldarion led them in. The light was growing dim, but the sconces illuminated the room enough to discern the figure at the far end of a massive carven bed. His great frame seemed small in the enormity of the berth and sadly it belied the truth of his body. His head was propped with a mound of cushions in varying fabrics and sheens and despite his diminishing force, he still appeared regal. He was bedecked in a robe of palest grays and lavender spun of elven silks. His hair was still dark, though it was heavily tarnished with light streaks that matched the whiteness of his beard. The creases on his face revealed his age but his eyes conveyed an earnestness that had been there even in earlier years. Despite all appearances, the Man was still stately.

Gimli remembered their meeting the prior Summer. Even then Elessar's health was clearly in decline, though none spoke of it. His steps no longer had vigor, and his body seemed pained by the years of physical stress. He tired easily and his appetite left him. Yet his voice remained strong and his mind was astute. He chose not to focus much on tasks of his title, choosing instead to linger long hours in the gardens with his ever-beautiful wife. He brushed off attempts to garner his notice, and told all callers to take up matters with his son. He wanted serenity in those days, and he surely deserved it. But it had been upsetting to see the former Ranger's waning interest in the world, and this was more a sure sign of his demise than anything his body conveyed.

As he lay on his bed, the Dwarf could see a sadness crease his old friend's demeanor and yet there was something else there that Gimli struggled to name. It was almost relief, and perhaps even anticipation, though neither word seemed fitting for the look Gimli saw. Acceptance. That was it. It was a strange combination and Gloin's son marveled at this remarkable quality in his king, for the Dwarf was unsure he could meet his own death with such grace. It was easy to admire Aragorn's bravery still.

Legolas and Gimli were brought directly before their friend. They could see their friend's face light up as they approached and eyeing each other they silently and unitedly agreed that perhaps there was opportunity to bring yet some mirth. Grasping this chance, they wasted no time in falling into old habits, bantering lightly with each other for their king's amusement.

Aragorn said, "I am happy you are here. The weather has held and I trusted your journey was uneventful, but now I worry. You look tired, Legolas."

"I am, my lord. But I would not say it is fatigue from travel that labors me. Quite truthfully, I have not rested well of late. There is much that troubles my sleep, and I think I may speak plainly when I say it is most namely a noise that penetrates the peace of my nights," the Elf said with a stern face. Yet the corners of his mouth curled up slightly as he hinted a smile. "I hate to lay blame, but if it should be named, you could say the source of my weariness rests," he said turning to face Gimli, "with the Dwarf." A spark flickered in his eye.

"My fault you say! How can your lack of sleep be my doing?" Gimli asked, acting the role of wounded foil.

"Oh Gimli, if only you should be awake through such an event, you would know," Legolas said shaking his head sadly. "Alas, Elf-friend, but you snore. Quite loudly it seems, for your noise carries clear to my bedchambers, and those are noticeably removed from the end of the house you occupy," the elf said with a bemused smile.

"Do not find blame in my innocent slumber. Your difficulties should be blamed on the shortcomings of Elven ingenuity. Were your house properly constructed with walls fair thicker than a lattice of branches, I would dare say your sleep would be less interrupted," the Dwarf responded.

"And yet, I am not alone in this. I have received complaints from many neighbors as well," the Elf said with feigned protest.

"More evidence to my point. Elven ingenuity and poor architecture," Gimli said stabbing a finger in the air smugly.

"I suppose you think walls of granite and beam are the only appropriate materials for building?" the Elf jibed.

"Well they do offer privacy from unintended visual displays," Gimli defended, and then as an aside to Aragorn he said, "Quite truthfully, your majesty, the Elf has no modesty!"

And so it went. The king chuckled lightly at the amusement their anecdotal banter brought him and it brought all of them pleasure to see merriment break the sadness that had stifled the room.

Gimli was amazed at the Elf's seeming recovery and realized it was much a ruse. He guarded his jealousy, for he wished at times the Elf would paint a false-front for him. But he knew also there was a price to pay for pretending good health, and Gimli feared Legolas would exhaust himself far too quickly. But for that moment, Legolas showed no signs of the ailment nor the troubles that had flagged him all that day, and he seemed as clear-headed and fair as he had ever been in prior days.

The same could not be said for Arwen. While her beauty had not waned, her eyes revealed her age, and Gimli saw when he looked at her the same acceptance of death that Aragorn displayed. True to Eldarion's word, she was distracted and seemed not to hear what they said, only focusing herself on her beloved. She never looked away from him as if she were trying to memorize every detail of his presence, and Gimli knew as he gazed upon her that had he any doubt before, it was gone. Aragorn's death would be fatal to her as well.

****

Faint light of morning filtered into the room as his eyes fluttered open. He had the dream again. He awoke to it and knew a smile was pressed to his face. It gave him hope. His life was failing. His body was dying. But he was not afraid. It was inevitable, he knew. He only despaired that it had to end so soon. He was not prepared to be separated from his loved ones, and he did not think he would ever be ready for that event. But then, there was the dream. He believed in it. She had come to him again, and he felt certain there was a chance for something more. He prayed he was right. It gave him the strength he needed to face this next step.

He was tired. His body labored to continue. He needed to say his farewells. He needed to make sure all the details were complete. He needed to touch and hold his beloved one more time. He did not want to die, but he understood that he had no choice.

A gentle hand caressed his cheek. Soft and aromatic, like the petal of a rose it was. He glanced up to see the sweet face of his wife. His eyes misted as he looked upon her. So tender. So pure. Their love had been the miracle that fulfilled his life, and he could not think of a moment of regret he had spent in her presence. How lucky have I been to have found this eternal love? She is my jewel. My starlight. For even a moment with her is worth a lifetime of happiness.

He lifted his hand to conjoin hers, fingers intertwining and lingering against his cheek. He pulled her palm to his lips and softly kissed it as she drew her face closer in to his. She stroked his brow, studying his weary face. And then Aragorn said, "It is time, my love."

Arwen nodded, and a single tear spilled from her eye.

****

Gimli watched Legolas' face. He knew what he would see there. Depression and sorrow. It mirrored his own expression. But affirmations of these emotions were not what he was searching to find. They were apparent. He was trying to discern if any more signs of illness were looming. Especially since the Elf had become so incredibly tight-lipped this morning. If this had been an earlier time in their lives, Gimli would have shrugged it off to Elven emotions in the throes of difficult circumstances, but with Legolas' current history, the Dwarf could not afford to be so careless with his concerns.

Their visit last night had been pleasant, and it had actually brightened his companion's mood. So much so, in fact, that Gimli felt comfortable parting to separate rooms, as was expected, and he did not feel compelled to check on the Elf's well-being later in the night. But with his friend's darkening demeanor today, he began doubting his own wisdom. The Dwarf was perplexed and he pondered his difficulty in determining his friend's condition. After all these many months of living daily with the cuivëar, Gimli found more than ever that he could not fully recognize the disease when it struck. It was frustrating to him that the illness was so elusive, and he had been forced to put more faith in his intuition than he could in physical signs. Unfortunately his intuition had been wrong as often as it was right of late, and Gimli suffered serious self-doubt. Still he noted, Legolas appeared alert, even if he was not talkative and Gimli finally acquiesced that signs of impending illness were not visible to him at present.

They had been called back to the king's chambers, and this time Gimli felt certain their visit would not be so pleasant. Word had come that the king had suffered much in the night, and Gimli focused his mind on preparing for the worst. Upon entering the room, the Dwarf's suspicions were confirmed. The pervasive mood told him the end was near, and he doubted that any amount of playful teasing between he and the Elf could chase that dread away.

Looking upon the king from the distance the vast room afforded, Gimli could see that so much of the spirit within Aragorn had parted in the course of a night. The mood in the room was penetrating, and the Dwarf's impulses told him to depart quickly for fear of his own reactions. He felt an overwhelming desire to sob out his despair, but he knew if he did so, the effect in the room would multiply. The Dwarf coursened his heart, fighting against the sting of tears that pushed to broach his eyes. If ever there was a time to be strong, he knew it was now.

As had been before, Aragorn's son, Eldarion, was there, sitting quietly nearby, ready to attend to any needs the old man may have had. Arwen also drew near, sitting perched on the edge of a chair, vigilantly watching his every breath and gauging the emotions of those who parted company from her love. Each gesture she saw was acknowledged in her eyes, and the pain of watching her was as great as was watching him. At the moment that they had entered the bedchambers, her eyes were fixed on her two daughters, and Gimli wondered how Arwen could endure such pain as he saw the king's hand lift to brush away a tear from the youngest one's face. The tenderness of that gesture registered in her face and new tears flowed down her cheeks. As they parted from their father, the women turned their gaze on their mother. Stepping to her side, they urged her to rise by gently lifting her from her seat and brought her aside to make private tribute to her tears. It was a heartfelt expression, and Gimli turned away from the scene in appreciation of the familial love it stirred.

Grief was attacking Legolas' face as well, but Gimli noted that he composed himself well as Eldarion escorted him to the king's side. Gimli stood back silently and watched as the Elf knelt beside the bed and leaned in close to his old friend's face. Gimli could not hear their words, nor did he think he wanted to hear them. It was their final departure, and he did not dare intrude in a moment so private. They spoke long and with sincere feelings though it was all a blur of soft whispers. Gimli watched as they clasped hands in a warrior salute and the Dwarf was amazed at the calmness Legolas maintained. For his own part, Gimli nearly felt his control waver as he saw the Elf's head bow before delivering a kiss to Aragorn's brow. And then Legolas arose, casting his eyes down, keeping his face a mask as a tear escaped his eye. With invisible steps he left the room and Gimli's heart lurched at the aloneness exuded by the tall figure.

At last, Gimli was drawn near his old friend. Absently he fingered the pendant he wore. He had chosen it specifically for this occasion as he knew it had significance to all of them. It was a memory, and he hoped that it's appearance would give them the strength to move on from their pain. He mustered memories of his own and recalled the friend he had known so long ago. The mysterious dark Ranger with fierce warrior talents and noble character appeared before him. He remembered their many adventures and the awe and love he felt for the Man who had stood at his side in battles fought for the good of all. Gimli reflected on those memories as he looked upon his comrade in those final few minutes. His love was deep. And being that, he remained firm in withholding his remorse as best he could, for he knew his old friend looked at him with like memories in turn.

Aragorn spoke in a weak voice, "And now we depart, dear Gimli. My friend."

Gimli's voice caught as he answered, but he cleared his throat and began again, "Tis but short time as I am certain we will meet again, old comrade."

"Perhaps we shall," said the king as he clasped the Dwarf's hand. He saw now the pendant and a twinkle of long past memories caught in his eye. "You are wearing Galadriel's gift."

"I thought it may be appropriate," Gimli said as he touched at the tear-shaped jewel. Suspended at his breast a golden threaded braid of a hair was captured in a sparkling crystal. It was held in its place at the Dwarf's chest by a chain that matched the hue of the gentle tendril.

Aragorn's eyes never left the pendant. Gimli could see it invoked thoughts in the fatigued king's mind. Elessar's voice was wistful, "What would you say to her, Gimli? If you could see her again, what would you say?"

Gimli started at the abruptness of the question. He wondered how Aragorn knew he pondered this thought. It was a phantom wish, one he knew could never be fulfilled. And yet despite the impossibility of it, his mind had many times wandered that path over the last several months. His thoughts drifted to his memory of her face and the exquisite ethereal quality of her voice. He remembered his unabashed admiration of her grace and the awing nature of her effortless power. Oh how he longed to see her again, for if he could he would ask her to give him the one thing he desired more than all other material goods accumulated in life. It was a yearning he could not fulfill and he knew only she had the strength to see it done. "I would ask her to save Legolas," Gimli quietly blurted out.

Aragorn exhaled deeply and drew his eyes away from the stone. Looking with tired eyes into the Dwarf's face he said, "So it is true. Legolas, too, is dying."

Gimli gasped, realizing that he had not meant to speak this thought aloud. But it was too late. The king knew, and all he could do was acknowledge the truth. "I did not mean to reveal that to you, my lord."

Aragorn smiled weakly. "Have no worries, Gimli. I already suspected. It is very distressing that he should die now. It was not ordained this way…so unfair." His eyes drifted off for a moment as he thought, then he returned them to the Dwarf's face. "It appears you and I would speak to Galadriel on mutual cause. And now my mission is even clearer. For I too would ask the Lady for salvation. And in fact, I have asked for it already," he said alertly. Gimli blinked at this revelation, pondering the statement and wondering on the state of the king's mind. Hallucination was a possibility with the end so near. But Aragorn's gaze was steadfast and Gimli recognized the sincerity of his friend's belief. "I speak seriously, my friend. I have had such a vision. The Lady Galadriel has come to me in my dreams. Thrice now it has been, and each time she told me that I may make my plea in Mandos' House. It has inspired my hope."

"And what would you ask if you see this vision fulfilled?" queried Gimli, intrigued now by the earnestness of the king's speech.

Aragorn gazed upward with reverent hope. "I would ask that Arwen and I be given a place there," he whispered. He turned to gaze again at his lovely wife. He sadly spoke, "She has forsaken her immortality for her love of me and so a place for her exists no more among the Valar. I would ask that she be allowed to linger again with those fair people, even if it is only in a spirit world. And I would ask that I be allowed to stay at her side."

"How do you know if they will grant it?" Gimli asked in a whispered return.

"I do not know. And it is not a meager thing I ask, but it is my hope that the Valar will see the eternal light of our love and fulfill this last wish. Even if I am just a mortal." He squeezed Gimli's hand and said, "And now I know that, if they will allow it, I will plead for Legolas' life as well. He should not die. That is not how it should be."

"I am most grateful to you," Gimli choked, not sure if he truly believed Aragorn's dream, but moved by the gesture nonetheless.

"In the meantime, my friend, I must ask one last service," Aragorn said as he released the Dwarf's hands.

Gimli drew nearer. "Anything, my lord," he said in a raspy voice.

"Stay close to our friend. He is diminishing rapidly, and he has not much time left in this world. You bring him joy, and I think in the end he would want you near as he wanes," he said weakly, with a frown creasing his brow. Then his face eased up and he said quietly, "I will plea for his life, but you must give him the will to hold on as I do."

"I will do the best that I am able, my friend," Gimli said sadly. And then he kissed Aragorn's hand, and said, "Farewell," as he stood to leave. He masked his face from emotion. Quietly, he stepped away.

****

He found Legolas where he knew he would be, in the one place where he always found solace. Outdoors. And on this day, in the palace gardens. Gimli looked at the rigid posture of his friend's back and sighed before drawing near. Three steps he took, and then the Elf's hand was raised. Bent at the elbow, the palm was held up and the head was gently shaking. No. The Dwarf read it — do not come. He froze in his place. Rain gently fell about him and he pulled his cloak more firmly shielding his head and body from the wetness. He noted that the Elf had pushed his own hood aside and was looking up at the breaking clouds. Droplets of water washed Legolas' face, and Gimli understood. He was crying. Turning in one quick move, the Dwarf spiraled around and went back into the building. He left Legolas alone.

His room overlooked the place where the Elf stood. Gimli could watch him from there and he felt safe. Knowing that he was not needed for now, a sense of relief washed over him as his real emotions poured out. They hit him like a wave and he reeled at the immensity of their impact. Sobs choked him though he had no control over them, and he heard himself bawl a renting cry. Numb and yet overwhelmed in grief he felt. He was completely unsure of himself and his arms folded over his chest as he rocked in his wails. His mind worked so clearly. Every detail of the room was apparent to him. And yet he could not control his own moans nor the tears that flooded his eyes. He whipped himself around looking for a clue as to how to control this emotion that filled him. And then he gave in, and allowed the cries to swallow him up as he gave in to his grief. He sank into the chair next to the window. He could see Legolas standing alone there, and he knew his own tears matched his friend's. His thoughts focused on Aragorn and he poured and he poured and he poured out his lament.

The day dragged on. Shadows crept the walls as his cries lingered. The room vibrated echoes of his sorrow. He cried for long hours though he became unaware of time. The memories of Aragorn danced before him, and each brought new tears. He cried aloud at their assault without hindrance or shame.

Time moved on and it felt like nothing and forever. At last his sad reverie was broken as he became aware of the sound of bells ringing through the city streets. They were repeated and picked up again and again as more towers took up the call. Gimli knew in that moment it was done. He lowered his eyes. "Goodbye, my old friend," he whispered as the last tears fell.

He was spent. Every emotion he had mustered was gone. And in their place he felt numbness and exhaustion. He sank deeper into the chair as if his spine too was gone. He watched Legolas still from his vantage point. The Elf had not moved. He knew in his heart he should get up and try again to approach, but he felt so very tired. He could not remember the last time he had felt this drained. His arms felt limp and heavy. His fingertips tingled. His head ached, and a pain ran from the base of his neck all the way to his temples. He unclenched his jaw and the ached immediately lessened though his eyes still burned from the tears he had cried. He closed them to drive out the fire within them and he allowed his body to relax for the first time in days. And then he slept.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He was surprised he had fallen asleep so easily, and felt uncertain of the time. His head still throbbed as memories of his misery returned, but he felt somewhat more rested. And yet he knew he could easily sleep much, much more. He considered laying down on the comfortable bed. Then his heart quickened, and his eyes darted to the window. Legolas was not there! The sleep that had, only moments ago, penetrated his body now fled, and he felt panic at the loss of his friend. He jumped up from the chair and ran to the door. The lights of the hall were still lit, and he realized it was not all that late as he could hear the sounds of people still moving in various parts of the house. Composing himself he walked to the door of the room he knew his friend occupied. He knocked lightly, but there was no answer. More concerned for his friend's well-being than his privacy, Gimli tried the handle. The door swung open lightly with his gentle push. Gimli suddenly felt like an intruder. He could not bring himself to enter but instead peered into the room. Looking about for signs of the Elf's presence, he breathed a sigh of relief. Gimli saw Legolas laying on the bed. His body was turned away from the door and curled slightly in a sleeping pose. He was there. The Elf remained fully clothed and the bedsheets were not disturbed, almost as if he had collapsed into it. Gimli did not fret over that — he had almost done nearly the same only moments ago. He was consoled to see his friend resting and so he silently closed the door and returned to his own room.

****

Legolas was lost. There was no doubt in Gimli's mind. It was happening again. It only made sense that his friend wandered blindly in his stupor. It only made sense, for Gimli knew the heartache of losing Aragorn would have weakened the Elf's control over the disease. It only made sense, and Gimli shuddered at the dread he had felt all along since this journey began. He should have been more vigilant. It only made sense and there was no other explanation. Still Gimli valiantly searched for one.

Eldarion was the first to notice. He came knocking on Gimli's door to apprise him there would be an informal gathering of family and friends that afternoon. "I tried to tell Lord Legolas, but he was not in his room. Will you pass the invitation on to him?" the heir asked.

"Not there?" Gimli paused in concern.

"No. Nor did I see him downstairs in the dining chambers," Eldarion informed. Then seeing the Dwarf's concern, he said, "Master Gimli? Is Legolas all right? He has seemed so distant to my perception."

Gimli considered this question. To lie would be to protect Legolas' reputation. But at what price? he thought. To be truthful would be to garner support if he needed it. "He is not well, friend. I must try and find him if I may before he worsens. Of more, I cannot say."

Genuine anxiety creased the prince's face. "My lord, if he needs any aid, all you need do is speak and all the powers of this city will be at your disposal."

"Thank you, Eldarion," Gimli said as he grasped the younger Man's arm. "You will be the first to know if I succeed or fail." And with that Gimli made his departure in search of his friend.

He searched the house in as much of a nonchalant manner as he could muster, acting as if he had simply lost track of his companion. He politely asked of the Elf's whereabouts and was courteously told over and over again that Legolas had not been seen. He continued his search on the grounds to no avail. A cold rain dampened the air and his breath floated before his face in a mist as he walked.

Minas Tirith is a very large city. Gimli swallowed back his fear as he looked upon the municipality from its highest tower. He no longer suspected the Elf to be within the king's home. He felt certain Legolas had somehow escaped the palace walls and was roaming the streets beneath him. But where? Steeling himself for the worst, he redressed in his travel garb and began searching the alleys and roadways around the palace walls.

Icy rain began to fall, and a cold air chilled his bones. He pressed on. Down and down he went, descending each level of the city as his desperation grew.

A clock tower began to ring, and Gimli saw that he had to return if he were to make his appearance at the gathering. He found himself torn. He feared the predicament of his friend, but he also knew Aragorn's family expected him, and perhaps even needed him. But in the end, he ignored the clock and carried on as fear won out and his gloom grew.

Night fell, the streets of the city echoed with the sound of his feet on wet cobblestones. A pelting rain fell, stinging his skin with its touch and freezing on the walkways making his steps slick. Still the Dwarf searched, descending level after level, scouring the streets for the Elf. Finally, Gimli felt he could go on no more. Fear, dread, exhaustion and hunger rocked him. His mind reeled with anxiety as scenarios of disaster played in his mind. He turned back and his thoughts went to Eldarion's offer. He knew Legolas would not want to be noticed this way, but Gimli disregarded the Elf's feelings for the sake of real fear. Legolas must be found, no matter the consequences.

He returned to the house and directed himself straight to his room. His clothing was quite damp and he needed to change before he sought out Eldarion's help. He would ask for the palace guard to continue the search. As a group they stood a better chance of finding Legolas than Gimli could alone.

On the off-chance he would be successful, he tried Legolas' room once again as he passed. Small hope glimmered there, but as expected, there was no sign of the Elf.

Gimli then turned to his room and opened the door. It was dark inside, and only dim light filtered in from the window. The Dwarf stepped in and closed the door. He was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he gasped as he realized he was not alone in the room. The highlight of a body was cast near the window and he was about to call out at the intruder when he recognized the silhouette. "Legolas!" he called out.

He ran to his friend's side, groping him in the dark as he found himself immersed in relief. But his feelings were fleeting and he was plunged rapidly into despair. His hands felt sopping wetness and he realized Legolas' clothes were soaked through. Dread gripped the Dwarf's heart as he felt uncontrollable shivers shake the Elf's body. Gimli looked at the face. Locked again in illness, Legolas' eyes were vague and clouded. A glassy stare permeated the space where the Dwarf stood. But there was more wrong here and the Dwarf sought to find it.

Instinct took over as he looked in those eyes. He could not dismiss the Elf's stare to the effect of Sea-longing and he touched his friend's brow. Blazing heat registered in his fingertips as he pulled them away from his friend's face confirming the knowledge his mind had known already.

Gloin's son frowned deeply. A Dwarvish curse escaped his lips. Gimli grew afraid as he became unsure now what to do. The eyes had given it away. Legolas' body raged with fever.

TBC

 **********

A/N: I need a fire to drive me on. This chapter came much faster than I expected, and has depleted me a bit. I need some encouragement for the next one as I'm starting to feel a little like Gimli does. Have no fear, as I know where I am going with this though constructive comments would help me. I will not desert this, but please do review., he corrected himself. For there was no doubt that Aragorn's death would lead to the untimely departure of Arwen as well. The fair lady was strong in many ways, and Gimli admired her much, but her love for her husband went beyond mortal love, and Gimli felt sure her plight would be dismal - that is if she remained long at all.

Disclaimer: The usual stuff (see Chapter One). I own little to nothing, and certainly nothing relating to this story, character, locations, etc. Except maybe Anaran (he's sort of sweet). Otherwise it's all Tolkien.

A/N: Thank you for the many kind reviews. I still feel like I'm swimming a bit upstream here. A lot of emotion goes into this, but I can't really tell if it comes out. I've spent a lot of time in rewrites and editing and much has been cut because it's just me rambling and not filling the storyline. I apologize if this is getting a little too deep. Review and let me know if it still touches you.

Kudos to Honesty for pointing out Gimli's age. I hope you find I'm a little kinder to him here. You are right, he is the ripe age of 262 at this time. Quite the senior citizen. And I have him walking around in the streets in icy rain? Shame on me! From looking at his family tree, most of the Dwarf's in his line die around the age of 250 or so. Somehow I had it in my head Dwarf's lived even longer than that. Do your research, Ithilien! However, that is not to say there weren't exceptions in the family. For one thing, many in his family died prematurely (from battle wounds, axe mishaps, cave-ins, troll encounters, etc.) so it is hard to gauge their longevity from those examples. We know one cousin, Dwalin, lived to be 340 years old. Another, Thorin III was still alive when Gimli departed and would have been 275 at the time–we really don't know how old he ended up being in the end. Personally, I prefer to think of Gimli as a rather spry old fellow (aside from his pipe tobacco habit, he exercised regularly and had good eating habits – lembas fits all the recommended daily requirements, I'm told. Probably high in fiber too). Without any evidence to say Gimli was a decrepit old thing, I'm going to live with the image I've painted. Besides, in real life I can think of examples of oldsters who break the age mold. My father-in-law is a good one. He's in his LATE 70's, regularly wrestles on the floor with his grandkids, still works part time, travels broadly, and rollerskates competitively. He consistently medals in regional and national competitions and he looks like he's in his 50's. I expect he will be kicking well into his 90's. Go Dad!

Part Four: Visions

Gimli tugged at Legolas' arm, pulling the stumbling Elf to the darkened hearth. He threw off his damp cloak and jacket, then turned away, focusing his attention on bringing warmth and light to the room. "I cannot attend to what I cannot see," he grumbled as he laid kindling in the chimney basin. Sparking a light, the fire flicked the edges of the wood shavings and strips. A good draft licked the flames and within minutes the room was filled with warm light.

"Gimli?" he heard the Elf speak.

"Here, friend," he said turning to face his companion, a genuine smile lighting up his face in relief.

Legolas' eyes focused briefly on his form, but it was a fleeting look, and recognition did not register there. "I have to find Gimli," he said to the Dwarf with a panicked expression. "I must find him." Legolas' eyes now swept the room in search of his lost friend as shivers shook his body.

Gimli's eyes darkened again. Dementia, he thought with dread. He stepped back to his role as Legolas' caretaker and he tentatively approached his friend. In a gentle voice he said, "I am here, Legolas. You are ill and your mind is not quite right. Look at me. I will help you." He began removing the Elf's wet clothing.

The Elf looked again and was clearly confused, trying to recognize the Dwarf's rugged face. His expression danced a myriad of thoughts, but none of them registered familiarity. He began to pull away, but was obviously weak. His effort was feeble and he was left with no choice but to ponder Gimli's face. And then a momentary glimpse of recognition sparked him, and his troubled brow relaxed. "Gimli, it is you!" he whispered a sigh. His voice was vague and innocent as he spoke. "I could not find you. I was looking, but I could not find you! We have to go to the garden now." He said as he started to pull away from the Dwarf again.

"Not until I get you dried off," Gimli said in a chiding voice. He pulled the quilt from the bed and draped it across the Elf's shoulders as he pushed him into a chair. Limply, Legolas complied and it seemed that as swiftly as it came, the brief moment of recognition was lost from his eyes. A blank stare took over the Elf's face. Realizing their conversation was over for the time being, Gimli used the free moment to go to the adjoining bath and gather all the towels. On his return, he continued to strip the Elf of his sodden clothes and to dry the wet limbs. He completed his ministrations with a rough toweling of Legolas' head, making sure he squeezed the ends to collect the droplets that were welling there. Then he covered the Elf again with the heavy blanket.

With this task done, he realized he was unsure what to do next. "I'm too old for this, Elf," he said to the listless figure.

A knock came to the door. Gimli hesitated before answering it. Beyond the threshold he saw the worried face of Eldarion. Relief washed the Dwarf's expression. He had been unsure as to how to explain the presence of a sick Elf to a stranger. "I came to see if you had found Legolas," the young Man said. Touched by his concern, Gimli opened the door more fully and glanced back to the Elf. The prince looked over the Dwarf's shoulder and saw the Elven figure reclined in a chair near the hearth. A great smile spread across his face. "And so you have. May I enter?" he eagerly asked as he looked again at the Dwarf.

The prince walked boldly into the room with quick steps, but stopped short. He could see something was amiss and realized his mistake. There was illness in the eyes of his father's friend. Legolas shivered and Eldarion approached him with trepidation. He bent down to touch the Elf's face and his brow creased with worry. Looking back at Gimli, he gasped, "Gimli, you told me he was ill, but you did not tell me it was like this. What ails him?"

"He would not want you to know," the Dwarf said in a mumble as he protectively moved to Legolas' side.

"I can try to help him," the prince said sincerely.

"We can relieve the symptoms, but nothing else. There is no cure. He is ashamed of his illnesses occurrence, especially around Men," Gimli said defensively, his eyes darting between the would-be king and his friend.

"Then you should tell me, for you obviously forget that I am also half-Elf," Eldarion said in a tone that left little doubt his query was a command rather than a request.

Gimli sighed as he softly answered, "He suffers cuivëar."

Eldarion arched his eyebrows but nodded in understanding as he returned his gaze and touch to the Elf. His eyes registered deep concern. "I have never seen it this bad before. He has a fever," he noted more to himself than to the Dwarf. A look of puzzlement creased his brow. "Elves are not known to be prone to infection and sickness. He must be gravely afflicted to succumb to mortal ailments. How long has he been this way?" he asked the Dwarf over his shoulder.

"Which do you mean? The fever or the illness?" Gimli replied.

"Both."

"The fever I just discovered myself. But the Sea-longing has been with him since the War of the Ring," the Dwarf said.

"Over a century? Dear Eru! How wretched! He is Silvan, is he not? Then it is no wonder he is so ill!" the prince said with astonishment. "Why has he not left?" he asked, forgetting the delicate intimacy he was broaching in that question. Gimli's hackles went up. If this prince understood the disease before him, surely he knew it was a matter of decorum toward Elven nature that kept one from asking such a question. It was not information shared lightly and one of his chief concern's with sharing any knowledge of the illness with Men.

Gimli answered as tactfully as he could. "You should tell me Eldarion, why your mother did not leave. Then I would say Legolas stayed for reasons of like."

Eldarion realized his misstep. His face showed gratitude to the Dwarf for treating his answer deferentially. He said sadly, "She dies of a broken heart." Noble eyes registered newfound understanding as he gazed upon the Elf before him. "And so he does too, I suppose."

"His heart and soul are torn. Heartbreak in all forms sunders him." Gimli said with a mournful sigh. He suddenly felt very tired. He turned away from Legolas and focused his gaze on the fire. "His symptoms are all jumbled," Gimli said despondently. "One illness feeds the next. You could say he is dying of many things now."

Compassion showed on the younger Man's face. Genuine feeling played on his features as he looked upon the Elf. With gentle strength Eldarion bent down and clasped his arms about Legolas' shoulders and legs. He easily lifted the Elf wrapped snuggly in the quilt and carried the light body to rest on the bed.

Legolas stirred at the motion. His eyes refocused slightly and he glanced around the room, but he did not appear to truly see. "The garden," he moaned. Then squirming in his blankets, he muttered fearfully, "She is waiting…must go home…Gimli help me. Gimli?"

Gimli went to his companions side. "Here Legolas," he answered pushing hair from the Elf's face. Cupping Legolas' face in his hands, he drew his own near trying to force his friend to look at him.

Legolas' breath grew into pants as he continued to flail about in his blindness. His eyes widened and his voice grew in panic. It was apparent he was lost in another place and was unable to see the friend only inches from his face. "Gimli!" he cried. "I need Gimli! No! The noise…please, help me! She's waiting! …Must find her…home…" he wimpered.

At the side table, Eldarion lit the lamps and poured water from a pitcher into a bowl. He doused a towel with it. Ringing out the excess, he handed the cloth to Gimli.

"Hush now Legolas, hush," Gimli interrupted his friend's suffering with his patient words and the chill of the wet cloth. "Calm yourself now. Who is waiting? Tell me, friend." the Dwarf continued in a soothing voice as he swabbed the Elf's fevered brow.

The coolness of the towel had an immediate and pacifying effect to Legolas. His eyes began to drift shut. "She's waiting," he whispered. "Galadriel…"

Gimli stiffened. Astonishment and apprehension registered in him. It was twice now Galadriel's name had been mentioned in a like number of days. The randomness of this event fairly startled him, for both times the words had come from the lips of dying friends. It was not as if Legolas in good times spoke her name often. Nor did Aragorn. Nor did he for that matter. The Lady was loved by all, but she was not a common topic among them. And it appeared even stranger still, for Gimli knew Legolas had not been present when the king had spoken of his dying wish. It has to be coincidence, he told himself. But it disturbed him all the same.

Eldarion interrupted Gimli's thoughts. "I can brew a tea from willow bark to help assuage the fever," he offered.

"Yes…" said Gimli still lost in thought.

"I could also spell you for a while from your duties," Eldarion said. Then he looked at his father's friend and concern creased his face again as he noted the Dwarf's distraction. "Gimli?"

"Eh, what?" Gimli answered, shaking his head as he realized Eldarion was speaking to him.

"Gimli, when was the last time you had a break from your worries? I see no others here tending to Legolas. Do you ever get respite?" Eldarion asked as he lead the Dwarf around to a chair.

"There is no one of family to attend to him. Save for a servant or two, I am the closest he has," Gimli said with fatigue as he slowly sank into the chair being offered. His mind was still locked on Legolas' cries.

"He is not the only one to be inflicted with pain here. You suffer too. And in some ways it is worse, for when he dies, you will still have to live this illness in your memories. You need to loosen your ties and consider yourself as well."

Legolas moaned softly, and Gimli reflexively stiffened. Eldarion put out his hand to touch the Dwarf's arm and he stepped into Gimli's place. "I will tend to him for you. Go rest while you can. You are damp and probably hungry and Legolas' room is not in use. Find some comfort for a while," the prince said. Then seeing the Dwarf's hesitation, he said, "Do not worry, I will watch him myself and keep your secret safe from the prying tongues of Men." He smiled at that for emphasis. Then becoming more sober, he said, "I know what you are experiencing. Sleep now, Gimli. I will call you if he needs you."

Gimli sighed. A good night's sleep was tempting and would most certainly do him well. It was refreshing to have someone else take his place, even if it was just for a night. Still, Legolas was seriously ill. How could he think to leave him in someone else's care while he was in this state? Especially Eldarion. He had already been through so much. Gimli did not want to add to his burdens.

He stood and approached the bed, watching as Eldarion swabbed the Elf's face with the cool, soft cloth. Gimli felt so tired. Tired of the repetitiveness of the illness. Tired of the daily worries and trying to keep Legolas safe. Tired of living in a world centered only on his friend. With cathartic anguish, he felt desperately sad in that moment and he longed with all his soul for an end. But as he watched Legolas' fevered throes, an ache rose in him from the pit of his stomach. No! This is wrong. He cannot die!

He realized he was shaking in fear. His mind was confounded and he felt befuddled by anxiety. He did not have any clear ideas on what to do next. He only felt dread. End or continue, he did not know which was worse. And yet another part of him knew he would continue to the very end of his own limits if need be. Still, a rest would be nice, even if it was just a short while. The opportunity was there for a reprieve. He would be a fool not to use it.

"You made mention of a potion to ease the ague? Go brew it up while I find more comfortable attire, and then I will leave him to you," the Dwarf said with resignation.

The prince smiled at Gimli's decision as he left the room.

Legolas moaned again, "…Galadriel…"

Gimli approached his friend's side, drawing himself close. Why is he speaking of her? It puzzled the Dwarf. He leaned in closer to the Elf. Legolas mumbled, "Ithilien… the garden."

The next thing that happened was astoundingly swift, and when Gimli would later try to recall it, he would be perplexed at the instantaneous nature of it. Like lightening, there and then gone, almost as if it did not occur. Legolas opened his eyes. Penetrating they were and they looked deep into Gimli's soul. They were now crystal clear and shone with a light Gimli did not know the Elf possessed. They bore through the Dwarf with such intensity that he found he could not turn away. Gimli's eyes widened. Wordlessly a message passed, and then the Elf's eyes faded away as Legolas fell back into fever.

Gimli pulled away and gasped. His heart was racing. He felt goosebumps tickle his skin as a shiver ran down his spine. Every question he had had now became perfectly clear in answer. By divine intervention or from whence, he did not know, but he suddenly knew exactly what he had to do. "Of course! Valar, of course!" he whispered as he sucked in his breath. "We must move before it is too late!" He was gripped with panic as he tried to fashion their next action. All prior fatigue was gone. He had so little time and he knew he had to be quick! Personal healing would have to wait.

"Eldarion!" he exclaimed when the young Man returned. "You must help me! I have to find a way to get him home! Now!"

The young Man looked at the Dwarf then back at the Elf. "Calm down Gimli," he said. He put down the tray and approached the Dwarf. "Legolas is not fit to travel right now. Perhaps in a week or two when he is better…" Eldarion said looking over the prone form to assess his condition.

"No! He does not have a week or two!" Gimli interrupted. "You must understand. He will not recover this time!" the Dwarf said with a certainty that surprised even himself.

Eldarion scrutinized Gimli who was clearly distressed. It was an abrupt and frightening change and he wondered on that. It was not typical of the Dwarf to be so agitated and impetuous. In an attempt to appease, Eldarion considered the alternatives, "I could have a van made up. We could transport him that way. But Gimli, he still would need a day or two to recuperate before we could do so. He would not make it otherwise if he were to travel in his current condition."

"No, Eladarion! We must find another way. We have to leave now! There is not much time left. He will die ere two days pass. Please!"

Eldarion looked at the Dwarf and sighed. With deep faith and trust he asked, "What happened, Gimli? Tell me."

Gimli's eyes brimmed. He knew his words would sound of madness, but he would put his trust in this young Man. Eldarion had the power to help him. He held in his breath as he spoke, hoping his words would not read as too futile, "I do not really understand it but it has something to do with your father and a dream he had. Galadriel…he said Galadriel would help. And I believe him Eldarion!" He released his breath and his voice began to quake. "Legolas is calling for her now, and I believe it is true! I saw it myself, just like your father. I know it with certainty: we must return to the gardens of Ithilien. It was where he recovered, and it is significant to him. Please, you must help me! Galadriel is waiting for him. Somehow I know she is there."

Eldarion paused a long while before answering. Gimli waited for his judgement. He could not read the young noble's eyes but all his hopes rested there. And yet he was desperate. If the prince would not help, Gimli would find a way on his own. He was even willing to drive the mare that had delivered them if necessary, though the thought of it mortified him. Still, he remembered his pledge to bring his friend to his destiny. He felt it renewed. Legolas was not meant to die. There was a chance he could yet live and Gimli would not let him down. His eyes stung from held back tears created by his own frustration. Perhaps Eldarion saw this and it prompted his decision. At last the prince spoke, "It may be folly to go on, but I will not deny it of you. There are many mysteries of Middle-earth that I do not understand. I shall not start on this one. You will leave at dawn with my aid. But please, Master Dwarf, allow me to tend him while I may. And allow yourself some rest ere you end up in a sickbed as well." He arched his brow and a wry smile breached his face. At that moment he looked much like Aragorn. In Gimli's relief, the Dwarf burst out with a sob and lunged at Eldarion in embrace.

"Thank you!" he said and tears openly flowed.

TBC

Disclaimer: The story here is a product of my imagination and is based on the characters and events from the "Lord of the Rings" series by J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit has been made from this effort and all rights to this tale belong to the Tolkien estate. I will make claims to the character of Anaran. As for cuivëar, the disease discussed in this tale, I guess I am forced to relinquish claim to it, as I never really said it was mine alone before. It seems it is starting to crop up in other fanfic stories. Huge surprise and LOL. I think I'm flattered.

A/N: I delve into Elvish in this chapter, which I am afraid is my handicap. If anyone can better my skills at Sindarin (I'm sure there are many of you out there who can), please tell me how to improve on what I've written (lots of gibberish, I'll bet) and I will update it with the next chapter. My apologies to anyone who takes the language seriously. I've tried my best to make this right, though my verb tenses may be wrong in places and my sentence structures are most likely not right. Forgive me.

Part Five: White Light

 A cool hand nestled itself into his, lacing his fingers into the ones now reaching him. It was a small hand, delicate and smooth. It felt gentle, unthreatening, reassuring to him. He allowed himself to lay quietly in this gesture, calm and sedate in the comfort of that sweet entangling. He stayed like that for a long while, uncertain of anything else but the soothing quality that hand claimed and time became meaningless. He knew another person was attached to the fingers, the palm, the wrist, but he did not feel pressured to have their identity revealed to him, and so he continued to lie still for an eternal moment.

A noise broke the reverence of the moment. A soft sigh hung in the air, and it made him ponder where it had originated. And then he remembered the hand, and it seemed to make sense that the two were conjoined. The sound had been somewhat melodic and he assumed its owner to be feminine. Beyond that, he was unsure, for his mind did not seem to want to register anything of attachment. He languished in the opulence of nothing, caressed by a weightlessness that pervaded his spirit. Passively, he laid and dared not move, fearing to do so would be to end the wistful quality of this feeling. His mind cleared again of all thought, and he drifted into a cloud of oblivion.

Something spoke to his mind. A voice, not aloud, more feeling than sound and very clearly female. She was speaking, and he was troubled. He could not understand though he very much wanted to know of what she said. Still he knew to do so meant focusing his thoughts, and of that he did not want to participate. He feared reality. It involved too much pain. So it seemed to him that it was much easier to stay in this place and ignore the voice. He did not want to leave the quiet comfort of his emptiness.

But the presence in his head pursued him and continued her insistent calls, and with regret he found his thoughts becoming clearer. His senses began to sharpen and he realized her words. He felt her say his name.

Legolas.

It was a plea for his attention, a command to do more than to allow himself to apathetically lie still. Slowly, he felt his eyes drift open though he was forbidden true sight. Blinding white light scorched his eyes, and he felt them flutter against the assault to his vision. But the voice called him again and his eyes came open, almost of their own will. The slow appearance of a face greeted him as his eyes slowly began to focus. The whiteness melted into the features adding to the ethereal beauty this figure radiated. He recognized her. Glorious golden hair danced in the light. Exquisitely keen sapphire eyes disguised wisdom beyond comprehension. A soft, grave smile rang true of mysterious intent. Galadriel. And then her face faded away. He blinked to bring it back, for she was magnificent and inspiring to behold, but the whiteness drew into darker forms and a new vision coalesced before him. Slowly it came into focus and he realized again that he recognized the one who sat before him. Arwen.

The edges of his vision were cloudy and faint, and the whole of the world looked like it was draped in gauze. As the sensations of reality returned to him, he felt dredged and heavy, as if the weight of his body was obtrusively daunting. Weakness overwhelmed him and he felt glued to the bed by his inability to move. Breath came to him in shallow swallows, as if each fulfilled only half of his need. The beat of his heart throbbed a tempo in his head, and he could feel the staccato measure pulsate in his temples. His lips were parched and his eyes burned, and he longed to be free of the dull heat that touched his skin and made him feel unkempt. His mind was unsettled, and all his thoughts were unfocused. Still hazy from sleep and fever, he searched his mind for consistency and found none.

His eyes swept the room, past Arwen's figure, for he could not place his reason for being here, and so he stopped at each object to study its part in the mystery before him. He saw dim pre-dawn light falling through a leaded window. The drapes were drawn open and he heard the haunting coos of morning doves from a courtyard beyond. Near the door on the far side of the room, was a square table with a lamp that shone dimly, as if it had been lit for many hours and the well was soon to expire. Scattered on the table was an assortment of bowls, cups and bottles that lay skewed and discarded, as if they had served their purpose and only awaited removal. His eyes moved away to the nearest corner of the room. A small table flanked the bed and on it burned another lamp. A bowl and a pitcher were placed there and the surface was littered with handfuls of small towels. His eyes moved on to the hearth as he continued around the room. He saw the remnants of a fire as glowing embers brimmed the edge of a sooty log and a few small flames licked the blackened remains of a branch beneath it. Before the hearth were two comfortable chairs of rich, worn leather. They was not overly large, but looked the right size for leisurely repose and afternoon conversation. They were turned away from the bed and faced one another. He felt suddenly frightened. The chairs were angled in such a fashion that he could see a partial body within the nearest one. He could not recognize the figure there and his heart beat with fear. Fever made this even more frightening for him, but there was no activity, so he paused now to consider this. Draped from the chair's arm he saw an unmoving hand that looked like a Man's. Though his view was obscured to a full view of the chair, he felt certain a pair of legs stretched out before it. He calmed himself again as he judged from the soft repetitive sound of breathing and the lack of any movement that the resident there was sleeping, He relaxed at least to that. Warily he realized, there were no clues as to how he came to be here, or indeed where here was. There was obvious illness, that was all he knew. The only comfort and certainty he felt was when his eyes came to the object that had launched this tour. He saw her sitting before him, in a chair near the bed, her face staring blankly at the hand within hers. Her posture was straight and her appearance was perfectly composed, yet she seemed out of place here, as if she were a ghost who lingered over a scene. He waited for Arwen to tell him of the mystery of this room, to assure him that all was well, but she only sat with patient veneration. She did not speak and he frowned as he wondered if she even noticed he was there.

He remembered seeing her like this once before, on the parting days before Aragorn's death. She was beautiful to behold but her loveliness was somber, mournful, tragic, and fragile. Her pain was obvious to see, passionate and poignant. Tears were not needed to convey her sorrow. Her misfortune was clearly written in the slightest of her glances.

And yet it tired him and disturbed him, this small walk in his mind through the room, and especially so this silent visit with Arwen, for he felt her pain penetrate him. As much as he would have wanted to free her from her suffering, he could not pull himself away from his own. And the effort of that made him sluggish and tame. He felt poorly, and his mind pulled on him for rest. Despite his anxieties, he felt his eyelids flutter in his struggle to stay awake. His sickness weighed heavy on him and his brow pressed into discomfort. He allowed his eyes to shut again and felt himself lulled back to the softness of white light.

The voice spoke again and he was confused, for he did not know if the utterance came from within or without. He could not bring his eyes to open, though he tried to will them so. He was left with no choice but to listen to the sound of the voice and she spoke to him.

The end draws near. Two paths lie before you now. The choice is yours to make.

Others there are who feel need to see you survive. But you give up. They know what you should do. Why do you not? Open your eyes, Legolas. Take control of your actions. You must fight to survive!

He tried to speak, but like the lethargy that controlled his eyes, he found he could not bring his lips to move. The woman's voice went on.

Your destiny is not here in this tale before you. .Arwen's choice was made in her own mind and she follows the course of her destiny. She follows her own path. You should not follow behind her. Her path is hers alone and her reward will come at the end of it. This is not what portends for you. You must not give in to death, Legolas. Keep your hope alive

His brow furrowed and he fought to say words. He heard a soft voice echo across the caverned ceiling of the room. Vacantly, he realized the voice belonged to him. "Rhaw gwannan. U-bellas gerin daron," he rasped out weakly. (1)

The voice roared in response.

DO NOT GIVE IN! YOU ARE A WARRIOR! YOU MUST FIGHT!

The fierceness of her command caused him to moan aloud as his eyes leaped open. Arwen gasped a breath at his response, and quietly slid to his side. Her face came near his and she gently stroked his cheek. A tender expression filled her eyes and her voice came to him as a whisper, "Guruth cin eruithog. Meleth le tain jase maethar an cin mân. Hepeg tong, mellon. U-carir gweriadh aníre."

His eyes locked on hers. He understood what was being said, but he was uncertain as to how to see it done. He tried to say this, but there was so little of his strength to be found at that moment, so little of the power he needed to survive, and the only words he could muster were, "I will try."

The room grew still. The breathing of the Man grew deeper. He felt the throb in his temples lighten as the blank whiteness crept back over his vision. Nonexistence filled his mind once more though he tried to keep the face of Arwen within his sight. But slowly she faded away from him forever.

****

"I am going to lift you now, Legolas," a deep but gentle voice said.

The Man carefully drew one hand under the Elf's shoulders, and the other under the knees as he scooped up the frail body, aware that every movement in this delicate state might cause pain to the vulnerable being. As it was, a gasp escaped the lips of the weak Elf, and the Man winced in sympathy, his heart leaping at the small torment he was inflicting.

Eldarion looked down at his father's old friend. The transformation he saw there was startling for the beauty that had been Legolas was almost unrecognizable. He felt pity at the sight of this pained, lost soul, but he forced himself to look on him as if nothing had changed. The Elf's face was marred by deep circles that penetrated the skin beneath his eyes. And the radiant skin that had always shown luminous was now ashen and flat. Legolas' golden silk hair that cascaded down his back shone dully and without life. And the Elf's dazzling blue eyes, that had so often gazed on him with a penetration that saw through his soul, were dim, like the last flickers of a candle before it goes out. It broke Eldarion's heart to think of this dying Elf. It reminded him that the world of Elves was fading, and too soon all of them would be gone.

His mother was among those who were diminished, and it pained him all the more now to think of her like this, dwindling until nothing remained of her but the empty shell of her body. He knew she would not stay with him, but would say her farewells and drift away to a place only she knew, and would part with the world in her own way. Witnessing her death he knew would not come to him, but the torment of it remained as he watched her gradually part from him. He was pained in this thought and pushed it away.

At his side marched Gimli, whom he considered his friend, now more so than ever. Eldarion mused on that. Always it seemed that Gimli had been a part of his life and indeed Eldarion had known him from the very start of his memories. He remembered fondly the numerous visits, gifts and tales the elder Dwarf had bestowed upon he and his sisters. But he had also known at the heart of it, Gimli was his father's friend first, and a friend to the family second. He had no jealousy of that. There was a superior age difference involved and he knew quite distinctly there was history between the Dwarf and his father. And also too in the Elf. And though they were loving and affectionate to him, the love in their eyes for his father and mother was guided by that thing he had not lived to see. Still much had happened in the last day to change that. His admiration for this friend of his father had grown as the common traits of their plights had been shared. His friendship with Gimli had grown to deep affection, and he mourned losing it now, for it was something to which he felt he could grow accustomed. Certainly he knew the Dwarf was old, but Gimli did not act the role of an old man. He was fiery and passionate and witty and he knew exactly why his father and Legolas held him so dear. And yet the opportunity to build a friendship beyond what he had was not possible, not now. Gimli, with Legolas, had to part.

He felt saddened almost, as if he were saying goodbye to his best friend. But that was not right. Their friendship was not there yet. And Eldarion recognized his remorse truly lie in the death of his father. Bereft he felt, for he had lost his favorite companion when his father had died, and tears pulled at his eyes as he longed for him back. But he was gone, and Eldarion was faced with the fact that he could not restrain the Dwarf either. It was already plain to see Gimli's agitation. It was time to move on.

Eldarion steeled himself for what lay ahead. He had his duty and the crown to observe. There was still much in the ways of public appearance to consider over the course of the next many days, and after that was the fulfillment of his role as the king. These responsibilities would keep him active and his mind filled with thoughts beyond remorse. He was grateful for his heritage, for it allowed him to fall into his job, and that in itself would help him forget his woes.

"Careful how you lay him," the Dwarf directed as they approached the van and its awaiting litter. "Gently now."

Eldarion carefully lowered the limp figure onto the cot. Without further opportunity to improve on it, it would have to suffice for their journey home. As it was, he had had his staff add extra padding and blankets to lessen the jarring nature of the ride. The instructions to the driver had been clear: be considerate of the cargo, but also make haste. There would be no tarrying on this journey. Legolas slipped quietly into the bed with eyes now focused on something internal. Two servants lifted him to the canvas-covered van and safely secured his place there.

He did not realize Gimli was watching him until he spoke. "You will be a good king," the Dwarf said with admiration.

"Why say you that?" Eldarion chuckled. "You have seen nothing of my abilities as a ruler."

Gimli fully faced him and rested both hands on Eldarion's shoulders. The look on his face was tender, as if speaking to a beloved nephew. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "Oh, but I have," the Dwarf said thoughtfully. "You are compassionate and selfless and kind. Those are the makings of a very fine ruler. It is a gift you inherited from both your parents, I believe. But most especially from your father. You do him proud, Eldarion. I am pleased with the Man you have become, and I know he felt the same."

"I miss him most heartily," Eldarion blurted out in confession, emotion escaping him.

"As do I," said the Dwarf lowly, pausing to think on it, "now more than ever. But feel encouraged, my friend," he said brightening. "I believe his spirit is truly happy, as will your mother's someday be. He resides in Mandos' House now. I am certain he has fulfilled his goals."

The prince's face grew astonished and his eyes grew wider. He did not understand Gimli's source of knowledge, but it gave him comfort to hear the words. "How do you know such a thing has passed?" he asked.

The Dwarf smiled, then he said, "Evidence has been presented to me. The vision I saw proves to me that he accomplished his task. I cannot explain further, it is just something I know. Find comfort in knowing he and your mother will be together forever. It was how they were meant to be." Looking back at the wagon, Gimli said, "We must go now." Then he turned back and said, "Thank you for your kindness, Eldarion. You have been a good friend."

Eldarion nodded, choked for words of response and clasped hands with the Dwarf in a warrior salute. Gimli whipped away and boarded the van, and the carriage pulled away.

The prince waved one last time as the wagon rounded the bend to the first gates. Inside the canopied hold, Eldarion glimpsed Gimli's form, and he saw the Dwarf tenderly watching over his friend, the Elf. The memory of that expression froze in his mind and it would stay with him for days uncounted. And then they were gone from his sight.

****

The rocking motion of the wagon made Gimli's mind drift away from the upset that troubled him. The sound of turning wheels ran against the road in a droning noise. His fixed stare was focused on the corner of the running board as a blur of wilderness passed beyond. He sat quietly, lost in thought and agitation, with one hand in his pocket and the other draped across his companion in a protective gesture. Within the confines of the deep reaches of his jacket, his fingers lingered on an object. Through a habit of touch, though his mind was elsewhere, he played with the ornament he had worn several days before.

The weight of the pendant felt right in his hand. The tear-drop shaped crystal warmed in his palm and its multi-faceted surface gave his fingers area to play as they twirled and touched the perfect symmetry of this gem. Unconsciously he fingered it, letting the chain intertwine in his thick digits, coiling and uncoiling, as his mind restlessly thought on other topics.

As casually as he held it, one would not guess its full worth to him. But truly he held it in his highest esteem. Priceless it was in all value and he cared for it with the reverence of a Silmaril. And almost, it seemed, did it take the aura of one of those fine gems for it nearly cast a glow of all its own make. Some would think it natural, for the object at its heart was as pure as the Valar themselves. Others would stand in wonder at the magical quality of this thing. For the mystery that glowed so brightly within was nothing more than three fine strands of hair. But mortal strands they were not, for the source of these golden threads was none other than the fair Lady of the Woods, Galadriel herself. Witchly powers she was said to have, and none, who looked upon the stone and saw the spectral beauty of so minor a part of her encased in crystal, could deny her authority must be great.

The jewel was beyond lovely though it was just a trifling thing. It had been created under his tireless scrutiny those many years ago. Long had he spent in creating its design. Longer still had he spent seeing it crafted. The construction was quite simple, the threads of hair being the focal point. Three golden tendrils he had been given and he used them in their entirety, braiding them lightly into each other and then spiraling them from the base of the glass tear. A swirling overlapping form of figure eights they were, moving upward and upward through the ever-waning glass prism until the golden fiber emerged from the droplet and continued on as a chain to complete the adornment of the object. Of course, the strand that broke free was truly a chain of the highest construction. Made from an alloy of white gold and mithril that were kept in his personal collection, the precious metal almost matched the radiance of that braid itself. Almost. And nearly as much time went into the make of that chain as went into the gem. Each link was minute, a pinpoint of craft, seen nearly only under the gaze of the jeweler's lens. Precisely each link was crafted until enough were honed to make a chain of arms length. And when that was complete, two more chains just like it were made. When the three were complete, they were tied and braided in the same like as the threads. Nearly as fine as the hairs, the chain merged with the jewel for a seamless connection and all who looked on marveled at the expertise used in rendering it.

But the reason for his adoration of this jewel was not the fibers suspended within it, nor their craft. Beautiful as they were, they were nothing compared to the reality of her. It was the awe and the majesty for which he held her that made this gift so precious to him. Few would understand the grace in which he beheld her, especially among his own people. But he knew that was prejudicial thinking, and any that truly saw her and met her would readily see his point. It was her kindness that moved him to see her real beauty, although that was an obvious trait. She spoke of him lovingly, rejecting the slights her own people would have bestowed upon him, had she not taken his cause. And for that he was grateful, for she opened his eyes to the beauty of her race. She was the one who sparked the friendship between Legolas and he. She was the one who allowed her people to recognize the world through his eyes. She was the one who gave him reason to accept the wisdom of Elves. He could never be the same after standing in her presence.

And now he fingered this precious item as his mind lingered on other items, worry deepest among them. And yet his mind returned to her as he recognized the jewel in his hand. He lifted the crystal from its place in his pocket and held it up to the light. It glittered in the day's sun and he smiled gravely when he saw it, sighing outwardly as he did. Raising the chain over his head, he lowered the string of gold and light and let it fall naturally to his chest.

Clutching the pendant between his hands he whispered, "Galadriel, no more, please. You among all others, deliver us from this unmerciful agony."

The jostle of the wagon nearly sent him off balance and easily knocked him out of his reverie. He glanced at the resting form of Legolas who lay upon a cot and was the cargo in this van. The movement did not wake him, and Gimli was glad. He was more afraid now of what he might find in the Elf in wakeful states than in rest. So much pain this poor Elf had endured, and Gimli was frightened by the sheer weakness of his companion. He feared this ride. He feared its end as well, but for this time, the ride was most terrible. There had already been a bout of pain and he worried that there would be more. He knew he was taking a horrible risk in attempting this passage. It could easily be the thing that pulled his friend over into death.

Gimli began to doubt himself again. Was he right to make this trip? He focused on remembering that instant of contact he felt in his room at the king's palace, for he needed once more to encourage himself to go on with assured confidence. It had been brief, that vision, almost electric, but he knew with most surety that he had seen Galadriel peering at him, as if from the other side of Legolas mind. As if he were a window that she could look through. As if he were a conduit to touch the mind of the Dwarf. He was certain that she spoke to him, telling him to leave ere the time was gone. Telling him to meet her in the garden. And beyond that he was uncertain. He would find his clues upon their arrival. He knew it had happened and this trip was right. But could his friend endure the hardship of this ride?

"If I could give you some of my strength, you know I would. Stay with me, Legolas, please. We will soon be there," he said to the sleeping Elf.

An encouraging thought entered his mind. Almost playful it was, though it occurred there not out of mirth. In his frustration, he had been asking himself what Legolas would do if the tables were turned and if Gimli were the one in a state near death. He would never admit this thought openly to anyone, especially not Legolas, but he had used this technique often in the past when he was left to puzzle out a mystery of Elven actions and responses. It almost always worked, and Gimli ruefully thought here again was evidence that he was taking on qualities of that race. Too much time spent among Elves. But in response to his personal query of what an Elf would do, the answer made him smile, for its simplistic logic made sense in a way. Never had he considered it before, but it seemed appropriate now. He should sing. He was almost embarrassed at the thought, but somehow it felt right, though he was glad there were no witnesses to the folly he would undertake (save the driver who appeared ignorant on all things Dwarven or Elven and would probably think a singing Dwarf was quite normal). Yes, it was something he could do to give strength in a language of healing for an Elf. Small though it was in all that needed mending, it might help a little in what Legolas had undergone that day. All Gimli wanted was to give Legolas the chance to meet the destiny he was promised.

He did not have the tenor beauty of voice that Legolas had, but he had proven in the past that he could hold his own with his throaty baritone sound. He began low and soft, and never rose much beyond that, partly out of his own embarrassment at the attempt, but also to have the music touch the fringes of dream where healing occurred. He allowed the music to reflect his mood, and chuckled to himself despite the seriousness of the gesture. Too much time spent among Elves. I even think like one now. Deep and dark was the song, touched with edges of faith, and in all the music took on a quality of hope. He sang softly in Legolas' ear and he thought he detected a lightening of the Elf's brow in response. Gimli prayed that it would give more reason to fight. Hold on, Legolas, the song was trying to say.

****

The thumbnail-sized red buds of the flower brushed his wrist as a light breeze rustled across the blankets. It was early for such a plant to be blooming yet, or so he thought. He had no gauge of time and it was really quite impossible to know what point of the year he was in, but somehow he felt it was still early. So much had gone on without him. He could have been sleeping for months and that would have felt right as well. It did not matter. All recollection was a blur to him and only snippets of reality were sprinkled among his dreams. And between those, nothing filled the void. White light was all he could remember.

Even now, memory was hard to place. He had struggled briefly with it when his eyes had opened and focused. But he could find nothing to grasp on to, save those dreamlike vignettes. And this small plant. Lotheg Hûin(2) his people called it.

A graceful stem danced with the wind, balancing the petals of the tiny blooms as they bounced on the slender reed. Tiny stamen in the shape of droplets hung from the base of the heart-shaped flowers as fern-like leaves brushed against one another in the gentle tumble of the wind.

He turned his hand over, now palm facing upward. It was the first movement he had made, save to open his eyes, and tiny though it was, it fatigued him. There was so little of him left. The nature of the flower seemed to sense this, and as the wind died down, the cluster of flowers dropped softly into his hand. He closed his fingers down on them and felt the tender branch that held them to the plant break off. Such a small gesture. Their life force was now gone and he had unwittingly suffered them to die, helpless to do anything but watch as they slowly wilted away in the palm of his hand.

His blankets rustled again with the wind and he allowed his mind to wonder about that. Certainly it was not natural to be lying out of doors in a bed such as this. But then again, he sensed his circumstances were far from normal. He felt like he was lying in a cloud that hovered the ground, though he knew he was solidly laying among plantings of wildflowers. He knew without thinking that the white bed in which he rested must be of Elven design. It catered to his whims and buoyed him in softness. So deep and cozy he felt, warm from the numerous layers of thick coverlets thrown over and under his body that no inkling of cold from the wind or the ground could reach him. He sank lusciously into a mattress of down which swallowed his body in its soft embrace. Sweet comfort it was, and he bathed in its warmth and tranquility. Cool air touched his face and his hand, but the rest of his body lay snug in this encasement of fine linen.

It was a gift, this soft bed, and he was grateful to the giver. He pushed his mind now to remember who had done this and the fragments of memory that had taunted him earlier came back to him. Flecked in white light he remembered some of those events.

Strong arms had lifted him and carried him away from his repose. He remembered how small he had felt then in that gesture and pain mingled with the memory though he felt none now. Small bits of conversation filtered through the haze and he recognized now that it had been Eldarion and Gimli who had spoken. His mind puzzled over the memory of their words and he remembered they had said their farewells and given their thanks. He knew that he too had tried to say thank you and farewell, but words had become impossible for him, and he had to regrettably depart without them.

He remembered Anaran's face as he was carried from the van and into the house. He remembered the gentle manner the servant had used as he brought him here, as if he were carrying a delicate object. Such love he felt at the tenderness of that transport. He saw the grieved expression on his servant-friend's face and he forced his eyes to relay his love in return. He thought perhaps Anaran had understood.

Mixed amid was the white light and Gimli's face floating above his. Concern filled those deep-set orbs as he felt the rocking of their van drive them home. The Dwarf had looked distressed but the memory of a song soothed his mind and Gimli's expression had softened in the rendering.

He turned his eyes upward. Stars canopied the sky, and he realized he knew the names for them as well. Seeking out the lights, he eyes spotted Menelvagor(3), the swordsman of the heavens as he climbed upward from the horizon. The cluster of stars was a warrior in the sky, protecting the world from unknown demons and peril and gave all Elves hope for peace under his realm. The defender of the stars held a sword in one hand, and with the other he pointed the way to lost souls, directing them on to Eärendil. It was the star used to lead his people to the Undying Lands. Legolas let his gaze be directed there. Eärendil, the brightest of them all, the guiding light that brought his race home.

Home.

That was why he was here. Home. He had come to Ithilien, to lie in the garden. To find his salvation. To find hope, or to die. To go home. It was a dream to him, but he remembered all the details. A tear slipped from his eye as he recalled what had brought him here, what was expected would happen. This was the end of his journey and perhaps he would die under the stars. If he had a wish on dying, then indeed this is what it would be. And here he was, his wish granted. Yet he did not want to die. Hebeg cin amdir cuin. Keep your hope alive. The words echoed in his mind. He was trying to do just that. But he did not know yet how.

A hand reached out and touched him and he felt relief. He was not alone. He felt comforted in that knowledge. He was frightened. He knew something was coming next but he was uncertain what it would be. He did not want to leave this world. His eyes moved to where the hand touched him and he saw his friend's face. Familiarity made his eyes well and a thousand thoughts ran through his head. Gimli. He did not want to say good-bye. He moved his lips to try to say what his heart felt. But words could not come. He was muted by weakness.

Then came the assault and he felt his back arch with the pain. A raw nerve of agony clenched at his chest and a gasp passed his lips. He could not breathe and he felt his hands ball into fists. A spasm of suffering tore through his limbs, and the last rending rip of his heart seared through his soul. He saw Gimli's face flash before him and he felt confused. He had seen that look before. In the van. As they rode home. He remembered the pain then. The Dwarf's frantic eyes. The dim voice crying to hurry, ride hard. And it all faded out to white light. And now it was before him again. But there was nowhere to ride to now. The damage was done. His heart was torn, but it was for the last time. Slowly the pain receded, and he knew it would not come again. There was nothing else to break. No more pain to inflict. The eyes of his friend faded away.

He could see the sky clearly now. Eärendil was most bright. And he felt his body lighten and lift upward toward it. The star grew in its splendor and it became his whole vision. White light. It filled his eyes and his body and he became a part of it. White light.

On the bed, his body relaxed, no longer constrained by the pain, and the tendons, bone and muscles of his hand fell loose. As his soul began to flee, his fingers fell open and a tightly held flower broke apart, now forgotten. Each delicate blossom had been torn lose from the stem that had once linked it to life. And now all that remained were the soft red petals that lay cupped in the palm of a still hand. A soft wind blew and picked up their light forms, skimming them across the white linens like drops of blood on the sheets.

TBC

Rhaw gwannan. U-bellas gerin daron

Guruth cin eruithog. Meleth le tain jase maethar an cin mân. Hepeg tong, mellon. U-carir gweriadh aníre.

1] I referenced Ardalambion and the Sindarin Dictionary Project for this verbage. See http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar and http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm. Thanks also to Minka for helping me on my rudimentary beginnings into this complex language.

2] Plant lover's special. Bonus points to anyone who can figure out what flower I am using for this metaphor. It is a real live perennial that we see in early-Spring. I've given it a slightly different Elven name, but not so far removed from Westron that you shouldn't be able to figure it out – that is, if you know your plants, and if you can read my Elven gobbldeygook. And even if you can't, the description makes it seem quite apparent to me. The real name reflects on Legolas' illness. I just couldn't resist it as a lovely little symbol. I took a little artistic license though as I'm not sure it blooms as early as March, which is when Aragorn's death is listed as happening and the time around which these events center. Still I suppose it is possible depending on the species and climate zone. Plus, I don't think Tolkien adjusted for the Gregorian calendar, so March may well have been April then. Heck, I'm just taking it!

3] Check out http://www.forodrim.org/daeron/md_astro.html. And then see http://www.astro.wisc.edu/~dolan/constellations/java/Orion.html. That one was really fun – you get to move around in the sky with the constellations!

Favorite story alerts: I've found a couple Legolas stories that have me waiting impatiently for updates. Try "Dark Leaf" from JastaElf (but you'll need to read "Leaf and Branch" the prequel to understand it fully). It is a deeply disturbing story and night vs. day to its prequel, but very rich, and wonderfully crafted around details and characters. I am also adoring a wonderful Pippin/Legolas fic called "Friendship Begins" by Mea. It has trolls, is amusing, but also delves into its characters and details well. I'll say no more, just find them and read! You won't regret it. – Your death would be a waste. Those who love you champion for your soul. Hold tight, friend. Do not betray your desires. – My body fails. I have no strength remaining..

 A/N: The mysterious flower was Bleeding Heart. A year's supply of tissues is on its way to you, Snicklepop.

Part 6: Salvation

 "No!"

Legolas heard Gimli's bellowed wail as his spirit slipped past. The cry sounded faded. Distant. He felt arms about his figure and someone scooping him up and cradling him, though again it was foreign, as if the body being held was not his. He had no control over the limp form but in his mind, he could see the actions, hear the words. He felt his earthly body fight, gasping for air, clinging to the edge of its strength, but he felt no pain and his vision was flooded with the light of the stars as Eärendil floated above him.

In the sky and on the ground he was, simultaneously in both plains. Legolas mused on the synchronicity of the perceptions. The sensation was strange and he waited to see what it would allow. A part of him was rising, lifting upward and outward, touching the surroundings about him, and yet another piece of him was still on the bed, draped in the blankets and held in the Dwarf's arms. In his spirit mind, he could feel himself spreading out, reaching into the grass and the trees, and he felt their lifeforces gather into his soul as he passed over them. Like tendrils he felt his spirit lingering and lapping over all the details in the garden, gathering strength in small doses like a bee collecting pollen. He felt energy pulling into him and it fed him enough that he was still there on the bed, groping for life. He wondered how long he could make his body last like this, but he felt it a futile effort. It was harder to fight than to flee and the energy he found was disparagingly small. And so with a reduced will for purpose, his mind grew more estranged from the body below. A part of him wanted to move away and to continue exploring the world of nature about him. But another part felt compelled to stay, at least until his body was spent. He saw now he could witness the scene before him, as if from the treetops. He found himself watching the poor figure of Gimli as his cries streamed over the impending death of the Elven body.

"No! Not like this!" he saw the Dwarf scream out, turning his gaze into the sky, penetrating the space where Legolas now witnessed all. "Do not betray us! You gave us hope! You made us believe there was a chance for salvation…" His voice trailed off as his cries sang out. "Please…please…" He sobbed as he looked down at the Elf in his arms.

With an aloof detachment, Legolas watched his own pale face struggling for air. He saw the lips turn a bluish hue and his own pupils close down into unseeing pinpoints. Gimli pulled the body closer, cradling it like a child, rocking it gently as his Dwarven body quaked with sobs. But it was a fruitless move, and Legolas saw and felt himself slip even further away. It seemed apparent that Gimli knew it too for the Dwarf thrust the Elf's body into a savage embrace, pulling him chest to chest, heart to heart with his own body, whispering, "No…"

Legolas started. An alarm went off in his mind. The degree of emotion in Gimli's plea shook him and he felt profound remorse at the sound of it. This was not right! All other few words Gimli had spoken seemed separate and removed from the place he now held. But this word, this simple 'No' had claimed his attention. He heard it as if it were spoken directly into his ear and it touched a place in Legolas' soul that seemed forgotten. Sympathy rose up within him as he realized his friend's pain in that plaintive cry. It was not something he had considered much, the pain Gimli would have to endure on his behalf, and suddenly all the months of agony he had experienced seemed so little in comparison to the raspy moan of his friend. Had his own self-pity overshadowed the despair of Gimli? Legolas loathed himself at the thought of this selfishness. He had been told to fight! And yet here lie his body gasping for sweet air, and he had betrayed it. He had betrayed his friend! I should have fought harder, he thought. I should have seen what he would experience! Pity and contempt grew strong in his soul as he witnessed the torment of the Dwarf in his anguish, and he heard an unrelenting wail escape Gimli's lungs. That mourning lament sent a shocking wave of new energy through the Elf and he used it to drive himself back into his hollow body. Agonized by the torturous sobs of his friend, he was no longer a part of impartial observations. Everything within him fought his spatial presence. Gimli was in pain and the sound of the Dwarf's cry filled him with a torrent of rage! It was the impetus he needed to fight. His cause was now greater than his own survival. Gimli needed him! No doubt would the Dwarf grieve, but Legolas now knew that that grief would evolve into a sickening that could end the old soul of his friend. He had to find a way to stop it! He had to save Gimli from this cruel end. He longed more than anything to console his friend, to somehow make his suffering end. He understood now the words that had been offered to him in dreams and in wakefulness. He was told to fight for a reason! He should not succumb easily! He felt his mind's fury latch onto his body, and he angrily roared in his thoughts, I will not give in! I WILL NOT!

Gimli's arms were about him, no longer a distant feeling but tangible, real, brutal. The fierceness of the Dwarf warrior's strength pinned the two bodies together and Legolas felt the press of all barriers, be they fabric or clothing or ornament, firmly pushed into his skin. The Dwarf's hands grasped him hard and he felt bruising in the areas where the clasp was tightest. At a place near his heart, he felt a hard object crush against him and he grew conscious of a burning sensation there. He knew his mind raged and he used it to draw strength, but there was another presence that aided him in his toil not to die. His mind filled with a new light from the stars, and as he fought, the blinding whiteness overwhelmed him. Heat slowly rose in his chest and the temperature at the core of his body radiated outward, filling his veins. His lungs responded by pressing for greater needs, and mysteriously they complied. He felt unsteady strength in his limbs. The light still blinded his mind. With vague power available, he lifted his hands weakly and touched Gimli's shoulder.

The Dwarf jumped back in surprise, gasping in shock, and his release on the Elf was suddenly gone. Legolas fell limply backwards against the bed as Gimli bowed over him, unsure what to do.

Legolas fought on, but his anger leveled and he felt weakness once again invade his body. His eyes met the Dwarf's in confusion, unsure if reprieve were being met and knowing death still lingered near. As if cut off from his will, his lungs groped for air, and Legolas knew again he was dying. His body was failing and no amount of determination seemed able to ward off his fate. Grimacing in pain, fright took hold of him as he fought again to find the power that had brought him back. Gimli drew in closer, panic seizing his features as this nightmare continued. Legolas' eyes furtively glanced about as his lungs made sucking, rasping gasps. His head flailed about, searching for a clue, though he did not know of what to look. He had to hang on! He needed to find his strength! Somehow it had been stolen from him!

And then he saw it. His eyes clung to it. There before him lay simple beauty, the crystal charm that was Galadriel's gift, resting at Gimli's chest. Legolas' eyes fixed hard on the stone, noticing the unusual quality that seemed to pervade it more than ever. He remembered the heat that had risen in his chest when he had been pressed in the Dwarf's embrace. He wondered, as he brought his shaking hand up to touch it, desperately hoping his thoughts were true. His fingers brushed the pendant and the effect was immediate. The stone came alive! A slow heat radiated into his soul, light filled his mind, and he felt subtle power come back to him. It was weak, but it was sufficient to let him live, for now. This pendant was a channel of energy. It had the power to pull him from the precipice of death, even if only temporarily.

Invariably, the stone had always had a mildly incandescent quality, but now it shone far more radiantly! Fire danced in the crystal, and it cast ribbons of shimmering light off the Elf's face and it flickered in his eyes!

Gimli looked down at the pendant, gasping as he saw the new effect brought off by it. He wrapped his hand around the Elf's, which in turn held the stone, and a brighter light radiated from within their palms. Legolas felt another small wave of energy reach him. He looked up at the Dwarf, unable to speak, misty tears gracing his eyes as he felt encouraged by the change that was made. New contact was made between them, and this time Legolas felt confident that his spirit was alive. He sighed in a shaking breath, and closed his eyes in appreciation of finding the means to stay alive.

He was alive, and breathing, though the sounds of it came in frail pants. He was far from being well. He was infinitely weak, and he doubted much he could speak, but he was aware of his surroundings and most definitely his friend, and this was a great improvement over what his condition had been. Back now in his body, Legolas remembered the agony of his companion and he silently vowed he would fight to keep living. He would not let Gimli suffer. He was certain that was why he was now here. It was for Gimli's salvation, as well as his. Legolas looked into the Dwarf's eyes, and pledged his gratitude for all that had been done on his behalf. The Dwarf softly smiled back and brushed away tears from the Elf's face as he pulled his friend closer to his heart. He seemed uncertain as to what to make of the change though it mattered not in Legolas' mind. He would not let Gimli down. He knew what he must do.

As if in response to the challenge brewing in his mind, a light grew brighter around the two figures. He turned his head away from Gimli to see what was bringing it. A vision approached. He lie awed at the sight, for it was Galadriel in ethereal wonder. Light radiated from her being and she shone like a star. Her brilliance illuminated the scene all about her, and Legolas had to fight the blaze in his eyes at the glory of her being. Sighing at her beauty, he turned to see the Dwarf's reaction and was saddened to realize the vision was his alone. Gimli did not share it. The Dwarf continued to watch only the Elf with eyes that conveyed concern. "Legolas?" he whispered.

Legolas turned his gaze back on the otherworldly figure, and his eyes followed her as she circled the bed on which he was cradled. After one complete circle, she came to a stop, and she slowly and gently lowered herself to sit. She was merely inches away, and yet he perceived that she was not really there, for the illusion of her was transparent, though she seemed aware of everything there.

Twisting his eyes toward the Dwarf, he felt compelled to let Gimli know that they were not alone. It did not seem fair to the Elf that he should see this, and Gimli should not. His voice was barely a whisper, but the Dwarf held him close and he heard Legolas' words, "Galadriel is here…"

Gimli glanced up, tearing his eyes about, but alas, he could not see her. Yet to Legolas' eyes, her face was only inches away.

The Elven ruler smiled knowingly down on Legolas and at last she spoke. He could not help but close his eyes at the melody of her voice as it echoed in both his ears and his mind. "Child of Ilúvatar, you have fought a long fight. Your place has been held in the Undying Lands and you are to be honored there. Why do you not part? Surely your heart has told you. Your time has come to leave Middle-earth."

Legolas gazed at her as he pondered his answer. With great effort, he whispered his answer, barely audible, pausing to gain air in small sips as he spoke, "My Lady…surely you know why I tarry… It is not for want of trying. My heart says to leave… and I have yearned to follow." He gasped as he went on. "But I am torn by my love of Middle-earth. I cannot be parted…from my friendships…I am sundered by my heartbreak."

Galadriel smiled kindly, taking in his weakened state with sympathetic eyes. She reached out and touched his face. He felt the warmth of her hand. She said with softly uttered words, "Dear Legolas. Many pleas have there been for your salvation. We have heard, and wish to remedy. To all, it is tragic that someone of valor and esteem should suffer a fate that was not of his own make. Your circumstances were set into motion by the will of a greater power. But your suffering was not foreseen. It was not expected. And for that, your heart shall be repaired, if that is what you desire. Speak now and tell us, what do you choose to have done?"

He had no voice. The little he said had all but drained him, but he fought to hold his resolve. His eyes were pressed closed in an attempt to regain himself, but even with eyes shut, he could still plainly see her.

In his mind's eye he saw a vast scene, no longer in the garden, but in a larger space overwhelmingly made up of light. There was Galadriel in solid form, and on the edges of the periphery, he sensed further figures, though their shapes were hazy and mingled in with the brilliance about them. He wondered who else watched them, but knew their identities would likely not be known.

Legolas saw deep into her eyes and felt the power within her. He knew any desire he had to live she could, and would, grant. And he longed to deliver the words that would give him this gift. But he felt the stone in his hand, and the Dwarf's fist over his own, a hand gently stroking his brow, and he turned his mind back to his friend. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Gimli. The Dwarf appeared confused and afraid, searching around him for help. "Legolas?" Gimli mouthed the word, looking fearful that the Elf was leaving again.

Seeing Gimli's new fright, the outrage that had consumed Legolas on his friend's earlier behalf returned to him, and he ignored his awe for Galadriel as he thought out an answer. His brow pressed in determination which left him feeling weak in its wake. My friend…I cannot cast him aside. I desire his friendship along with my life! I would choose not leave him. I will not go unless he goes! Let me bring him! he responded in thought, and he knew that she heard.

Galadriel drew back, though the smile on her face did not recede. Her eyes brightened, as if she were pleased with his answer. She purposefully glanced down as if considering his statement, then turned her eyes back on him. "What you ask is unheard of among the Eldar. Never has it been done. Valinor is not a home to Dwarves."

He grew angry at this answer. It did not seem fair. She had wanted to know of his wishes and he had told her. And now she refuted his desires by stating an obvious deterrent? He found it wrong that race should impede their way, and he would not give up easily to such a blithe comment. Gimli was his friend. It mattered not to Legolas that he was a Dwarf. Such simplistic discrimination seemed outrageous to the Elf when weighed to the vast wealth of Gimli's virtues. He grew agitated as he thought more clearly on this and found it difficult to believe she could conceive these meager thoughts!

He closed his eyes again, trying to preserve himself and also trying to calm his nerves. He felt injustice on Gimli's behalf, and he would not stand for it if he could. But he knew a fearsome demeanor would not win him favor. He drew in air and tried to stay his ire. When at last he could control his mood and his breath, he turned to Galadriel and heard his mind say, The Undying Lands are not home either to Periannath, but exceptions have been granted. Then he paused for a moment as his mind grasped a new direction. You say a place of honor is held for me. Has he done any less than I have? Why should he not also be honored? Is he not a Child of Ilúvatar? Fire burned in his eyes, but Legolas felt the voice of his mind remain calm.

Galadriel's eyes looked up at the Dwarf with affection. "He is a Child of Aulë."

Legolas' internal voice grew stronger as his furor rose. And Ilúvatar as well! His actions are just and his role has been as noble as mine, if not more. Do not punish him because he is not of Firstborn! In his heart, he is better than most of my kind! He is Elvellon to me, as he should be to all of our race!

Galadriel grew quiet as she contemplated her next words. She reached out to where Gimli's hand held the Elf's, but she did not touch, allowing her hand to hover over his. Then, as if hesitating, she drew it back. At last she said as she looked down on Legolas, "And if he should not wish to go?"

Legolas considered looking again at the Dwarf to find his reassurance, but he could not know that it was really there. He had asked so much already of his friend, he could not dare to ask more. Leaving Middle-earth was Legolas' destiny, not the Dwarf's. He was grieved to admit it, but in his mind, he did not think Gimli would choose to go, not without considering Legolas in his feelings first, and that would be wrong. He knew what the Dwarves said of the Elves longing for the Sea. He did not want to be the motive of Gimli's choice. And he did not want Gimli to be exiled by choosing friendship over kin. And so he could not bare to look on Gimli's face, and instead answered this, I would not dare speak for him. He knows his own mind. I only know, I wish to see him suffer no more. Steel his heart if he will not pass. Protect him from his misery. But do not steel mine. I would rather die of heartbreak than to lose the tenderness of my heart in those memories.

Galadriel face grew somber as she touched Gimli's hand. He blinked back and gasped as he saw her for the first time. Realizing he was gawking, his eyes immediately descended, not wishing to offend her with his direct gaze. But she reached out and touched his face in a gesture to raise his chin. He looked up at her and fully understood that his friend had spoken true. She was not a delusion or dream, but was truly there before him.

She spoke in an echoing voice, "Son of Glóin, your friend speaks well of you. We offer him a gift, a renewal of life, but he has refused to take it without concessions. What say you of this?"

Thrust as he was in the midst of debate, Gimli looked perplexed. He stared back at his friend's face. There were no clues in Legolas' countenance. Only noble, Elven pride was visible in eyes that would not look on him. Gimli looked up with uncertainly, "My Lady, you ask of my mind, and I am without reference, for I know not what he has told you. I will tell you this: I would not wish for him to suffer any longer. What he had endured is beyond sufficient, I would think. That he suffers at all is a testimony to his affinity for love. And that he should have affection for one so humble as a Dwarf speaks much for his ability to overcome pride! I am proud to share friendship with one so moral. Is this what you seek to learn from me?"

"In a way, it is. I am pleased that you put him above yourself. But you must be more considerate. Do you not have feelings for yourself, fair Dwarf? How do you come out this endeavor?"

Gimli considered this, shaking his head at the futility. "I know I am pained by his injuries, I will not deny, almost as much as if I were to experience them. And if either he should die, or should part over Seas, my heart would be anguished all the same." Gimli looked down again at Legolas, a pained look growing on his face, but still the Elf did not meet his eyes. Gimli's eyes took on a slight sheen and his voice grew thick as he spoke, "He is very dear to me. I would greatly miss the mirth he brings me and the challenge he contends with my mind. I would miss his light, and laughter, and courage, and I think life may grow dim in his shadow. I cannot think beyond that, nor do I wish to. I suppose my own death will be only too imminent, but I will not forecast it. That would be far too painful."

Galadriel's face grew stoic and then she glanced sidelong at the Dwarf, "Yet you have more that you would ask. I perceive it. You have greater desire and yet you choose not to say it. The moment is passing. Speak of it, Gimli, whilst it is still available to you."

Gimli kept his eyes cast down, and looked self-conscious under her scrutiny. Sniffing back regret, he answered, "I fear to ask for it, for you read well my mind. You would know my motives are not pure."

"We shall judge your purity. Speak!"

Gimli flinched at the force of her words. He grimaced as he thought on his answer, "I would want it for selfish reasons! I would want to follow, but not for the reasons I should!"

Legolas turned to the Dwarf in surprise, eyes growing wider. What was this Gimli was saying? He wanted to go...

Galadriel's voice was no longer sweet, but commanding. "Explain yourself, Son of Glóin."

Gimli stammered out his response, "I feel these inquiries are to know the intent of my heart. But…but, you already know that. I…I am ashamed to admit I would wish to follow – only because I would do so for my sake as well as his. I would be pleased that the results would benefit him. But should I not want this for his sake alone?"

Legolas could not conceal his shocked expression. He shook his head in stunned disbelief and blinked his surprise.

Gimli gazed down on him, but did not understanding the emotion behind the expression. The Dwarf's face grew ever more dark as he said, "I am sorry, my friend."

The Lady raised her chin high and proudly she said, "This trial does not hinge on your failings, but on your true feelings. What are your thoughts on how your kin would regard you? Why do you go against their opinion?"

Still mired in guilt, Gimli paused in his thoughts before answering carefully. With eyes shut he spoke as if in shame, "It is said among my people that Elven longing is a failing of the Eldar. The land of the Valar is scoffed at, as if myth. But in fairness, I can only speak for myself. I believe their comments are driven more by jealousy than by true scorn. My people do not know what I have learned of the Elven folk. They have not seen what I have seen. They do not know the appreciation of beauty gifted onto the Elves, as I do. If they could see through my eyes, they may well understand why I would choose to live in a land unknown, even if it means going so far as to risk a myth."

Her eyes sparked as she said, "And why would you do such a thing, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli smiled and looked down, as if he had a secret only they shared. With small pride, he answered, "You wished it upon me, Lady. You said it to me at our parting in Lorien, 'Your hands shall flow with gold, and yet over you gold shall have no dominion.' And so it does not. I am unique to my people in that I do not dwell on wealth and abundance. But not unlike my kind, beauty most surely does rule me and I can say I have a greater love for it because greed does not corrupt me. That was your influence. And now I cannot think of a place where beauty would have greater power than in the lands of the Valar, where grace and elegance such as yours resides. These are my reasons for wishing to go, Lady. I know they are wrong. I would go for him, true, but most also for myself," Gimli said with a bow to his head, looking dismally sad for this answer.

With that Galadriel laughed, and the sound robbed the Dwarf and Elf of their breath at the sheer magnificence of the noise. With a knowing smile she said, "Most deeds done are usually for personal gain, Gimli The fact that you would be given something you desire, and your friend would flourish for it, is still a heroic gesture. Do not belittle your own wishes Son of Glóin. They have greater value than you may realize. Legolas spoke the same for he would not desire something of you were it not your wish as well. You have both passed the test."

Forgetting himself, Gimli stiffened as dignity caught up with him. "Test? What test would that be?" Gimli asked gruffly.

The lady smiled, "Your feelings were to be proven pure before your wishes could be granted. The questions asked unto you were from your own minds," she stared at each of them intently, "Your own thoughts. You purged your own prejudices without influence. You have grown wiser as a result of your friendship and your love for each other has cast away any doubts you may have once held. You are free to make your choices now. They will be granted freely, without judgement."

Gimli looked at Legolas and saw beaming eyes. Smiling back in sheer disbelief, he turned his gaze upon Galadriel, making contact with her at his own initiation. "Lady," he said as his voice broke, "if you will allow it, I would ask." His sparkling eyes penetrated hers. "Let me be companion to him. I choose to follow him to the Undying Lands and stay there for however long my time with him may be granted."

Galadriel's face shone brilliantly. She said, "So it shall be, Gimli, Son of Glóin. You will be honored in Valinor as a member of the Fellowship, for your role was most significant in the salvation of Middle-earth, and you fought bravely against Shadow. For that you will be revered most highly. And also as Elvellon for your love of our kind."

Then Galadriel drew her attention back to Legolas as she said, "And you, Legolas, Son of Thranduil, would you choose to go, now that Friend Gimli has given his choice?"

Smiling as much as his weak body could muster, he murmured out, "I would very much wish to go."

With this said, she pulled his hand away from Gimli's, directing the Dwarf to ease the Elf back down onto the bed. He drew away as she bowed before Legolas. The younger Elf's face grew pale as the contact was broken, but his color was regained again as she placed her hand at his heart. He softly closed his eyes to her contact, but quickly flashed them open again as he flinched from an unseen wave of energy coursing through him. A gasp and moan slipped away from him at the might of her power as furious heat overtook his body. Shocks of vigorous light crossed his mind and he held his breath, feeling overwhelmed with sensations. Slowly, his body relaxed as the pulsating waves of new life became familiar to him and he closed his eyes to take it all in. Warmth pervaded his tingling limbs and all aches and tender pains slipped away from him dreamily. He felt the weight of her hand press him down, while all the rest of his body felt light and buoyant. Slowly the light about her drew away, and as it did, he found he breathed more deeply, and color rose into his cheeks. A smile crept across his face though his eyes were still closed. He felt whole.

Stroking her hand to his chin in a gesture to wake, he opened his eyes and looked at her. She held out her hand and he took it, and she helped him rise in order to kneel before her. At the direction of her eyes, Gimli did the same. But not before the Dwarf stole a glance of pleasure toward his friend's return. Then she placed one hand at each of their temples and she said, "You are healed now Legolas, and there is no longer an impediment for you to go onto your shared journey. I will give you both knowledge on how this task is to be done." She closed her eyes and the garden melted away, transporting them to a land they had never before known.

In Legolas' mind, it was almost of music and it had an effect on him like cuivëar in its weightless quality. The exception however was great, as his memory was not wiped clean from its transport and the lingering feeling of euphoria did not recede when the dream was lifted away. Far more than that, he retained everything he perceived, and his senses were keenly alerted to every detail of the vision she delivered. And as he listened, saw and felt, the light around him grew brighter. Brilliant it became until he was blinded to everything but its whiteness. Ground and space were lost, and he fell back into it as he let it consume him.

****

Gimli awoke to morning light on his face. He blinked at its brightness, almost forgetting the dream, but nearly as instantly remembering. He jerked upright and cast about him to regain his knowledge of where he lay. He sighed sadly as he realized he was in the garden still, propped up against the bed. Legolas lay, still nestled in the cocoon of this bed, unruffled and unchanged by any activity. Everything looked just as it had been. Gimli shuddered and shook his head. The nightmare was still with him.

And yet the dream had seemed so real. Somehow, he had felt he had left, as if he had gone somewhere far, far away. As he thought on it more, he realized it had been a great adventure. A remarkable dream, he and Legolas had sailed over the Sea together. Galadriel had been there, and his friend had been cured! His throat became choked at how happy he remembered being in the dream, knowing at last that there could be joy for them both again. He wanted to cry for the loss of it, for now he was bereft in the realization that none of it had been true. They still remained in the garden, Legolas was still ill, and nothing had changed.

He gathered his legs to arise while more of the dream came to him. Gimli's brow creased. His friend had been near death, and the fright of that moment seemed poignant and fresh. A shiver ran down his spine. New fear took hold and something made him worry that this part of the dream had been real. He looked over at Legolas, for an instant panicked that his death had been fact, but saw the rise and fall of his friend's chest in innocent slumber. Sighing with relief, he gathered near, still mourning the lost happiness of that dream. Nothing was altered. He would see to what he could in attendance to the Elf, much as he always did.

Something was different. As he drew closer to Legolas, his hands began to shake. Legolas was changed! Though placed exactly as he had been the night before, the Elf's appearance had improved! His skin was flushed with color, and his tone had a luminous glow. The hollows beneath his eyes were faded and his breathing was steady and full. Shock set into Gimli's face, as his mind blurred at the possibility. Could the dream have been real? Ecstatic chords rang through his heart and a brief yelp of joy swept past his lips!

And as Gimli shook with pure joy, Legolas blinked himself awake. Meeting the Dwarf's face, he smiled genuinely with eyes that were clear and unglazed. Legolas' being shone brightly of spirit. Tremendous relief clutched at Gimli's throat and he gushed out a cry as if his heart would burst. All fears were dashed! Joy spilled from his eyes as he wrapped his friend in his embrace, not even waiting to see how much strength the Elf possessed.

Legolas laughed with reciprocating pleasure. The sound was like music. He returned the hug with fervor. Then pulling away, Legolas looked fondly at his friend as he breathlessly said, "It was real, Gimli…it was real!"

Unable to speak for the lump in his throat, Gimli nodded vigorously. Then Legolas looked thoughtful, and he said in a low voice, "We will need a name for the boat. I have been dreaming of it. I think we should call her Gwend Alfirin."

Gimli's eyes sparkled and he smiled, for he understood the words. Silently he agreed, as he would many more times throughout the coming months. The need to exchange words on the subject of the journey would not be required for them. They already had a clear understanding of each others mind and thoughts, and the name of the ship was easily defined for them as well. Gwend Alfirin. Friendship Immortal.

TBC

Well we knew how this story would end, so don't feel bad that we are quickly coming to it. But I am not quite done yet. One more chapter, plus an epilogue to go…the final departure…a gift bequeathed…and a small glimpse into the future.

Don't forget to review please. It keeps my heart beating too.

Periannath

Elvellon – Elf-friend, often given as a title of honor and respect to peoples, such as the Dunedain and the ancient Númenóreans, who have proven their allegiance to the Elves. Reference The Silmarillion, by J.R.R.Tolkien.– Hobbits

Part Seven: Departure

Anaran could not help but laugh. It would not be the first time since this adventure had started that he would overhear a conversation much like this one. Full of mirth were his lord and the Dwarf, and it made Anaran glad to see high jinx and soaring spirits between the two after such a long round of despair.

A low chuckle rumbled in his belly. It seemed the pair had painted themselves into a corner. Quite literally. Their task that day had been to seal the interior hull planking with tar, to protect against future invasion of seawater. Though Anaran had heard no conversation to the like, it would seem there was certainty on both parts that a ladder was to have been placed at the aft hatch. The argument was over who had responsibility for it, as apparently it was not there.

"I thought it was your job to set up the ladder at this end."

"No, I distinctly remember it was yours."

"Curses, Elf! It is starting to drift this way! My feet will set up in this mess in no time!"

"Am I to be held at blame for where you put your feet?"

"You are when my feet should not be stuck in this ooze!"

This shared perception of conversation where none took place was becoming familiar to the grey-eyed Elf. Anaran reflected on the new trait. Oddly, throughout these few months they had seemed to already know what to do, how to do it, and who was to do what, where and when, without ever speaking a word on the subject between them. And while the change was most strange in Anaran's mind, almost supernatural, he believed, it also seemed like a completion had been made between the pair. A symbiosis of sorts, they complemented each other. Without words exchanged, one would complete a task started by the other, as if planned all along. A simple nod of the head and the other instantly knew his job.

Yet clearly they did not read the other's thoughts, for pranks ran amuck, and each in turn became a gullible victim to the other's antics. This time it was Gimli's turn to be the recipient of harmless mischief, for Anaran was certain the missing ladder was not a mistake.

It was not the first time an incident such as this had occurred. But the harm, if ever there was any, was always in innocent fun. Just a few days prior, Gimli had supposedly made the mistake of locking Legolas below deck when the Dwarf had been presumably testing the latches. A sudden case of deafness overtook the Dwarf that day as no amount of yells for assistance from Legolas seemed to rally him. In spite of all the fuss, Gimli somehow managed to drift off into an afternoon nap, reclining against a nearby tree. On that day it had been many hours before Gimli had conceded to awaken from his rest, hearing somehow restored at his waking.

"How could it be my job if I have no memory of it ever being thus?"

"Sadly it would seem your mind is slipping, Dwarf."

"My mind is quite… Wait! What do you think you are doing?"

"And so it seems your eyes fail you as well. Is it not apparent that I am leaving? Up and out I go."

"You can't leave me here like this… Legolas!"

But once again, nearly everything about this new venture was mystical in nature. Most certainly, his lord's recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Journeying to the garden that fateful morn had revealed a cured Legolas, whole and renewed, complete in mind and body. Nothing short of intervention at the hands of the Valar could be assumed and Anaran readily believed this was true. He had come to believe they were blessed in this endeavor, for the mysteries about how they could do all that they did were unexplainable otherwise. In fact, aside from these silly games they played on one another, everything they had set out to do had been executed with nearly flawless execution.

Anaran looked up at the lean grey ship that they had built. Supported in cradles and scaffolding, she was perched and harnessed near the hollowed bay of the shore. The gray-eyed Elf had seen no diagrams or drawings to indicate their design, and he did not believe such articles existed. Its construction seemed to come completely from within their heads which was a magnificent accomplishment, for the task of crafting a vessel of this proportion without having a preconceived plan was unimaginable. And Anaran knew it was not heritage that gave Legolas this skill. While handy with woodcraft, Greenwood elves were not noted for building ships! The Forest River that ran through that dark glade was sized for the construct of small craft, nothing as immense or complex as this vessel. No, it was not innate ability that gave Legolas this skill. And as for the Gimli, his knowledge was beyond anything natural, for Anaran had long heard rumor of Dwarven repulsion for Sea and its watercraft. Certainly with this evidence, there was no other recourse but to believe miraculous intent.

Even finding this camp had been an example of incomprehensible mystery. They had set themselves up in a clearing on a rise by the river, surrounded by a small forest of mature trees. The site had been carefully selected for the task at hand. The trees were of the right size, the bay was of the right depth, the clearing was of the right proportion. Though it must be coincidence, it was as if the site had been designed for their use. Anaran remembered when they had first left to scout for camps, Legolas had led them directly to this place, as if he knew it exactly, and no other place did they look. The Dwarf had dismounted and stood in the exact center of the clearing. Completing a full circumference scan of the site, he declared this would do fine, and he and the Elven lord began preparations for their work. That was all that it took. Anaran had been much surprised, as he thought there would be more to finding a proper location than this. At the time he had dismissed it, telling himself he was unlearned in such matter. Now with further observation of the two, he knew it was much more than that.

Legolas silently dropped to the ground from the shell of the ship. He innocently smiled at Anaran as he casually walked through the camp. From above and behind Anaran could hear the infuriated bellow of the Dwarf. "Legolas! Get back here right this moment!"

To his credit, Legolas acted as if he had not heard, and cocked an eyebrow at the stew pot simmering over the fire. Stopping to stir it, and to steal a small taste, he gave an appreciative nod to Anaran, apparently approving their dinner.

Again, Gimli howled, "Legolas!"

Clicking his tongue and slightly shaking his head, he exchanged an exasperated look with Anaran before answering the Dwarf. "Yes, Gimli, what is it?"

"You are not going to leave me in here!"

Legolas smiled an impish grin, working to stifle his laugh. "No, of course not, friend. I would not think of doing such a thing," he said chuckling lightly.

"Then what are you doing?" the Dwarf's frustrated roar sounded out.

Making a quarter turn, he stopped to examine a ladder near where they kept the tools. Shouting back, he said, "I am seeing if I may find the ladder."

Anaran counted to ten as he too tried to stifle his laugh. He had reached nine when Gimli's rumbling voice thundered out, "And have you?!"

Staring directly at the ladder, Legolas blatantly lied, all the while innocently answering, "No." Working to quell a snort of laughter, he called out, "Are you sure you put it where it was supposed to be?"

There was a small silence that followed, and Anaran felt sure he could see the boat vibrating with the building anger of the Dwarf. With a reserve that meant only his patience was about to be lost, Gimli answered as if through gritted teeth, "If I had put it where it was supposed to be, it would be here where I could use it!"

Pretending he had not heard the frustrated gruffness, Legolas merrily called out, "I cannot seem to find it, Gimli. Let me ask Anaran if he knows." Turning now to face the dark-haired Elf, Legolas smiled with great mischief. In a voice much louder than it need be, he sang out, "Anaran? Have you seen the ladder?"

Eyes widening to his involuntary role in this ruse, Anaran mouthed silent protest. Legolas ignored him, smiling with his most endearing grin. But Anaran held his ground. He would not become a pawn in this game, and further we would not become a future target for doing such. He shook his head firmly, but smiled all the same. He may not participate, but he could enjoy being a spactator.

Rolling his eyes in mild frustration, Legolas accepted the other Elf's response, and so made due by improvising on his own. With overly dramatic intonation he said, "What is that you say, Anaran? You believe you may have seen it on the other side of that copse?"

Wincing at the absurd falsity of the words, Anaran clasped a hand over his mouth to stymie his laughter. If it was not before, this charade had become quite obviously a ploy. A poorly acted one at that, but it made no difference, as Gimli was already its victim.

A rumble of Dwarven curses echoed from within the frame of the ship, punctuated by the words, "Fool Elf!"

Under normal circumstances, questioning Anaran might not have been so unusual, for it had become Anaran's self-appointed job to play keeper to Legolas' home. Though it was not really a home, more a series of tents, it was the place they endured until their task could be complete, and seeing that would take several months, in Anaran's mind, it was home. He did his best to make it comfortable for them and to keep some order to it. Anaran knew where most everything in the camp was held. As a result of their outdoor living, Anaran's sense of adventure had become piqued, and he surprisingly found a rugged lifestyle fit him, as well as any he had held within a manor. For despite the difference in their years, Anaran had lived a cloistered life, like many non-warring Elves. He had not ventured far beyond his own borders, and being untrained as a warrior, there had been fear associated with doing so beforehand. But the world was a different place now and the renewal of his lord had done wonders for the dark-haired Elf's perspective. He felt a sense of new hope and possibilities, and he was beginning to think that he did not want to go back to the life he had been living. He did not care to fade away quietly with the rest of his race. At least, not yet. Anaran's options were expanding.

Months before, they had bid their farewells to the Elven realm of Ithilien with due grace. A new Lord had been named, and Legolas had easily relinquished his home and possessions, taking only what he found fit to travel to his new home. Rather than staying to learn a new master, Anaran had followed his friend to the shore of the Anduin. Anaran had staid his post and proven his faith, though it was never really asked of him. Loyalty was in his makeup and no one could say he was not true to himself. Besides, friendship was as much a factor in his decision as was dedication and a new desire for adventure. He would never desert Legolas unless the Elf asked him to go. Yet despite the joyous days that followed, sadly for Anaran they would soon depart. Anaran would not be traveling with them, for it was not his time to go on that final journey.

Gimli had been most forthright with Anaran on the topic of their journey. The need to build a ship of their own was not a direct means for success. An Elf would most normally procure passage in the Havens. Círdan stood guard over a fleet of ships there. But Gimli said no others would dare make journey with them, for with a Dwarf aboard, they would feel certain that they would be turned back. And this was their reason for building their own. But Legolas had laughed. He said the vessel would be theirs in years to come and would offer them opportunities for adventures untold. He had smiled with merriment at the prospect.

Legolas patiently climbed back up to the top deck. As he stood over the hatch, he shook his head and sighed, "I am sorry, my friend, the ladder seems not to be here. I will now look on the other side of the clearing where Anaran thought he saw it."

"Then you are leaving me here!" The dark-haired Elf heard the Dwarf's ire rise incrementally.

"Only until I find the ladder," Legolas answered with an innocent shrug.

Resigned to his fate, Gimli sounded as if he understood he would not be released soon. "I suppose that could take hours."

Legolas sighed as if about to undertake a daunting task. "It is a rather large forest."

"And a very tiresome task it must seem."

"I grow weary at just the thought of it," Legolas said in agreement with a yawn.

"I do not suppose a rope could be found?" the Dwarf offered with vague optimism.

Legolas cast a fleeting glance about him, then quickly dismissed the idea, "No. I do not see one of those either."

With an exasperated sigh, Gimli said, "Do you have any other suggestions?"

Legolas' eyes twinkled. A jubilant smile glanced briefly on his lips, then he reigned in, trying to refrain himself from seeming too excited at the suggestion he would offer. Bending down over the hole, he said, "You might try jumping."

"WHAT?!" came the harried answer.

"Just like I did, Gimli. Jump out."

"I will not stoop to the foolishness of such a suggestion," the Dwarf answered indignantly.

"Unless your skills have diminished so grievously…"

"My skills are quite fine!"

"I am afraid I disagree. You once were fairly good at jumping. For a Dwarf, that is. I remember well that you could easily jump from the ground to the back of my horse with no assistance whatsoever. And the distance you face now is not nearly so high. But alas, you are hindered by age…" Legolas sighed deeply and sadly, shaking his head.

Flustered, Gimli began to sputter. "I…er … there is nothing wrong with my… I could easily make that distance…" Anaran laughed now as he heard the Dwarf curse under his breath knowing for certain that he had long been set up for this humiliation. After a long pause and a few more curses, the Elf heard a loud thud in the hull of the ship.

With eyes that gleamed in mirth, Legolas called down his encouragement, even going so far as to reach down to grab the Dwarf should he somehow get near. "That is it, Gimli! Now try it with your arms raised higher!"

A few more thumping booms of heavy feet crashed to the ships floor followed quickly by more raspy growls. Most definitely pleased, Legolas stood up, "Do not give up yet, my friend. You almost had it that time. But I fear your escape may be elusive in this regard. I shall go in search of the ladder now," he said as he released a fake yawn. "So very sleepy I feel. I do not know how I will accomplish this without dropping off in the process." Waving to his friend, "Good luck, Gimli!" he called and walked away, singing a happy tune, in search of a good place for a nap.

Shocked and amused, and knowing justice had been had, and then some, Anaran ticked off the seconds again before he heard the Dwarf's outburst, "Legolas!"

****

The sloop looked much smaller when in the water, her hull and keel hidden in the depths of the bay. But her mast was tall and stood a great height, at least that of the measure of the sleek craft. Too large to be called a boat, yet on the smaller side to be named a ship, she measured a size fair enough for two skilled seamen to handle. She was ready, and a prettier vessel Anaran could not remember. Gray and sleek she was as he viewed her in the harbor. Moored away from the shore, the full moon shone down on her, gracing her with a regal beauty. She fit her name well, Gwend Alfirin, for she looked inviting and eternal.

The figurehead of the craft added to her nobility. With reverence Gimli had carved it from a block of wood that was remarkable in its grain and depth. From this beauty he shaped the goddess Yavanna, wife of Aulë, and offered it as an adornment to their vessel. It was a tribute to his maker, and also in honor of Legolas' love for the trees, for Yavanna was the one among the Valar who ruled over all growing things of the earth.

Their mission was complete. Their ship had been built. There was little else to keep them there. They were ready to depart.

She had done well on her maiden voyage, a test of her seaworthiness on a short course down and back on the Anduin earlier that week. She showed no signs of weakness and so they made her ready to sail.

Anaran had accompanied them on that short trip, and he marveled at their dexterity and prowess at the craft. She responded like a racehorse, sleek and quick and beautiful to behold. Anaran had enjoyed the feel of the air rushing through his hair, the sun bouncing off the lapping waters. But mostly, he had enjoyed seeing the ecstatic thrill that pervaded Legolas' soul. The image of Legolas at the helm, head tilted back, eyes gently closed, wind brushing his fair hair away, would live forever in his memory. His lords dreams were about to be fulfilled and Anaran could not help feeling mixed emotions over that.

Sadness pervaded the camp on this is final day. The antics that had continued through their many days tasks had diminished on this day. It was as if they wished to use this time for silent meditations, to make their final preparations, to say their last good-byes.

Tied up on the shore were a skiff and a small boat. These they used to transport materials or themselves across to the ship. Anaran caught sight of several bundles within the boat, and saw the shadow of the Dwarf returning to his tent. It seemed the Dwarf was making ready for his own boarding.

The Elf focused his attention on Legolas' tent before him, and he called softly for admission. Pushing the tent flap open as he was beckoned to enter, light suffused the walls within the canvas structure. He found Legolas neatly replacing a quill into its font as he dusted the note he wrote. Brushing away the loose granules of sand, Legolas inspected his work, then folded it into a small parcel. Lighting the sealing wax, he made a small circle of the hot paraffin before dipping his signet to mark and close the tight package. Gazing at Anaran with a mix of pride and sadness, he handed the packet to the Elf.

"Perhaps this will help you in your quest," he said with a small smile.

"It is hardly a quest, my lord. More aptly, you could call it a desire for change in venue," Anaran answered politely, accepting the proffered package.

"If it is desired and not yet attained, it is a quest. I am happy that you would concede to take such a risk. This is an adventure for you," Legolas said with a light hand to the taller Elf's shoulder.

Anaran looked down in humble expression. He said, "It is hardly an adventure compared to what you will undertake. Alas, it is hardly an adventure compared to any you have already taken. I am merely traveling to Minas Tirith."

"To be among Men! In a city! Not necessarily a light task for an Elf of the woodlands. But I believe you are up to it. I said it so in my letter. I believe the king may find you of benefit to his counsel," Legolas said as he indicated the note.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps he will not desire my services at all," Anaran said with a melancholy tone.

"He will only if you tell him that is what you seek! I made no indication that your talents were minor. In fact, I told him you have been a strong advisor in the course of my lordship, and that I trust you implicitly in matters of state. You have been great counsel to me on many matters, and for quite a long time, by mortal standards. Your blood and lineage may not be as noble, but I do not think that matters to Men. It has not to me. You can be an aid to him. You have been an aide to me. That is not a small job as Ithilien has grown to be not a small place. You will have to prove yourself, of course. Nothing comes without trust, but you have ample enough time to gain that," Legolas said with a small smile. "I have faith that he will see you as I do. I very well think there may be a place for you there. You know the minds of your people, and I am sure that will be of assistance to him. And do not forget, he is half-Elven. He may even long to be among some of his mother's kind. You could be a touchstone for him."

"I should not doubt myself, you tell me," Anaran said with embarrassment.

"You should not doubt me. I think I know your character well and I am sure you will accomplish any task you are set out to do," Legolas said with conviction. Then he smirked and cast a sidelong glance at the dark Elf as he said, "Even if that responsibility should be trade negotiations…"

Anaran grimaced. "Oh fair lord, if that is what I have to look forward to, may this adventure soon end!"

Legolas laughed. "Working among Men will be the adventure, Anaran, in whatever capacity you serve. Just be careful to guard your soul among them. Mortals have a way of whiling themselves into Elven hearts," he said with a coy smile.

"A curse I have witnessed well. And yet you have no regrets," the elder said, a smile gracing his strong features now.

"The adventure was worth every step," Legolas said as he clapped Anaran on the back. Then turning more serious, his voice lowered, "You know that I jest when I speak of guarding yourself. Quite truly, I would not take back a moment, even had the situation gone differently. I think you have been with me long enough to know not to let Elven pride rule you, Anaran. Follow your heart. Friendship is a great gift. I hope you will find many friends where you go."

"Thank you, my lord," Anaran said with a bowed head.

"Are all the preparations complete?" Legolas asked changing the subject.

"They are. The Ithilien Elves will be by in the morrow to break down the remains of the camp and to take the tools back to the colony. They are most grateful for the donation of such fine Dwarven goods," the grey-eyed Elf stated.

"Do they think us mad, Anaran?" Legolas asked with bemused curiosity.

"Some most certainly do believe that," Anaran answered without commitment.

"And you? Do you think we are mad?" Legolas asked with eyes peering into the other Elf's soul.

"I believe the madness lies in those who would scorn you without knowing what you know. I think their distance from their fears makes them small, and their pride for only things Elven is short-sighted. I think in the end they will see you were right, that friendship can be had outside of their race. But only after the Valar have blessed you for your courage to stand up to that estrangement. And when that comes, those who have been less than kind will find themselves regretting their actions," Anaran answered with a degree of pride, and then he spoke in a softened voice that revealed his deeper feelings. "And if I may speak plainly, I believe, Legolas, I would want to emulate your values. I look forward to the day we may meet again so I may show you how much your influence has affected me."

Now Legolas was the one to be humbled. "Thank you, my friend. I look forward to that day as well. Until then, may Elbereth guide you," he said with a quick embrace. Then releasing the elder and turning away to mask his sorrow, he said, "I believe Gimli would like to see you."

Making his departure, Anaran said in a choked voice, "Thank you, my lord. Good night and… and safe journey."

"Good bye, Anaran," he heard the fair Elf murmur softly.

Stepping outside, Anaran restrained his grief. He was at a loss for his remorse, and he closed his eyes tightly to push his emotions back. He felt as if he wanted to cry out at his sadness, but reminded himself that their parting was only a temporary thing. Anaran felt sure they would be reunited again one day. He bolstered himself with this positive thought, and reminded himself that his remorse would have been far greater had there not been a recovery. Legolas' departure was a good thing. For them both. Anaran would not reflect further on the past. There was yet so much future to behold.

Now in control, Anaran opened his eyes and walked briskly to the Dwarf's tent. He saw the shadows created within by a single lamp, and the form of the Dwarf as he packed his last bags. Anaran called out, "Master Gimli, I believe you wished to see me?"

From within Anaran saw the shadow of the Dwarf straighten and then grow smaller as the form moved away from the lamp and approached the tent entrance. Drawing back the canvas flap, Gimli peered out at the Elf with a slight smile. He said in a deep baritone voice, "Ah yes, Anaran. Please, enter. I have a favor to ask of you."

Anaran stepped into the tent and glanced about. There was very little left of the Dwarf's belongings there, and even the small cot had been broken down into its pack form to be carted away with the other odds and ends of the camp. Aside from these few small bags, Anaran assumed the bulk of the Dwarf's goods had already been stowed on the ship. "It seems you are ready, Master Gimli. Will you be sleeping on board this night as well?"

Gimli rolled his eyes in response as he turned back to his task. "As if I had a choice. That eager Elf would have had us leave yesterday if he had his say in it. As it is, we are to depart before dawn. Something about calmer Seas in the morning hours. I do not pretend to know what he speaks about, and truly I think he is making it up. But I can barely hold him back. So lest I wish to be left behind, I think it would be best if I were aboard ere he was. Do you not agree?"

Anaran chuckled, for it was true that his master could barely be sated his desire now to travel. "I think you are wise, Master Dwarf. You know his mind well."

"Ah, here now!" Gimli exclaimed as he drew his hand out of his bag. Within the palm of his hand lay an item that Anaran could not quite make out. "This is what I've called you here for. I believe I said I needed a favor granted. Legolas told me you would be passing into Minas Tirith, and I was hoping you could see to the delivery of this item," Gimli said as he opened his palm to show Anaran the pendant with the entangled golden hair.

Anaran gasped, for he had never seen the jewel before, and even in this light, it was exquisite to behold. A soft radiant light gleamed out of it, and Anaran marveled at the splendor of it. "Why, Master Gimli, it is a jewel of perfection! Never have I seen a gem as lovely as this! What is its make? Is it gold?"

Gimli held it up to eye-level and let it rotate from its chain, casting rainbows of light on the walls of the tent. With a wistful glint in his eye, he said, "No not gold. Something far more precious than that." Then breaking his gaze, he looked directly at the Elf and said, "Promise me you will guard this carefully. It is worth more than I could ever say, and to the receiver it will mean more than that still."

Anaran's eyes could not leave the stone. There was something quite mystical in the pendant that bobbed before him. "I will guard it with my life," he said, and he meant it.

"Good," the Dwarf curtly answered. "And I want you to promise you will deliver it to no other than the one to whom it is intended."

"And who may that be?" Anaran asked as he broke his gaze.

"None other than the king," Gimli said. Catching the smile that began to creep up on the Elf's face, Gimli chuckled, "I know, I know, Legolas has written you a letter of introduction. I thought this might aid in the beginnings of your relationship in his court as well. The significance of this ornament will not be lost on him, and I am sure he will be grateful to you for its safe delivery. He is very much like his father in that way. And I was very fond of that Man. I hope you will find friendship with King Eldarion to be as enriching as his father's was to me," Gimli said with a sad smile.

Wrapping the pendant in a soft cloth, Gimli placed it in a velvet pouch with a ribbon drawstring. Handing the bag to Anaran, he said, "There is a message I wish you to convey as well."

Anaran nodded and peered deeply at the Dwarf, as if to memorize his exact words.

Gimli went on. "Tell him I would say, this gift has grown to be more than the tale of which we have known. It is the symbol within that represents the love shared by his parents. For like the lock of hair encased here, their love is intertwined and never ends, always returning again to each other. The memory of Aragorn and Arwen will not falter so long as this jewel is cherished. Can you tell him I said that?"

Anaran nodded with great gravity.

Then going on as if to explain, Gimli said in low tones, "Long has Eldarion heard of this gift. Whether from the bosom of his parents or the hearty friendship of myself, he knows well what was sacrificed for the sake of this small gem's existence. He will understand what my words truly mean and I can think of no one else who would represent it more fitting."

"I will do as you ask, Gimli," Anaran said accepting the magnitude of the task he was being given. He slipped the small pouch into a breast pocket and patted it safely there. "But I would wonder, if you do not mind telling, why even if significant to the king, you would give up such a magnificent item? Surely it is priceless?"

Gimli smiled and glanced down. Then he knowingly said, "I have been given a gift of far greater worth. This one pales in comparison to the real jewel."

****

Anaran could hear their voices echo back to him in the chill of the morn. Dawn had already broken, though a dense fog permeated the light. It was impossible to know how far they had gone, for the ship was not visible through the haze over the water. Through tricks of the fog, the sound of their voices could be heard, and whether miles away or merely yards, Anaran could not tell. But somehow Anaran knew they were now long past, so he reveled in the sounds of their voices one last time.

The Elf heard the sound of a gruff sigh, then he heard Legolas speak to his companion. "You look so wistful, friend Gimli? Will you share with me your parting thoughts?" Legolas asked.

"I was only thinking of the things I would miss," he heard the Dwarf's voice answer softly.

"Such as…"

"Nay. It is naught. Forget I said anything."

"I would hear this. Do not dismiss me. Tell me or I shall be forced to guess." There was a long pause with no answer, so the Elf continued. "Is it your people? For if so, it is not too late to forestall this venture until a proper farewell has been made."

"Nay. Tis not that! No need do we have to cease in this journey. I prefer that my people not know of my departure. Let them guess, I say! My name shall live on in their lore, a marker of historical significance. And I far prefer that than to die quietly in my sleep while safe within the confines of our caverns."

"A noble end you have chosen. Your caverns then? You will miss the Glittering Caves perhaps?"

"Ah, truly I will. But my eyes have long feasted there, and while I could live long in that beauty, I imagine there are sights to rival it where we are going. No. Stop in this. Do not try to guess further, Legolas. It was a fleeting thought, a silly longing."

He heard Legolas laugh, "And now you have quite piqued my curiosity? You must now tell me, Gimli, for I will not cease in my questioning ere this journey ends!"

Anaran heard Gimli snort, "I do not doubt it! And a contest of wills it would be. But it is not worth the trouble. For all that, my longing is of a small thing. I do not think it will be available in the land we now seek."

"What is it, my friend?" Legolas' voice sounded concerned.

There was a long pause, and then came the simple answer. "Pipeweed," the Dwarf mumbled.

A pleasant chuckle echoed across the water in response to the word, and Anaran felt his lips draw up to a smile.

"Do not laugh at me such! It is not an easy thing to give up. I know well the disdain of your people for this vice. I only just started to think on it when you asked and now I doubt there will be any to be had."

"Would it have stopped you from coming had you thought on it sooner?"

"Not in a heartbeat," Gimli said with a laugh.

"Perhaps I can find a way to restore your need upon our arrival?" Legolas offered.

"And how would that be done?" the Dwarf queried.

"You forget the Hobbits, and so too Mithrandir. They all are known to smoke the reeking stuff. I am sure my people would have made an exception, overcoming their repulsion long ago to gift those fair friends with their small indulgence. I imagine it shall be so with you too, Gimli," Legolas happily answered.

"Reprieve! Fair enough! If you think this may be delivered unto me, I will withdraw my worries," the Dwarf said with glee.

"I do think it so, Gimli. For there should always be exceptions. Until there is no reason to make exceptions any longer."

Their voices drifted away. But with Elven ears, Anaran heard their last few words.

"I am glad we cannot see it now as we part."

"You mean the land of which we leave, Gimli?"

"Aye, that. For me now, it is almost like it does not exist, and you and I are slipping away into the whiteness, and that it was all just a dream…"

Their voices faded. The sun rose higher and the fog burned away. And their ship was gone, never to be seen in Middle-earth again.

****

Epilogue

The man was bored.

He had been waiting in this hallway for what seemed to be hours. Perhaps not that long, but still an interminable wait for one who was anxious from the very start of this process. He was to be presented to the King as the new ambassador of a far away land, and the only thing he awaited was the obligatory call of his name to stand before the great man.

But there was a delay. Some minor duty of state had required the greater attention of the monarch than the arrival of a representative from a small foreign realm. And so he waited in the Hall of the Kings that stood just before the Great Throne Room where the king now resided, patiently hoping his turn would soon come.

In his nervous restlessness, he had used the time to rehearse the speech he would deliver at their introduction. He already knew it by rote, so it was not this mere formality that made him nervous. He would deliver his speech, bow a few times, then part. He had done it many times before, as an ambassador to his people in other lands. No, this responsibility did not frighten him, and a real opportunity to speak would not come until dinner that evening. He was to be seated at the king's side. And for this, he was quaking, for he could not imagine what he would say to a king he knew little about in a setting that was conducive – no, required – less formal speech. He hated the part of his job that required pretending pittance chitchat had meaning, and using what little could be gleaned from it to try to forge lasting friendships. He had little choice. One could not rehearse the spontaneity of conversation. And without rehearsal, one was never sure if a mistake would be made. Impressions at meeting were hard to undo. And so this dinner, this small event, which meant so little to the king, and so little to the people of the court, meant a tremendous amount to he and his people. He could not afford to make an error.

To take his mind off his anxieties, he had started to pace the great hallway, taking in his surroundings as he went. The corridor covered a huge expanse, nearly the entire depth of the building, and the ceilings were high and arched above it. He counted the number of steps it took to reach one end of the hall to the next. He mused on the sound of his footsteps, echoing on the hard marble floors as he stepped, then disappearing into vague whispers of sound as he stepped onto the thick carpets that lined the length of the hall. The rugs had caught his attention. Obviously of highest quality, they were very rich in pattern, with a great variety of color. Such was to be expected of a kingdom that had flourished in the course of its history.

He moved his eyes to the portraits that lined the walls. Each one held a likeness of a former king, going back in long history to the first in this line. Looking up at the one at the end of the hall, he saw the portrait of the current king, and he could not help but wonder at the workings of that man's mind. He had been told he was a kind man, noble but understanding, and he hoped these words were true. His people truly needed the friendship of this king. But pondering this portrait only made him worry for this evening, so he turned his back and walked back to the other end of the corridor.

As he stepped backward in history, he decided to make a game out of it by studying the paintings, looking to see if a family resemblance could be detected from image to image. And in fact he did see it. The same eyes were apparent in the next generation. A consistent jowl line was visible in nearly four or five portraits. In some it was coloration. In others it was the formation of the brow. And as he looked on them he could see the metamorphosis from monarch to monarch.

He found this game to be amusing, so he started to look for other similarities. In the details he saw same elements repeating from portrait to portrait. Perusing the entire collections from the end of the line he could spot them: same crown, same pin, same scepter, same pendant, same…wait! No, not the same. That pendant was not in all the portraits. He went back to look at the first portrait. A king and his queen. No pendant was there. He stepped to the second and looked at the lone image in that picture. Here was the ornament. And so on in the next, and onward from there. But not in the first? This was curious and he wondered at the origin of this obvious heirloom that it was not there from the start.

Looking more carefully now at the detail of the paintings, he detected an interesting trait in each of the proceeding ones. Each artist in turn had done his best to capture an essence that was becoming more apparent to him. As he studied each painting, he could see that the focal point in each picture lie directly on that pendant. He wondered about that and scrutinized the detail of the gestures in paint. It was remarkable that over the centuries in which these portraits were created, the one thing each artist focused most specifically upon was that necklace. The detail attributed to their mastery gave him a very thorough appreciation of their creative talents. Each artist had attempted to capture an almost luminous quality in the gem. As he examined each work, he could nearly detect the finest intricacy of the stone. Shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped back again to take in the magnitude of this collection. There was certainly a story to be told in these paintings, and he was pleased. He could think of many questions to ask on this gem, and now he was armed with a topic to converse with the king. Perhaps he might even wear it that night at their dinner? Would that not be rich?

Stepping back to the beginning of the line of kings, he stopped before the portrait of the first in this line. A man and a woman. He was seated, and she stood at his side, her left hand resting on his right shoulder. He read the placard. Elessar and Arwen. Odd. There was something familiar about those names. Looking up at their faces, he saw the nobility in the brow and the eyes, and he recognized now that it continued down the line to the very king he was to meet this day. Gazing again at the portrait, he noticed their hands were clasped, his hand reaching hers at his shoulder. It was a tender gesture, probably captured to express an apparent affection between the two. Studying their faces most carefully, he spotted a detail that had somehow escaped him until this moment. Her ears! They were pointed! How could that be? But then – no, the names – this could not be so! Was she an elf? Glancing quickly now to the paintings that followed, he saw now some of the nuance features that were hers in this family line. Slowly, they faded with each generation. But they were obviously there in the second portrait.

He stood rooted now before the first portrait. His eyes could not leave her face. An elf! That was where he had heard their names! But it was a myth, this tale of the land he now stood in! A fairy tale for children! Or was it? He thought back on what he could remember of the stories. A dark lord – and a ring, was it? And an exiled king who brought freedom to all the lands and married an elven princess. A dark and frightening fable it was, but with a happy end, he remembered. It had to be a fairy tale! But then how to explain this portrait before him and the familiarity of the names? He shook his head in wonder. Oh yes, there was most certainly a topic for conversation this evening! And he was indeed looking forward to it!

The door at the far end of the hall opened, and he heard the chamberlain approach to escort him in to the king. He turned to meet him, but not without pausing to look once again at the paintings. He stepped to the second portrait. The placard read: Eldarion. The detail in this painting was most intricate, and he looked for a last time at the pendant that draped at that monarch's chest.

A single thread he saw captured in the crystal. Spun gold perhaps it was? But it was the pattern that struck his interest most and he wondered at the significance of it. Surely it represented something of importance, for the symbol within the pattern was unmistakable. Building upward in the stone was a cascade of swirls, overlapping in a perfect series of successive figure eights on their sides. They were the symbol for the never-ending, for the concept of infinity. He knew this well. Infinity…forever…eternal. Immortal.

The emissary pulled himself away from the picture. He was ready. He walked toward the greeting of the king's servant as a warm, yet diplomatic, smile spread across his face. He felt whole enough now to face his future, for he could see there was so much new to learn in this land. There was so much history and so much mystery behind it that he knew he would not let his time go by without discovering, with interest, all he could on it. He knew now he was going to like this place.

****

The End

A/N: To all my reviewers, a tremendous THANK YOU! You made all the energy put into this very much worth it, and the response was far better than I ever anticipated.

I am really very sad to leave. As much as this story emotionally drained me, it was still a great exercise, and I hope you, in turn, enjoyed it. If you like reading my work, then I have good news! There is a new story currently in the works, and it is brewing into a very tasty concoction! It will NOT be a continuation of this arc (please, no more angst for a while), nor will it be a missing scene. It will be of my own make in the genre of Action Adventure/Horror and it promises to be a much longer fiction and quite gruesome at times. Plus lots of character insight. I won't tell you more except to say it will have starring roles for Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir, Eowyn, plus Legolas and Gimli (of course). And there will be some very nasty bad folk! But it is not ready for posting yet and since I hate leaving you high and dry, I will offer you this: if you would like to be informed by email when this new fiction is up, leave a note in your review. Or you could simply bookmark my author info page and check in from time to time. Either way, I hope to see you all when the new story is up. Just so you know, I don't expect I will have this new fic going until late May or so (still much research to be done, plus I need a little break). Until we meet again, happy reading!

And don't forget to give me your thoughts on the way out! Please review!